Pictures

Photo by In the making Studio

This guest post is by Laura. Laura is a medical mom and infant loss mom. As a 2x NICU parent, she is passionate about helping other parents navigate the NICU experience. She’s still figuring out what that will look like.

I finally put a picture of you next to your urn. I frowned. Not because of you. You’re the cutest boy to ever grace this world. I frowned because of the ridiculous Halloween outfit you’re wearing. Had I had known that would be the only photo of you with your eyes open and off life support, I’d have picked something else for you to wear. Something normal. Something neutral. Not a stupid spider hat.

You died the night before Halloween. Your sister asked me to take a photo of her in the butterfly costume she was so excited to wear. She asked where you were, her little bumblebee brother; she picked out your costume too. I snapped a picture of half the bug duo. She’s smiling wide with a sucker in her mouth, beautifully naïve to where I told her you went. Her only concern: what house to trick-or-treat at next.

You looked just like me, dark hair and dark eyes. We weren’t expecting that. A welcome surprise since your blonde-haired, blue-eyed sister is the spitting image of your dad. You and I were supposed to wear coordinating outfits for your newborn photoshoot this week. We would have been darling.

I had a Christmas photoshoot already lined up too. I emailed the photographer letting her know you died and we wouldn’t be coming in. I thought she’d give me a refund, but she didn’t.

We’re already getting Christmas cards in the mail. Countless photos of smiling families with healthy, alive children. I’ve stopped opening them. We never got a photo of the four of us for a Christmas card. Your sister was only allowed to visit the NICU on Saturdays and you died two days before she could. I don’t fault you for that, but the fact that we’ll never have a family photo takes my breath away.

There are exactly three photos of you with your dad and me. One was after you were unexpectedly whisked away to the NICU. Someone snapped a photo as we stared down at the mess of tubes going in and out of your body. The camera angle hid the bewilderment in our faces. The second was a blurry selfie of the three of us. Those damn hospital fluorescent lights make for terrible pictures. The third was another selfie, better lighting this time, but I don’t have a shirt on for our cuddle session. None of these photos are Christmas card appropriate.

The walls of our house are filled with photos of your sister. It feels strange to have countless of her and none of you. Even our dog has more photos than you.

I asked our pregnant friends not to send me newborn photos. Name and birthday only, please. We stopped looking at photos of your baby cousins too. No group texts, please. Everyone has been kind about it, but I still feel like a horrible human for asking.

The last picture I took of you was just a couple of hours before you died. When I look at that photo now, I can see you’re already starting to go, color draining from your skin. I didn’t notice it then.

Your color was fully gone by the time we sprinted back to your hospital room. The nurse asked if we wanted photos as we cried over your lifeless body. We shook our heads no. I feel like I should regret that decision, but I don’t. I’ll remember your face forever. No photo required.

Do you wish you had more photos? Regret any of the ones you do have? If you could have more photos, what do you wish you had captured?