ForeverMissed
Large image
Stories

Share a special moment from Paul David's life.

Write a story

For Shana and Paul David

March 26, 2011

As Shana's close friends we were heartbroken to receive the call from Shana's mother that she had given birth to her little boy so prematurely. It was a phone call that we never expected nor wanted to receive. The three of us immediately dropped everything to be at the hospital with Shana and Paul David, nothing else mattered at that moment. It was heartbreaking for us to see her there cradling her precious son to her heart. One doesn't know what to do or say under these circumstances to comfort a friend, but we knew that being there for her and him was the most important thing.

There were many different thoughts and emotions: how unfair that this was happening to our wonderful friend that deserves more than anything to be a mother; compassion for her; sadness that Paul David's life was so short; disappointment and a sense of void for all the milestones we wouldn't be sharing with Shana and Paul.
 

Shana asked us to attend the memorial service  at UNC hospital. Of course we wanted to attend to pay our respects to Paul and to support Shana, who was seeking more peace each day. The memorial service was beautiful - filled with songs, stories, and poems.  Many families shared their sad, sad stories and there wasn't a dry eye in the room.  In a time when one feels very lonely in dealing with such a difficult loss, this service was a way to feel not quite as alone.  We were glad that we were able to accompany Shana and her mom to this service - in an attempt  for each of us to begin to find some closure with the idea that Paul's life was taken so unfairly.

We were and still often are at a loss for how best to comfort Shana and show our support. We may be weak in our words, but we are strong in our love for her and baby Paul.  He is missed, and Shana, you are loved.

Love Jenn, Maggi, & Wendy

Paul David, you made a difference

March 25, 2011

Paul David Gillen

 

The first time I heard your name it made me pause. Paul and David were both mighty men of God; they impacted the world around them and they each made a difference in the lives they touched.

 

Little one, your life on earth may not have been long – but in those 18 & ½ weeks you impacted the lives you touched. You changed your Mommy in ways that will continue to reveal themselves. You see- to hold a human being in your arms that was created and grown inside your body changes a woman forever. The world becomes a different place, seen through different eyes.

 

Beautiful baby boy when I saw your pictures – I wept and I weep still, for your Mommy and for her arms that cannot hold you and her heart filled with love for you that you are not here to receive in person. Paul David your Mommy loves you very much and always will.

 

I wish I could do something to change things, to help your Mommy, but I cannot. There is no “fixing it”, no changing it, no making things better. Your Mommy will live all the days of her life loving you, until one day she passes beyond the veil and holds you in her arms again. You will laugh and dance then, and hold each other tight…. until that time, my prayer is that your Mom feels your spirit touch her every now and then. That when she looks upon flowers blooming, the sun rising, the ocean roaring…. may she feel your spirit brush her heart. May your Mommy find comfort and peace deep inside her soul. May your Mommy find the strength to keep on going, to live life fully, to climb mountains – may she impact the world around her and touch lives - for you, Paul David.

 

Shana – I am so honored and humbled that you shared Paul David’s passing and pictures with me; and now this memorial page with me. I am honored to call you friend. You and Paul David have touched me more than you know and this has changed my life, it changed my perspective and made me love and appreciate a bit more.

 

Paul David - you made a difference. You may not have lived long – but little one; you impacted the world around you, you changed lives and you touched hearts. May we each aspire to do the same in the lives we touch each day. Thank you little one for reminding us how to live.

Tom's Story

March 24, 2011

I am telling Tom's story because I know he will never tell it himself, preferring not to put himself forward. Paul was his step-grandson, and just as Tom loves Paul's cousins and they love him, he looked forward to welcoming this newest member of our family. 

 

After Paul was born and died, it became clear to Shana that she needed a special place to keep his Comfort Cub urn and other precious keepsakes safe from dust and from curious pups and kitties. Here was Tom's opportunity to express his feelings in a tangible way. In North Carolina, we measured and told him what was needed. In New Hampshire, he drew a design. He bought wood, carefully picking pieces with the most beautiful grain. He measured and sawed and sanded and routered. Day by day, Paul's cabinet took shape. Though Tom has difficulty standing for long  periods due to an old injury, he spent day after day on his feet in his workshop. Every detail had to be perfect. Every piece was fitted to perfection using a joiner, biscuits, dowels, glue, and clamps so the finish would have no imperfections.

 

When the cabinet was done, Tom asked his good friend Alan, a professional painter, if he would apply the stain. Alan, though he had never met Shana, had shared Tom's sorrow at losing Paul. Now Alan said he would be honored to help with the cabinet. For three mornings, he came to our house before work to apply successive coats of stain.

 

Then Tom added the finishing touches, and Paul's cabinet was ready for its journey to North Carolina. It was truly a labor of love by Tom, and also his friend Alan, two more hearts deeply touched by little Paul.

 

March 21, 2011

                    To Paul David Gillen

Though we never met you

You gently touched our lives.

Ounces of might and miracle

Your spirit still survives.

 

While some have many decades

You only had an hour.

Yet you brought forth love

To blossom, grow and flower.

 

You pulled family together

To share worry, warmth and tears.

You proved your mom courageous,

Your grandma loyal and true.

 

We wish you'd had more time

For fun and growth and joy.

But your impact was immense

For one tiny, little boy.     

 

Written for Paul, late March 2010.    Sue Hale

A missing member of our family

March 20, 2011

When I learned that my sister, Shana, was expecting a baby, my picture of our family began to grow to include him.  I imagined taking my three-year-old daughter and six-year-old son down to North Carolina to meet their new baby cousin for the first time.   I imagined how gentle and protective they would be, and how proud they would be to finally be the “big” cousins.   I was excited to have my very first nephew . . .  despite having five of them on my husband’s side, there is something so different and special about your own sister having a baby.   I began going through my own kids’ baby clothes, toys and blankets, putting things aside for our newest family member.

As time went on, I began to envision him as he grew bigger.   I imagined him being with us on Christmas mornings, toddling around the Christmas tree, his cousins petting his head affectionately.  I imagined him visiting us in the summers, playing in our backyard and splashing at our pool.  When we visited Washington D.C. for a few days with our kids, I imagined someday going back to show the little guy the same sights.  I couldn’t wait to meet him and to have him be a part of things.

In late March, we knew there was a chance that things were going horribly wrong, but there was still hope.   All hope ended on the afternoon of March 28.   I was outside in my driveway when my cell phone rang.   It was Shana, calling to say that her water had broken and that she was in labor and on her way to the hospital with our Mom.   I had never before heard the sound of someone so upset, in so much pain both physically and emotionally.  I gathered all my strength to try to help my sister through the next minutes.  I stayed on the phone with her, trying to help keep her somewhat calm.    The phone call ended when they reached the hospital.  Then, I waited.

I sat on our front porch and just stared into space, in shock, for what felt like hours.  I made a few phone calls, to inform other family members.   I also called two friends, both of whom had lost babies prematurely.  It was comforting to be able to speak to them.  I truly believe that no one else can really understand.  Eventually, the phone rang again and it was my Mom with the news that Paul had been born alive and that Shana was holding him. 

Much later that night, I started to make calls about cremating my nephew.   Even later, I sat in the kitchen and just sobbed . 

The next days, weeks and months passed in a blur.   My head felt foggy and unclear.  The loss of Paul weighed heavily on my heart.    On a freezing cold April day, we planted a persimmon tree in Paul’s honor.  On a hot and humid August day, the day he should have been born, we visited it again. 

I learned for the first time that a good friend had lost a baby under somewhat similar circumstances,  about seven years earlier.   She told me that she had held her baby and read stories to her before saying good bye forever.  She said that ever since, in her mind time was simply divided into “before” and “after” it happened.  She was grateful to me that I let her tell me her story and speak about her little girl, Nicole.  I was grateful to her that she let me tell our story about Shana’s baby, Paul.   He had a place in our family waiting for him before he was ever born.  

My Grandson Paul

March 18, 2011
03 Deep Blue Sea

I am Paul's grandma, Shana's mom, and this is my story about Paul.

A word about the music: The beautiful lullaby "Deep Blue Sea" is sung by Snatam Kaur, who graciously gave us permission to use it on this website in memory of Paul.  You can use the player above to listen as you read.

 

 The hours preceding Paul's birth were filled with pain and panic. We knew we were losing him, and that was unbearable. Then he was born, and the doctor asked Shana if she wanted to see him. At that point, we all assumed he was stillborn. Shana hesitated a moment and then, with great trepidation, decided yes, she wanted to see him. The instant that the doctor held him up in Shana's line of vision, a mother's love for her child overcame all other emotions. Shana instinctively reached for him and cradled her tiny son. Yes, he was very premature and not the newborn we had envisioned in our dreams. But he was beautiful and perfect, and there was no way you could have seen that tiny boy and not have loved him.

 

What happened next? It's a blur, though the atmosphere in the delivery room was subdued, calm, and caring. Two things I remember clearly. One was Shana's doctor briefly examining the baby and exclaiming, "He has a heartbeat!" The other was someone asking, "What's his name?"

 

I will always be grateful to the labor and delivery staff for their kindness and consideration. Everyone called Paul by his name, commented on how strong and beautiful he was, and treated him with the same gentle respect as if he were a full-term newborn. They wrapped him in a blanket and gave him back to his mom to hold.

 

Some people may wonder whether they would want to see and hold and bond with a baby born so prematurely, either stillborn or, like Paul, born alive but with no hope of ultimate survival. Later, the grief counselor at the hospital gave Shana a book of letters written by other parents who had suffered early losses. One dad wrote that he and his wife had two huge regrets: they hadn't named their daughter, and they had not seen her. Later, they did decide to give her the name they'd picked out, but they could never rectify the mistake they'd made by not seeing her and holding her, if only for a few precious moments.

 

I will be forever grateful for the time I was able to spend with my grandson Paul. Anyone can understand why it was so important to me to be there with my daughter, but unless you've had a similar experience, I wonder if you can appreciate what a tremendous gift it was for me to be there with Paul. For an incredible 82 minutes, against all odds, his brave little heart kept on beating. The doctors performed no procedures on him, as he was too premature to survive. Therefore, he spent almost his entire life being held by his mom, and also his grandma. Yes, there were tears, but they were quiet tears. We marveled at his tiny hands and feet, perfect right down to his miniature fingernails and toenails. We tried to memorize the look of his precious little ears and nose, his elbows and knees, his ribcage, his shoulder blades. Several times he opened and closed his eyes, and opened and closed his mouth. He was there. He was with us.

 

Paul David Gillen spent almost the whole of his brief life in the safety of his mother's arms, surrounded by peace and love. Through all the grief of losing him, I will always cherish the memory of those intensely sad but intensely beautiful moments with my precious grandson Paul.

 

 

 

 

Poem written around the time of his original due date

March 5, 2011


They said you were within six weeks of viability
I dared to hope and to believe you’d grow up here with me.
Instead something went wrong and you were born too soon to stay
We said hello and then goodbye that very same March day.  

How different would life be right now if you had made it through?
I feel so very cheated and that you were cheated too.
I’ll never watch you sleeping in my arms or in your crib
Won’t ever get to feed you, so you’ll never need a bib.  

It breaks my heart as well to think you didn’t get to wear

The little clothes I chose for you with so much thought and care.
You never got a chance to play with even just one toy
Also picked out specially for my darling baby boy.  

I wonder how your hair would look, the color of your eyes,
And how it would have felt to have the chance to calm your cries.
When would you have learned to crawl, and afterward to walk?
What would your first word have been when you began to talk?  

I can’t read you a bedtime story nor sing a lullaby
I never thought your day of birth would be the day you’d die,
That I wouldn’t change your diapers or give you one single bath,
Or later teach you how to read and help you to do math.  

Others grieve when their children leave for kindergarten or college
But I’d give everything I have if I could gain the knowledge
Of what it would be like to part for only just awhile
Confident that you’d be back home later with a smile.  

Friends say, “Sorry for your loss,” like I’ve misplaced my keys,
And then go right on with their lives as happy as they please.
Shattered dreams aren’t understood by those whose are intact.
“Try again,” they reason, as if that could bring you back.  

They don’t know what to say, and so most don’t come by or call.
Some did not acknowledge once the death of baby Paul,
Or shook their heads as they declared, “It wasn’t meant to be.”
Those words intend to comfort, but they’re meaningless to me.  

Some figure God needs angels and say I should be just fine,
But they can’t tell me why it is that He keeps taking mine.
Or, “You’ll get over him,” as if I broke up with some guy.
That kind of pain cannot compare to what now makes me cry.  

“I understand what you’re going though,” they state, with no idea.
“He’s in a better place, rejoice!” when that’s not how I feel.
"Don't think about it," they advise. "Just go out and have fun!"
Because they don’t know what it’s like to lose your only son.  

I've got pictures in a scrapbook and your ashes in an urn
The blanket you were wrapped in on the night that you were born
Your tiny hand and footprints and certificate of birth
Reminders that I treasure of your brief time on this Earth.  

Your cousins didn’t meet you but instead planted a tree,
Dedicated a persimmon in your memory.
Just the sweetest gesture that I never will forget;
How wonderful it would have been if you three could have met.  

If you could visit grandparents, spend time with family,
And blow out birthday candles, it would mean the world to me.
You’ll never trick-or-treat or open gifts, play Candy Land.
We can’t go to the beach and create castles in the sand.  

Would you have been athletic, smart, or musically inclined?
Which girl would one day win your heart, loving and so kind?
All this and more I’ll never know since you’re no longer here
I love you and I miss you, son, my sweet Paul baby dear.                                

Share a story

 
Add a document, picture, song, or video
Add an attachment Add a media attachment to your story
You can illustrate your story with a photo, video, song, or PDF document attachment.