Heath was my much-hoped-for "rainbow baby" after losing his big brother Gavin in 2016, 6 hours after birth, to complications related to his Trisomy 18 diagnosis. After weathering the pregnancy, delivery, and loss of a baby with such a significantly life-limiting diagnosis, a Trisomy 21 diagnosis seemed relatively mild. Statistically speaking, we were infinitely more likely to take this baby home. That was the healing that my heart craved.
I do not intend to be dismissive of the difficult realities that come with caring for a child with complex medical needs and developmental differences. I know that along with the love and joy found in raising special kids, parents can encounter challenges, fatigue, and a different sort of grief. Unfortunately, we did not make it far enough to have to face those realities.
Although early ultrasounds were reassuring, Heath developed severe fetal hydrops in the second trimester. I desperately searched for hope, intervention, a way to save him, but ultimately his heart was not strong enough to sustain him, much like Gavin's heart. For weeks I monitored his heartbeat with a home Doppler, until one quiet Sunday afternoon, while my older boys napped, the Doppler over my belly was also silent. Labor was induced, and Heath was delivered the next day, and although he was tiny and swollen, he was perfect, and he was mine. The world barely blinked in acknowledgment, but I know he was here. Mothers grieve every loss and celebrate every soul that they carry, even if their time here is but a brief stop on their journey. It is an honor to have carried and loved Heath, and to have sustained him for as long as he was able to stay.
This print is perfect for him. It contains the colors blue and yellow, traditionally associated with Down syndrome awareness. It also features a moon and stars motif from a print that hangs on my wall in memory of both Gavin and Heath, with the words "twinkle, twinkle little star, do you know how loved you are?" 💙🩵🌙✨
