Beckett Alexander Nault

“I loved a boy with the utmost love of which my soul is capable of, and he is taken from me – yet in the agony of my spirit in surrendering such a treasure I feel a thousand times richer than if I had never possessed it.” 

Our journey to grow our family was not an easy one. There were years of infertility and loss, such loss.

I can honestly say that I am forever changed because of it. Losing Beckett was the single hardest thing I have ever endured. I lost both parents as a child and I’ve lost 7 pregnancies prior to Beckett (miscarriages). But giving Beckett back to Him shattered me completely. It made me question everything I believed. It just……broke me. But there was also beauty entwined in the brokenness. There was even joy. Saying hello to Beckett was worth the pain of having to say goodbye. Knowing him and carrying him was worth it all.

He was our beautiful fourth boy. The fear of having another miscarriage had lifted as we were safely and comfortably in the second trimester. His heartbeat was always strong on the doppler (I checked nightly) and he would kick furiously whenever I sneezed. You can listen to his heart beat here. Our ultrasounds were every two weeks and his perfect profile just melted my heart. He had the sweetest little upturned nose just like his brothers. He was to be our little caboose. He was our rainbow. Our Becks.

Then, on 9/9/15 we went in for a routine appointment. I was really excited because we were finally finding out the gender. At a prior appointment with our perinatologist, she had told us she was 98% sure that Beckett was a girl! Having three boys already, we were excited and nervous. Then at an appointment at our OB two weeks later, we were told boy. Of course we were happy either way! What was important was that he was healthy. So this appointment was to be the tie breaker. I hadn’t felt him kick that day but I wasn’t too worried since he was always more active in the evenings.

However, when the ultrasound turned on, we saw our perfect boy. And his still heart. We took a minute to scan his whole body and he was just as beautiful as ever. I prayed and prayed and begged for his heart to beat. For him to move. For him to live. I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life. If only my heart could beat for the both of us. If only my love could have been enough. But instead, his stillness filled the room and crushed my heart. Right there, in that ultrasound room, I was changed forever. I am so thankful for a loving husband, midwife, and nurses who held me and prayed with me and walked me through what was to come.

The next morning I was admitted to the hospital to be induced. After 12 hours of labor, Beckett Alexander was born and placed in my arms. He was tiny and perfect. Every inch of him. Long fingers and toes with perfect nails. White eyebrows but a precious bald head. And his nose. The same as his brothers. And his lips. He had the most beautiful pouty lips I have ever seen. I wanted to stop time to hold him forever. He was a gift. He was mine, but he wasn’t mine to keep.

Four hours later, after pictures and hand and foot prints and a hundred kisses, I had to hand him back. He was swaddled in my arms as I said my final earthly goodbyes. We even had the pastor come and say a blessing. It was time. And so I gave my baby boy, my tiny one, back.

The days and weeks that followed, at the funeral home where we made his final arrangements and chose his urn (the silver moon in the first picture is his urn-picked out by his big brother), at home where my arms and heart ached for my baby boy, everywhere and every moment, grief engulfed it all.

But as is promised, darkness did indeed yield to light and the pain did begin to yield to joy. There will always, always, be a longing for him. To hold him again. There will always be a missing piece. I miss him every single day. I dream of him. I physically ache for him. And I will until heaven.

His eyes never opened here. He never took a first breath. Instead, he celebrated those moments in Heaven. And although that realization often feels like a tragedy, it is  actually joy. It is joy because I know the one who holds him. And I know that this place is not my home. And now, even broken and shaken, I trust that I will see him again.

They say grief is simply love transformed. And so Beckett, my love for you is as deep as the ocean, as wide as the sky, as encompassing as the wind, and is as ever present as the stars in the heavens. You my love, are so, so, missed. I love you to heaven and back, to heaven and back.