This time of year is always hard for me. I never really realize how much I am affected until it gets closer to that day. That day is the day that my sweet little six month old baby boy died in my arms. The worst day of my life. Evan’s six months on this Earth started with him trying to arrive when I was only 18 weeks pregnant. I mean, he was really trying to get out! I made it to the hospital in time for them to do a surgical cerclage. Afterwards, I was put on bed rest. Every week that I went to the Advance Maternal Age (AMA) doctor, they reported changes that were not good. He was still trying to come early. I made it to 24 weeks gestation (just one day sooner and they would not have used lifesaving measures to keep him alive). Evan was born weighing 1 pound 3 ounces. The time I spent at the hospital, pumping (because breast milk is best for preemies), at work, taking care of an almost 2 year old, and taking care of my household duties are all a blur. When I think about it, I don’t know how I did it. It had to be God! So, this weekend we will be going to the cemetery to leave flowers and reflect on the time that my little Evan was here with us. Even though he never left the hospital, he touched a lot of people and my family is very grateful for all of the support that we received during our time with Evan and after his passing. We cannot stop loving this little boy and he is always in our hearts, thoughts, and prayers.
Remembering Evan always!