Finding out that my child was going to die was a jarring experience. The doctor saw the problem with our baby and turned off the ultrasound.
“This baby has no chance of survival.” So much for the bedside manner.
I was reminded of him, and my baby, this weekend when my husband and I went on a grocery run before dinner. On the way home, we noticed a note tucked under the windshield wiper. We pulled over to read it. I was shocked, saddened, and angry. Hastily scribbled on the back half of a paper bag, it read:
My baby was born with a broken heart. It was supposed to be survivable but it wasn’t. The few un-sedated hours of his life were full of violence. Needles and chest compressions and bright light and yelling. The first time I held him, it was as he died. The second and final time I held him was when he was frozen in the funeral home. I wish every day that I had chosen to spare him by letting him go at 20 weeks. That would have been the most humane & loving thing I could have done.
Now, my bumper stickers make it clear that I am pro-life, so I suppose it’s fair game for anyone who wishes to leave a note. But this one really got to me.
This woman’s note said she wished she had ended her child’s life at 20 weeks. I imagine this was the point
