September 2 is my brother Isaac's birthday. He was born 16 years ago today, too early. As short as it was, his life has deeply influenced the lives of every member of his family.
I remember September 2, 1996 very well. It was that summer I decided to transfer from Rice to BYU, and that labor day weekend I was in Houston, packing up the rest of my things that I had in storage, and heading back to Provo that afternoon. When I left California for Houston, my mom was in the hospital in preterm labor. I knew it was serious and that if my brother was to be born, he most likely wouldn't make it, but I felt like he and my mom would be OK. He *had* to be OK. My mom had told me about her pregnancy early in the summer, and I had spent the last several weeks with that happy secret. It was such a happy time for me-- I was transferring to a University where I knew for sure I was supposed to be. I knew my parents were happy about that, and it felt good to do something that made them happy. And I was going to have a new baby sister or brother!
I know that kids in large families sometimes resent another baby being born, but I was never one of those kids. I loved every new baby in our family, and was always so excited when my parents announced another one. I was so happy about this new baby! So when my mom started having contractions, I was very worried, but felt like everything was going to be OK. How could anything go wrong that perfect summer?
I got on the plane back to Salt Lake City, and Ben picked me up from the airport. We talked on the way home, and decided to stop by Naomi's dorm room where she had just moved in as a freshman. When we got there, her roommate told us that I needed to go straight back to my apartment and call home. I think Naomi had already gone over there to find me. I knew at that point that something was very wrong, and I pretty much knew what it was. But I hoped and prayed it was not that. But when I called home, I found out that Isaac had been born, and that he had died shortly after. I also found out that my mom had very nearly died herself, but that she was going to be OK. What a terrible mix of emotions-- gratitude and grief.
When I went back home for Isaac's funeral, my mom asked me to help dress him for burial. It was such a sacred moment for me, as I looked upon my baby brother for the first and last time, marveling at his perfect little hands and feet-- so small, and yet so complete with tiny fingernails. This perfect baby who could have survived in only a few short weeks.
I knew that someday one of my son's would carry Isaac's name, and that he would always be an important member of our family, even if none of us ever got to know him. Someday we will.
I have no pictures of Isaac, except for those in my memory. I don't know who he would have looked like. Would he have had Benjamin's bright blue eyes? Brigham's cowlick? Abraham's smile? Christian's mischievous little personality? How would our family have been changed if he had lived? Christian would have been a big brother, which I think would have been good for him. Eva would have been a big sister, and I know she would have loved that. And my parents would still have a child in their home for the next two years.
Someday, we will know Isaac. I believe that he knows us. And I love to think of him and Jacob together, waiting for the rest of their family.
1 comment:
Gabrielle, this is really beautiful! Both your recollection and your drawing!
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