I can relate so much to this post – the story of Hux. Please welcome Alicia to the LGBT Baby Loss series, and this truly beautiful piece as a tribute to her’s, and Julia’s son, Huxley. When you are pregnant, you dream of so much. And when they die, those dreams don’t end and neither does your love for them.
Our little boy earned his wings two months ago today. Here is my eulogy to him.
To my beautiful baby boy, Hux. I never dreamed I would be standing up here saying goodbye. Last night as I wrote this I asked you for strength to deliver what I feel will be the most important message of my life. As I stand here before all of you, I hope to channel my most fierce mama bear and tell you about me, Jules, and our baby boy Huxley Jack Bowes.
Hux was born on December 9, 2017. He died on December 12, 2017. Most would say that he was with us for three days, but our story runs deeper than three days. I have been dreaming of being a mum ever since I can remember. Despite being a tomboy and beyond messy hair, playing street hockey, and wrestling with my older brother, I dreamed of having a baby one day. Motherhood and nurturance was in me…deep and instinctual.
After almost two years of fertility treatments, our baby boy was warmly implanted and growing inside of me. What a mind-blowing feeling to know you were safely and gently becoming Hux with every passing day. You were so wanted and so loved before you were even a little human. For months, I went absolutely overboard buying you outfits and the latest baby gear. I had to have the best for you. I vowed to give you everything that I could and protect you with everything that I am. I would spend sleepless nights thinking of ways to tell the world that your mama J and I were expecting you. I would scroll through ultrasound pictures dreaming of what kind of boy you would be. Would you be intelligent and strong like your mom or would you be quirky and sensitive like me? What I did know is that you were a boy before it was even confirmed. I also knew that you would have white blonde hair and big bright blue eyes. You visited me often in my dreams. I felt you and I knew you. We were connected by your umbilical cord, but we were also connected at a level deeper than the physical.
I was hoping for a boy for so many reasons. I secretly wanted a mama’s boy. Everyone said that baby boys are mama’s boys and they love love love their mamas. I could hardly wait to love you with the same fierceness. Your mom and I talked about what it would mean to have a boy and how we wished to raise you. I gave a lot of thought to what part I would will play in shaping a kind, respectful, and loving little man and how I would measure my success as a mum. My hope was that we would raise a son who defied the stereotypes of “boys will be boys”….you would have the strength of character to use your voice for equality, you would treat everyone as worthy of respect and opportunity, and you would feel free to pursue any dream you would have. In short, we hoped to raise a feminist.
Our dreams for you were far-reaching- some small in measure and some grand. Your mom wanted you to play the violin and I always thought you would be more of a drummer. We were so excited to take you to your first Oilers game. You already have an Oilers jersey and onesie and of course ear muffs to muffle out the roar of the crowd when we score on either the Leafs or the Flames. We dreamed of teaching you to skate and I hoped to coach your timbits team before you became embarrassed of your mum being your coach. After you passed, I was making your mom pancakes and I broke down because the only thing I longed for was the chaos of making pancakes while caring for you and getting your three dogs fed. Yes, you have three dogs. We dreamed and we talked and we wondered out loud who you would be, but I knew in my heart that if you were anything like your mom, you would be an amazing human being.
I saw such awe and beauty in your mom throughout the pregnancy and then again when you were born and were in her arms. She is a woman of grace, modesty, and strength. She stands steadfast and strong like no other. She is tender and solid with a laugh that fills a room. She loves to tell stories, but she reserves those stories for only a select few as she can be rather private. She would have told you the best stories. You would have loved being her best friend. She is so special. Determined and soft. She is rare.
On December 9, you finally arrived after so much anticipation and how incredible it was to be the mum of an angel- that is the mantra that has kept me going since you left our arms. You were the most beautiful baby boy. Those luscious lips that we fell in love with every passing ultrasound. Your crooked third toe. Your white blond hair that I dreamed of for 8.5 months. Those fuzzy little shoulders. That perfect little nose and pointy little chin. Your pudgy hands always balled in a fist unless you were holding your mama’s finger. The way you sucked our baby fingers if we put them in your mouth. The way you fought so hard to open your eyes just for a moment to see our faces.
My lips could not get enough kisses in three days. I tried so hard to cover every inch of your little body, to capture with my mind’s eye every curve of your small body, to bottle your smell in my memory: to never forget your sweet baby smell. Your little body was God’s canvas…you were our life’s masterpiece, our finest accomplishment, our ultimate purpose. From every ounce of my being thank you for giving me the honor of choosing me to be your mum.
This post is shared as part of the #LGBTBabyLoss Blog Series. To read more, or to submit your own experiences, visit the LGBT Baby Loss Blog Series homepage here.