Monday, July 26, 2010

The Experience of Jacob...

So after finding out about Faces of Loss -- thanks to another Angel mom mentioning it on her blog, I decided to submit our story. In doing so, I ran across something that James wrote soon after we lost our son, Jacob. It's hard to believe that it has been almost 7 years since we said goodbye. It feels like just yesterday that we held him in our arms and created what few memories that we could during that time. We both miss him dearly, and though they were incredibly sad, we cherish those last few days that we had with him. James' words describe them so well...

The experience of Jacob
It’s amazing what shock can do to a man. The confusion it nails into your mind. Driving my wife to the hospital seemed like such a long trek. The heartbreak I felt could not be compared to anything I have experienced before. All the hopes my wife and I had were being flattened by the wheels of our car as we drove that warm and haunting morning.
She called my name out from the bathroom. I woke up in a daze. She fearfully told me that her water broke. I frantically searched our apartment for an emergency number to call. I was in a stupor. I could not believe the horror that was about to unfold. We quickly fled out of town to the nearest hospital. The next day my unit was preparing to deploy to Bosnia. The moment was too surreal to explain.
When we arrived to the hospital, the nurses laid her down on a bed to examine her. The diagnosis was not hopeful. After my wife was moved into a room, I left to quickly eat some breakfast. I knew my day would be long and I needed some sustenance. My stomach was full of grief. I could barely eat anything. I so desperately wanted to be with my wife. I stashed my dishes away and made my way back to her room. When I was in the room, I locked myself away in the bathroom. My pain began to flood my chest, which poured through my mouth and eyes. I wept. My several years of walking with God led me to believe He had a divine reason for all this horror. But I could not imagine what it was for.
Several days crept by. I still held out hope for God to bestow a miracle on us. So many people destroy their babies in the first few months of pregnancy, but yet we could not wait to hold ours and he was tragically taken from us. Every year babies are dumped into the trash, some given away, and others are born to a substance addicted mother who recklessly became pregnant through irresponsible sexual behavior. But we had to let go of our son. My wife and I were so proud of him. He hung on for two days before his fragile little body gave out, too exhausted to keep fighting. He was so strong. I know he would have been a wonderful son. All he did was move and kick inside his little home. He would have been mischievous and active. We will never get to see our dog steal his toys. I will never sit down with him and teach him the love of God. My wife will never hold our son when he gets scared from the thunderstorms. My wife and I will never find our son sneaking our dog into bed with him to protect him throughout the night. We will never gaze into his eyes as he tells us he has found the woman he wants to marry with the same excitement we had when we discovered we were having him. And we will never get to watch his amazement when he is expecting his first child.
We named him Jacob Tyler Moore. It has a ring to it. It sounds strong. It has personality. Yet it is tender as well. Qualities we found he possessed as we were in the midst of losing him. We will never forget him. And it is only by grace that my wife and I can move on, but never get over his death.


  1. This is so beautiful. James is a wonderful writer! Thank you for sharing this. We never really get a chance to hear what Dads have to say. <3

  2. James writes beautifully amd poignantly. I can imagine what you two have gone through as I and my husband Riz have just lost our 21 week old little son 18 days ago. We are from India and basic human emotions like pain, grief, joy, and all other human triumphs and tribunals know no boundary. When Riz cried seeing our cute son so silent and all perfect though tiny, it hit me that my pain was not greater than my husband's.