Letter to Owen – August 9, 2018

My Dearest Owen,

Today is the day that you got your miracle. Although it was not the miracle that we were petitioning for, you, indeed, got your miracle. You are currently experiencing Glory that we, your parents, can only imagine. You are in the arms of Jesus, dancing and singing. I am so grateful for your miracle. Selfishly though, we are destroyed.

As we walked into our normally scheduled appointment, we were feeling confident. You had moved just moments before, seeming to tell us, “Good morning, Mom and Dad.” In reality, you were saying “Goodbye, Mom and Dad. I am going to be with Jesus now. I will see you when you get here!”

As the tense moments pass, we look on at the sonographer’s screen, waiting to see your heart beat. That beat never came. We caved. The weight of the world came crashing down on our shoulders, and nothing else in the world mattered. I held your mother closely as I continued to stare at the screen in disbelief, shock and horror. Your mother, buried her face in my stomach, weeping. How could this happen? How could the Lord give us victories in your growth and development, and then decide to take you from us? What do we do now? Our little boy is gone.

We were moved into a conference room, where we met with one of your doctors. The option was ours, whether to wait to deliver your body in a few days, or go ahead and begin the process. The decision was made to go home, gather our things, get a bit of rest and then be admitted to the hospital to begin the delivery process.

The car ride home was very quiet, with the exception of a frequent interjection of sobbing from both your mother and myself. We gathered our things, and prepared ourselves for what would be the longest, and most surreal 3 days of our lives.

As we checked in, we were greeted by the nursing staff. Very quietly and somberly, we were escorted to the room, in the back corner of the labor and delivery floor at UT Southwestern. The staff was courteous and considerate, and allocated a section of their floor for us, as to not surround us with newborn babies.

For the next 40 hours, your mother labored for you. She wanted to feel the pain of childbirth. For you. She wanted to be aware of her surroundings. For you. She wanted to experience; You. The same spirit of fight that was in you, was given to you, by your mother. She too, is a fighter. Not in the confrontational sense, but in the sense of determination and persistence. She is making her last physical stand, for you.

As I relentlessly ponder my question from earlier regarding the Lord giving us victory in your development, but taking you away now, I realize something. The Lord gave us those victories to let us know that He hears, that He cares and that He already had you in the palm of His hand, even upon conception.

“This morning, the many prayers for Owen’s healing were answered. Not in the form that we would have hoped, but Owen is healthy and whole, in the arms of Jesus.”

As dear friends and family surround us in this time, we know, 100% without a doubt, where you are. I received a text today that painted the most beautiful picture. It was from a friend who had lost his son at 15 days. The text read, “Brother…there are no perfect words. Know that we love you, that we are weeping with you, and that we are here for you. I have a feeling that Abel got to embrace Owen today, and it humbles me to think about our boys being fully in the presence of our King. Praising God for the life of Owen Cooper today.” The image of Jesus, welcoming you into His kingdom, along with so many others that love you dearly, is truly amazing and gives us immense comfort. Lord, haste the day that my faith shall be my sight. Lord, haste the day that I may lay eyes on your face. Lord, haste the day that I may lay eyes on my Owen Gregory Cooper.


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