We were so excited, so scared, so innocent. We were having a baby. After a very normal, first time hospital delivery, we were elated and exhausted. Snuggling with my precious little 8 lb boy was blissful.
We were living in Mississippi — far from home and family. Danny was preaching for a congregation in Houston, MS. The people there were (and still are) wonderful. They took us in and treated us as their own.
It was time — we were going to get to take our sweet little David Scott Dow home in the morning. I was so ready to go home. We had had so much fun getting the nursery ready, buying all the little things a newborn baby needs. I went to sleep knowing that all was well and we would be going home in the morning.
That night, everything changed. A doctor came into my room to tell me that our sweet little David was very sick. He had had a seizure and would need to be transferred to the hospital in Jackson, MS — 2 hours away.
The flurry of events that happened next are still very clear in my mind. I won’t go into all the details but I will say that David needed heart surgery or he would not survive. He had surgery on the 26th to replace a portion of his aorta that was missing but his little body just couldn’t hold out. He died on July 28, 1985.
We never did get to take him home with us. Instead we took him to the funeral home and then buried him 2 days later.
It was and still is one of those life altering experiences in my life that has helped mold the person I have become. Here, 27 years later, I think about him and those few short days he was with us and I am sad all over again. Not depressed, not distraught, not hopeless, just sad. I am comforted all over again by the wonderful friends that supported us during that time and by our family that came to help us mourn. I am in awe again at God’s wonderful design. A design that sometimes goes wrong but so many times over and over again, everything works just like it should. I am thankful for the medical community that helped us so gently through the decisions and events that we did not want to be a part of and that we barely understood. I miss you, David, and love you very much and 27 years later still wish you were here with me.
”I know now that we never get over great losses – we absorb them, and they carve us into different , often kinder, creatures. We tell the story to get them back, to capture the traces of footfalls through the snow.” from _Let’s Take the Long Way Home_