It's hard to believe it was twelve years ago, today, that I lay in a hospital bed to deliver our son, Timothy. We had known for several months that his little heart was not formed correctly. We had spent those months praying... hoping.
I remember the sonogram that we had done that revealed a problem. I remember lying there watching the technician's face and the gut wrenching feeling that overcame me that something must be wrong, even though she tried to conceal it. I remember being quickly ushered into a "specialist" office to have another sonogram performed with a high-tech machine and although neither Gary or I voiced it, we were scared.
Gary and I had never wanted to know the gender of our babies. We only had a sonogram done because our insurance was going to pay for it. We liked to see that baby was healthy, but we liked waiting until we delivered to know whether or not we were having a boy or girl. We were convinced we were having another girl... the odds stacked up that way. We had four girls and two boys when we got pregnant with this child.
We sat in silence as we waited for the special technican to measure and capture different images. I tried so hard to see what she was seeing... I wanted to know what was wrong. When she was finished, she walked quietly out of the room without saying a word. We waited for the doctor.
When the specialist came in, I remember thinking to myself that his hair was too long. He looked like a hippy. How could he be a specialist? And his hands were cold. It was a brief distraction from the weight of the moment.
The specialist told us that our baby's heart was not formed correctly. He showed us by all sorts of high-tech images how the blood did not flow correctly... etc. etc. ... and then he said... "Your baby will not survive."
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I wanted to leave. I wanted to run away from there. The tears came quietly... along with a deafening silence. There were no words to say. No thoughts that were still long enough to put into articulate phrases. Just silence.
When the doctor asked us if we wanted to know the gender of our baby, Gary and I agreed, yes, we wanted to know this time. The doctor said, "It's a boy." We were having a boy. A son.
When we got home, we gathered up our children to tell them the news. I remember looking at their precious faces... they were so little, so young. The tears started quietly down my cheeks. They just sat quietly watching me and their daddy. They knew something was wrong. After talking to them... we hoped.... we prayed. Please Lord...
I remember being renewed with hope. Just because a doctor told us something was going to happen didn't mean it actually would happen. We served a mighty God and we would put our hope and trust in Him. He can do all things.
Over the next several months I was hopeful that our son would survive until term and then the doctors would be able to perform surgery and correct the problem. Each time we went to see the specialist it seemed as if he were surprised that our son was still living.
I remember going to a Valentine's banquet at our church and as we were sitting waiting for our dinner, I excitedly told Gary that our son must be growing stronger because he was kicking so hard! I hoped. I prayed. Please Lord...
About three weeks after the banquet... I no longer felt movement. I would sit or lie so still... waiting for movement... hoping... praying... Please Lord...
On March 13th, after having been admitted to the hospital the night before and given medication to induce labor, our son, Timothy Paul Sargent slipped silently into this world. There were no newborn cries. There was no joy filled celebration. There was only silence. And the tears quietly fell as Gary and I held our son.
We are only able to remember this day with hope because of the hope we have in Jesus Christ. We celebrate Timothy because we know that he is rocking in the arms of Jesus, as our sweet friend wrote in a song for us. We know that we will see him again. We are thankful for our time with him because through that difficult time our heavenly Father held us close. He strengthened us. He renewed our hope and we were able to feel His presence like never before. Our God is good to us all the time. Thank you, Father, for our son Timothy.
Timothy, my precious son, I think of you always. I wish you were here with us. I long to hold you. I wish I could see your face and look into your baby blue eyes and tell you how much I love you. I think you might have looked just like your big brother, who has so many times expressed how he wishes you were here with him in this house full of girls. Your brother has longed for you in a way that breaks my heart. I know you are in a better place, my sweet baby boy. I know we will be with you some day, my little bear. Happy Birth day. I love you. Mommy