Every year on September 8, we mark a poignant occasion that is both heartwarming and heartbreaking: the birthday of our beloved son, whom we lost far too soon. This day is not merely a reminder of our loss, but a celebration of the love we hold for him. Our other two children, Emma and Noah, eagerly choose a theme for the day, and this year they decided on a dinosaur theme. A cherished tradition of releasing balloons into the sky continues, much to their delight. As they grow older, their enthusiasm to participate grows stronger. Together, we watch the balloons ascend, and each sunset we witness on this day feels like a special gift, although it serves as a stark reminder of the son we miss dearly. If he were here, Liam would have turned 7 this year.
Liam was our first child, born on September 8, 2016, and tragically passed away just nine days later. Our journey to parenthood began with joy on January 1, 2016, when I received a positive pregnancy test. My husband, David, and I were ecstatic, imagining all the possibilities of welcoming our first child into the world. I had an instinct that we were having a boy, and I eagerly began planning everything from nursery decor to baby names, basking in the bliss of impending parenthood.
However, our excitement turned to despair during what is typically a routine ultrasound at around 20 weeks. The technician seemed concerned, and when the doctor arrived, I felt a chill run down my spine. “I’m afraid there’s a problem with your baby’s heart,” she said, confirming our worst fears: our son had a congenital heart defect known as hypoplastic left heart syndrome (HLHS). Suddenly, our dreams felt like they were crumbling.
Despite the daunting diagnosis, we chose to carry the pregnancy to term, leaning on the expertise of high-risk doctors and clinging to hope. On that fateful afternoon in September, Liam entered our lives, and he was perfect in every way. However, the reality of HLHS loomed ahead, requiring a series of complex surgeries.
It was devastating to see him in his fragile state following his first surgery. The guilt was overwhelming, and I would have traded places with him in an instant. Miraculously, we were told he was recovering well, and we were filled with hope as we prepared to take him home. But the joy was short-lived; a phone call from the hospital shattered our world once more. Liam had suffered a “blue” episode, and we raced back, terrified. When we arrived, we were met with the unimaginable: our son was lifeless. The moment I held him in my arms, free from tubes and pain, became a bittersweet farewell.
In the aftermath of our loss, life felt unbearably heavy. I struggled with feelings of resentment as the world continued to turn around us. I distanced myself from social events, especially those involving children, and ultimately left my job. In an effort to heal, we sought solace in a neonatal loss support group, where we found a community that understood our profound grief.
As the years passed, we established a tradition of honoring Liam’s memory with family and friends at his gravesite. We shared letters, released doves, and celebrated his brief but impactful life. Now, Emma is 6 and curious about her big brother. We strive for honesty, explaining that Liam had a sick heart but is now in heaven. I know I will soon have similar conversations with young Noah, who is just 3.
Each year, we gather by the water to release balloons in Liam’s honor. This year, both Emma and Noah wanted to take part, turning it into a beautiful family moment. “Happy Birthday, Liam,” we say with both joy and sorrow. While we cannot change the past or give him the healthy heart he deserved, we cherish the memories we made, however brief. For nine precious days, we were blessed to know Liam, and he will forever remain in our hearts.
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In summary, the annual celebration of Liam’s birthday allows us to honor his memory and the love we carry for him. It serves as both a reminder of our grief and a celebration of the joy he brought into our lives, however short that time may have been.
Keyphrase: Remembering a Lost Child
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