Jude Noel.
Even before we had Lilah, the name Jude was high on my list of boys' names, if not at the top. I love the way it sounds, the way it feels, what it means. Since the moment we started to think about having children, Jude was a name that always jumped out and felt so very special to me. It's a name that for some reason or another always made me swell up with love inside, almost to the point of goosebumps. I just knew that it was a name that I had to give to one of our children. It's almost like the name chose me, though crazy it sounds. I love that there's a song we all know and sing on a regular basis with this name in it. I loved the idea of waking every morning to a warm, snuggly baby fresh off sleep, singing "Hey Jude…". We found out we were having a beautiful baby girl, and so 'Jude' was put aside as I waited with anticipation and prayed to one day have a son to love and raise, too.
And then we got pregnant again. When we started to think of names, Jude still was on the top of my list for boys. And then we found out we were having three of them! As soon as we got used to the idea of our three little miracle boys, I knew for 100% certain that one of them would be named Jude and I felt so lucky to finally get that chance. And then, our worst nightmare happened and one of our boys lost his battle with TTTS. His heart stopped beating in utero at 26 weeks. I cried and I cried, and then I cried even more when it suddenly hit me that all along this was his name. I wanted so badly all this time to have a little boy in my arms named Jude, to watch grow and call out loud, but there was no other name more perfectly spoken out loud for our son in heaven. It felt so exactly right, full on goosebumps and tingling, a burning in my heart. I suppose the name didn't choose me after all, it chose him. I knew it that very day, and I remember telling Noel between sobs, choking on my tears, "I think his name is Jude". He knew it, too. It still blows my mind today, trying to imagine that even before conception there was a plan for us and our children. That this special name all along was his sweet soul calling to me even before he existed here on earth. And now I still speak his name out loud, even though he isn't here with us, this beautiful name for a perfect, beautiful boy that I am so proud to carry in my heart.
Jude means: Praise; thanks. For all we know, Jude may have saved his brothers. At least this is what I prefer to think rather than place blame on myself or others. If I had known that one of our boys was days away from certain death, I absolutely would have had them taken at 26 weeks. We were two weeks past viability after all. It might sound outrageous to some, even my OB had this chat with me. That at some point it may become obvious that one or more of our babies will not survive until delivery. That we might have to make the difficult decision and weigh the risks and benefits, that it would likely be safer for any babies expected to live to continue the pregnancy, if that time came. But I knew all along that if they were a viable age, I would have had them taken out if I knew that one was going to die if he stayed.
Of course, at the time I didn't know what I know now about preemies. There are things you can't know until you are in it. Until you see it with your own eyes. Your own babies. Other people's babies. You wouldn't know about their struggles, about the dire situations and life long implications of being born too soon. It was indeed a miracle that we made it to 28 weeks. Even one week earlier could have meant that we would have a completely different story today. Two weeks...three weeks earlier…absolutely it would have meant that the lives of all three of them would have been risked to try and save my suffering child. But it's nearly impossible to think that way when you know that you have a child dying inside of you.
I have to believe that Jude knew best -- remember that he had his own ideas, and that my ideas are just my own. I have to believe that he knew I would have tried to save him on the outside. But that it would have put his brothers' lives in danger, too. Maybe he gave his brothers a couple more weeks to grow and knew then that it was safe for them to come out. And maybe he was already too sick to be saved, maybe he spared me from the visually traumatizing event that would have been his death were it in the NICU surrounded by blood, tubes, wires, beeping machines, doctors and nurses - and in the aftermath leaving me with two other 25-26weekers in only slightly better shape, fighting for their lives, both with grim prognosis', having been taking out before they were ready to try and save their brother who we lost anyway. No matter how you put it, the whole thing is just awful, tragic. If this had actually happened that way, I don't think I would have regretted it. As a mother, you need to know that you did everything possible to try and save your child's life. But who knows what life would have been like for Nash and Lincoln born that soon. Who knows if there would have been life for them beyond the NICU. We will never know any of this. But it didn't happen that way, and there must be a reason for that, too. Maybe Jude is the one to thank for the lives of his brothers, for being so wise and gentle with his passing. He passed peacefully within the very place he was first created, the only place his body had ever known. The only place I can associate him being.
We gave all of our boys middle names after fathers/grandfathers/great-grandfathers. Noel, is not only his papa's first name, but also the first name of my grandfather. It is a perfect middle name for him, too. I was able to give Jude life, and help him grow. Noel was able to leave a piece of himself with him after he passed.
Jude's heart beat for the last time on the morning of January 8th, 2013. He was born along with his two very special brothers on January 22nd, at 4:02PM, delivered after Nash but before Lincoln and weighed 1lb 14oz at birth, and was 14 inches long. He. Was. Perfect. His beautiful 10 fingers and 10 toes, made us perfect little hand and foot prints that I will cherish forever. His beautiful face. His eyes were closed tightly but not so much that you couldn't see his eyelashes. His nose a little button. His lips relaxed and peaceful. The hair on his head had been oiled and so it looked wet; you could see every strand. Aside from his colouring, he just looked like he was sleeping. Peacefully, all bundled up. I was so honoured to gaze upon him, so proud that this little boy was mine. I stared in awe of how small he didn't look. He was there, he was perfect, and it was so hard to believe that he wasn't going to just wake up. I held him and wept, and smiled, and laughed, and cried some more. His blankets warm from the heat lamp, I tried to memorize what it felt like to have him in my arms. His shape, his weight. It would have never been long enough no matter how much time I'd had with him. But I am thankful to see him every single day, in every moment, in Nash and Lincoln. The photos that we have of Jude still look just like his brothers do today. Especially so as we stare at them while they sleep. I can picture exactly how Jude looked. It's both painful, and joyful. I don't know how else to describe it.
Jude is my son. He is wise in the ways of this world and the world beyond ours. He is a peaceful soul, still and calm and comforting. He is an angel, given to us only for a moment, to love, but never meant to stay. He has forever changed our lives, in every single way. Jude is our dream. Jude is our reality.
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