Our Story Part 5
Coming home
I don't remember the drive home, but I do remember walking in the door. We were greeted by a very eager puppy. She wiggled, and jumped, and spun in circles over and over. I knelt down, very slowly, sat on the floor and let her climb all over and lick me. It felt good. It felt like coming home.
We had gotten her in December of 05. I was about 4 months pregnant and everyone thought I was crazy to get a puppy in the dead of winter AND with a new baby on the way. People told me I wouldn't have time for her when the baby would be born. That my priorities would shift. That she wouldn't get any attention. She would get lonely and be destructive.
Needless to say, they were wrong. Very wrong.
My parents had stopped over the night before to let her out. They offered to take her back to their place since we would be gone over night. As selfish as it was, I said no. Even though it meant she would be locked up in our kitchen, I wanted to come home to her. I wanted the puppy licks. Coming home to an empty silent house would have been too much too handle.
I had asked my parents to remove the major baby items from the living room. The boppy, the swing, and whatever else I had left laying about. I didn't expect them to go through my cupboards or anything, but I just wanted things tossed into the nursery.
What ached the most? The handmade, family heirloom cradle was noticeably gone. My grandfather made it about 10 years earlier and gave it to my mom to loan to each of her grandchildren to sleep in. My brother's three kids had all used it. Curtis was to be the fourth. It had been in our living room. I remember the day my mom brought it over. She took a picture of Craig and I standing next to the cradle. She said "I can put these pictures side by side. You and Craig and the empty cradle. And then you, Craig, and the baby in the cradle."
Talk about a haunting statement. I wonder what ever happened to that picture? I never saw it.
Craig and I fell into our normal "at home" routine. I sat down at my computer to check my email and message boards. I have tons of online friends and communities I belong to. I wanted to post, I wanted to tell people I was okay, I wanted their words of comfort. I wanted them to know my anger and hurt....but I wanted them to know my son. Craig made a few phone calls, letting people know we were home.
While I was posting online and sending out email when Craig's phone rang.
It was the funeral home.
They asked to meet with us to go over our wishes and thoughts.
Good lord. I could barely spell my own name at this point. We were so exhausted. We agreed to a later afternoon meeting.
We decided to try to take a nap before meeting with the funeral home. One of the things I remember most about the first few days, heck week, after losing Curtis was Craig and I glued to each other's sides. He went into the kitchen, so did I. One of us woke up, we stayed by the other's side until the other woke up.
We laid down in the bed together. Tears falling from both of our eyes. I used to lay in bed and not be able to see down to the bedpost. Now that my stomach was deflated, I could see it again. Out of habit, I rubbed my hand over my stomach. If felt squishy and flabby, where it used to feel hard and firm. I jerked it away and started to sob.
We fell into a restless sleep.
Our parents wanted to come to the funeral home with us. We still hadn't discussed what we were going to do. In Craig's Catholic family the norm is a viewing of the body, full burial, cemetery plot, the whole nine yards.
I knew Craig and I were not prepared, financially or emotionally, to decide where Curtis' resting place would be...forever. The only thing I knew for sure was wherever he ended up, I wanted to be next to him sometime in the future. I didn't want to decide that right that second. I knew we couldn't afford 3 cemetery plots. Craig and I had never even discussed OUR wishes in the event of our deaths.
When we were getting dressed, an idea came to me. I wanted Curtis to come home with us. It wasn't the way we had wanted, but I couldn't stand him buried away from me.
I approached Craig with my idea. We have Curtis cremated and his ashes come home with us. Then, we take a small amount of those ashes up to Craig's family cabin and spread them on the lake shore. The rest of the ashes stay home with us. Then, in the future when we die, Curtis is placed with us. Wherever that may be. Whether we are buried or cremated.
The cabin idea was what sealed it for Craig. His family had owned that property for 30 years. Every summer as a boy, and now adult, he was up there numerous times. He liked the idea of sharing that with Curtis. Of having a piece of him at the place that meant so much to him.
Our in laws had mentioned "Baby Land" at local cemeteries. Rows and rows of babies all placed together at the cemetery. While I think the idea is sweet, I didn't want Curtis away from us. Our in laws were used to having a place to visit their loved one after they died. We solved this problem later, but I stuck firm to wanting his ashes home with us. I know they were just worried that having his ashes would make it hard on us. When, in fact, the thought of it gave me great comfort.
My parents drove us to the funeral home. I remember getting out of the car and my dad a step or two ahead. I was lingering, waiting for Craig to catch up and my dad reached back for my hand and I hesitated. My mom quickly said to him "She wants to hold hands with her husband." My dad's face fell, and he nodded. My heart broke for him. He didn't know how to comfort his daughter. His extending his hand wasn't meant as a replacement for my husband, it was just a dad trying to comfort his daughter.
We met a young man named Colin. He couldn't have been more than 24. I wanted to ask him how in the world was he in the funeral home business. I was fairly sure he was an intern of some sort as he stumbled his way through helping us. He was never unprofessional, and he did look completely comfortable helping us, but his choice of words and almost....happy....way of dealing with us was a little odd.
We sat down and he asked what we were thinking. I took a deep breath and explained to our families what we were thinking. Cremation. Small, close family and friends service, ashes home with us, spreading some at the lake. Everyone nodded, eyes being dabbed. "I...I ...we....just need him home. "
With Colin's help, we came up with a small obituary. This is another regret. He gave us one that we modeled Curtis' after. Now, I wish it had more details. I wish it had said how much we loved him. I wish it said I was pregnant 40 weeks.
Only living people get obituaries. This was one of the few pieces of evidence that I would have that Curtis was a living human being. And I mucked it up.
We agreed to a small service on Saturday. I had stated close friends and family. So, essentially, Curtis' funeral was invitation only. Colin encouraged us to bring music we like, he encouraged us to bring special items of his. He said the ashes could be on display.
Craig looked confused. I realized he thought there would be a viewing. He didn't fully understand that cremation is instead of a viewing. I touched his arm and shook my head no. My heart ached. I thought he knew when we said goodbye to him in the hospital, that was the last time. With the way Craig had been a part of funerals in the past, there had always been a viewing. He had assumed that with Curtis. Craig nodded. To this day, the look on his face haunts me. He looked stunned, but agreed. For me.
Colin pulled out a catalogue and wanted us to pick out an urn. He said there wasn't much for children and we were welcomed to pick an adult one though it may be very big. He flipped to the back page and showed us the 4 urns we had to pick from. Two were very girly. One was a blue box with an angel boy engraved on it. One was a teddy bear. I looked at the prices. The blue box one was $150, the teddy bear was $500. I pointed to the blue box one, despite the fact I didn't really like it.
Money had been tight for Craig and I. We were deeply in debt and struggling to make ends meet. I felt guilty for wanting the $500 urn. Craig shook his head and said he really wanted the teddy bear one.
I couldn't help but sob. Here I was, so concerned about the prices. I didn't even realize how I had been planning on dropping $1,000 a month in daycare, and I felt guilty about spending $500 on my son's urn. I agreed to the teddy bear. In a weird way, I was excited about that urn.
We didn't have a priest local and Colin said he could arrange someone to come and say a few words, if we liked. We agreed, thankful for not having to go through the work of it ourselves. He said he would make a few phone calls and we should expect the priest to be calling us within the next day.
We left the funeral home and my parents dropped us off, hugged us, and left. They were drained. I have no idea how it feels to be them, they were grieving their grandchild, but they also ached so much for us.
I saw something sitting outside our front door and went to look. There, all over our front patio, were 4 or 5 flower deliveries.
"Why in the world are people sending us flowers?" I wondered to myself. I was truly baffled.
Then it hit me. People send flowers when someone had died. I was still in shock.
My son had died. People send flowers when someone has died.
My son was dead.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
Our Story, Part 4
After goodbye.
After we sent Curtis away, we were left in that hospital room. They brought us a tray of food, I hadn't eaten at all that day. I picked at the bread on the sandwich, ate the ice cream, and we began to pour over the materials that had been left in the room.
The materials I was so digusted by, I found comfort in. I clearly remember Craig reading a passage out of one of the books that talked about how, after you lose a baby, you see babies everywhere.
We tried to turn on the TV, but it wasn't working. We asked the nurse about it and she couldn't fix it, but asked us if we would mind moving rooms. We went ahead and moved. I couldn't stand the thought of a silent room. I had a silent baby today. I wanted the comforting background noise of a TV. I wasn't expecting much sleep to be had, so I wanted something to watch as well. We got settled into another room.
I remember laying in the bed, pulling out my cell phone and starting to text people. "He was born at 5:31pm. He looked so much like Craig. They think it was a cord accident." Craig sat in the chair next to me, but I remember little of this time together. Both stuck in quiet reflection, reading articles on how 80% of couples who lose a child divorce. Lovely.
We decided to turn off the lights and try to get some sleep. The nurse asked me to please buzz her if I woke up in the middle of the night because they had to take my blood pressure.
I didn't sleep. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the following days. The following months. Everything I had expected my life to be after giving birth, it wouldn't be. I expected sleepless nights. I expected baby smiles. I expected hard time adjusting to parenthood. I expected me exasperated with my husband. I never went into parenthood expecting perfection and how wonderful it would all be. I had enough mom friends to know the truth. But, despite knowing the down side, I was well aware of the upside and I was okay with all of it. I was ready to take on the good AND the bad.
Around midnight I buzzed the nurse to come in and take my blood pressure.
She said she was glad I buzzed, because, well there was an influx of women in the midst of labor, and we were still in a delivery room and another mom coming in to give birth....and would I mind moving off the floor? I would still be an maternity ward patient but...
Kim and Mary Beth were long gone at this point. They were the only nurses okay at taking care of pregnancy and infant loss patients. This woman clearly was not versed in their comforting language and their thoughtfulness.
I said it was fine. This time we had a longer hike down the hall. I was grasping the gown behind my back and shuffling down the hall, past the other delivery rooms. I was in a bit of pain, and moving slowly. All of a sudden I heard it. Wooop. Wooop. Wooop. Loud. Clear. And strong. A baby's heartbeat.
"I hear a heartbeat."
The nurse stammered. "I am so sorry, I should have closed the door."
"No, it is okay. I just, well, my son didn't have a heartbeat."
She doesn't say anything.
We get to a much smaller room, but a room with two beds. Craig is able to lay down. I lay in the other bed and look around the room. On the wall there is a whiteboard. It says something like "No Me without You!" It is an information board all about the mom and baby.
My board remains empty.
I had wanted to go home. The doctor said I could have gone home immediately after delivery if I wanted. I think Craig was scared. I was bleeding a lot, I was in pain, I just had been through emotional hell....he probably was afraid I would flip out. So he prefered that we stay at the hospital where he had help keeping an eye on me. He didn't say that of course. My parents and his thought it was a good idea as well. Just to make sure I was healing okay after childbirth.
At 6am, I was ready to get the hell out. I hadn't slept much. I know I got a few hours here and there through the night, but at 6am, I decided I wanted to go home. Even if it meant going home without my son. Going home to his nursery and baby swing and his laundry still in the dryer.
We alerted the nurses we were ready to go, but it was a painfully slow process. There was lab work to be done, and nurses to meet with. The lab nurse had tears in her eyes when she walked in. She told us she had lost her son a few years ago, he was 21. We made the appropriate "oh I am sorry" comments. But it felt hollow. We didn't care about her loss. We cared about ours. Looking back, I appreciate her reaching out to us.
A social worker comes in and helps us fill out of information for our Certificate of Birth Resulting in Stillbirth. She is nervous about it because it is a new law they had just passed and it was her first time doing one and she was afraid she would mess up. Well, she did, but we were able to get it fixed later. She too, lost a child, she tells us. A 14 year old daughter.
Kim, our nurse who delivered Curtis (because let's face it, a doctor who comes in for the last push does not count) comes to go over my discharge papers. She looks exhausted. I had been looking forward to seeing her again, she was so kind the previous day, but now she can barely look at us. I wonder if she was hoping we would be gone so she didn't have to be confronted with us again. We were emotionally draining people. She probably wanted to get back to her happy patients and happy families. I am sure it isn't easy going through a stillbirth with patients. Who knows what it was like for her to go home at the end of the day, being a part of something like she had been a part of with us.
Finally, they allow us to leave. Craig is instructed to go get the car and meet us out front. Kim tells me "I will call the funeral home and they will get his body."
Chills run up and down my spine.
"I...I ....uh, last night. When we had the nurse take him away. I thought he went to funeral home already."
She looks at me.
"I just...he was alone all night."
She is quiet.
"It's okay, I just didn't know he was still here, in the hospital. I thought, I mean, I thought he was gone." My heart is aching. I hated the thought of us in the same building together and us not with him. We had chose to send him away, but I thought he would be sent to the funeral home. Not alone in some morgue. It felt like I had abandoned him.
I climb in the wheelchair they insist upon and she pushes me to the elevator. We go down to the front, and out where Craig is waiting with the car.
The carseat installed in the back.
I take my flowers and bag. I climb slowly in the front. I thank Kim. Despite her quietness this morning, she had been a God send through Curtis' birth. She came in on her day off, she held our hand, she was one of the select few who would ever get to meet Curtis. While brushing away tears, I tell her she is good at her job. I thank her again.
I shut the car door and we go home. Without our son.
After goodbye.
After we sent Curtis away, we were left in that hospital room. They brought us a tray of food, I hadn't eaten at all that day. I picked at the bread on the sandwich, ate the ice cream, and we began to pour over the materials that had been left in the room.
The materials I was so digusted by, I found comfort in. I clearly remember Craig reading a passage out of one of the books that talked about how, after you lose a baby, you see babies everywhere.
We tried to turn on the TV, but it wasn't working. We asked the nurse about it and she couldn't fix it, but asked us if we would mind moving rooms. We went ahead and moved. I couldn't stand the thought of a silent room. I had a silent baby today. I wanted the comforting background noise of a TV. I wasn't expecting much sleep to be had, so I wanted something to watch as well. We got settled into another room.
I remember laying in the bed, pulling out my cell phone and starting to text people. "He was born at 5:31pm. He looked so much like Craig. They think it was a cord accident." Craig sat in the chair next to me, but I remember little of this time together. Both stuck in quiet reflection, reading articles on how 80% of couples who lose a child divorce. Lovely.
We decided to turn off the lights and try to get some sleep. The nurse asked me to please buzz her if I woke up in the middle of the night because they had to take my blood pressure.
I didn't sleep. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the following days. The following months. Everything I had expected my life to be after giving birth, it wouldn't be. I expected sleepless nights. I expected baby smiles. I expected hard time adjusting to parenthood. I expected me exasperated with my husband. I never went into parenthood expecting perfection and how wonderful it would all be. I had enough mom friends to know the truth. But, despite knowing the down side, I was well aware of the upside and I was okay with all of it. I was ready to take on the good AND the bad.
Around midnight I buzzed the nurse to come in and take my blood pressure.
She said she was glad I buzzed, because, well there was an influx of women in the midst of labor, and we were still in a delivery room and another mom coming in to give birth....and would I mind moving off the floor? I would still be an maternity ward patient but...
Kim and Mary Beth were long gone at this point. They were the only nurses okay at taking care of pregnancy and infant loss patients. This woman clearly was not versed in their comforting language and their thoughtfulness.
I said it was fine. This time we had a longer hike down the hall. I was grasping the gown behind my back and shuffling down the hall, past the other delivery rooms. I was in a bit of pain, and moving slowly. All of a sudden I heard it. Wooop. Wooop. Wooop. Loud. Clear. And strong. A baby's heartbeat.
"I hear a heartbeat."
The nurse stammered. "I am so sorry, I should have closed the door."
"No, it is okay. I just, well, my son didn't have a heartbeat."
She doesn't say anything.
We get to a much smaller room, but a room with two beds. Craig is able to lay down. I lay in the other bed and look around the room. On the wall there is a whiteboard. It says something like "No Me without You!" It is an information board all about the mom and baby.
My board remains empty.
I had wanted to go home. The doctor said I could have gone home immediately after delivery if I wanted. I think Craig was scared. I was bleeding a lot, I was in pain, I just had been through emotional hell....he probably was afraid I would flip out. So he prefered that we stay at the hospital where he had help keeping an eye on me. He didn't say that of course. My parents and his thought it was a good idea as well. Just to make sure I was healing okay after childbirth.
At 6am, I was ready to get the hell out. I hadn't slept much. I know I got a few hours here and there through the night, but at 6am, I decided I wanted to go home. Even if it meant going home without my son. Going home to his nursery and baby swing and his laundry still in the dryer.
We alerted the nurses we were ready to go, but it was a painfully slow process. There was lab work to be done, and nurses to meet with. The lab nurse had tears in her eyes when she walked in. She told us she had lost her son a few years ago, he was 21. We made the appropriate "oh I am sorry" comments. But it felt hollow. We didn't care about her loss. We cared about ours. Looking back, I appreciate her reaching out to us.
A social worker comes in and helps us fill out of information for our Certificate of Birth Resulting in Stillbirth. She is nervous about it because it is a new law they had just passed and it was her first time doing one and she was afraid she would mess up. Well, she did, but we were able to get it fixed later. She too, lost a child, she tells us. A 14 year old daughter.
Kim, our nurse who delivered Curtis (because let's face it, a doctor who comes in for the last push does not count) comes to go over my discharge papers. She looks exhausted. I had been looking forward to seeing her again, she was so kind the previous day, but now she can barely look at us. I wonder if she was hoping we would be gone so she didn't have to be confronted with us again. We were emotionally draining people. She probably wanted to get back to her happy patients and happy families. I am sure it isn't easy going through a stillbirth with patients. Who knows what it was like for her to go home at the end of the day, being a part of something like she had been a part of with us.
Finally, they allow us to leave. Craig is instructed to go get the car and meet us out front. Kim tells me "I will call the funeral home and they will get his body."
Chills run up and down my spine.
"I...I ....uh, last night. When we had the nurse take him away. I thought he went to funeral home already."
She looks at me.
"I just...he was alone all night."
She is quiet.
"It's okay, I just didn't know he was still here, in the hospital. I thought, I mean, I thought he was gone." My heart is aching. I hated the thought of us in the same building together and us not with him. We had chose to send him away, but I thought he would be sent to the funeral home. Not alone in some morgue. It felt like I had abandoned him.
I climb in the wheelchair they insist upon and she pushes me to the elevator. We go down to the front, and out where Craig is waiting with the car.
The carseat installed in the back.
I take my flowers and bag. I climb slowly in the front. I thank Kim. Despite her quietness this morning, she had been a God send through Curtis' birth. She came in on her day off, she held our hand, she was one of the select few who would ever get to meet Curtis. While brushing away tears, I tell her she is good at her job. I thank her again.
I shut the car door and we go home. Without our son.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Our Story, Part 3
4 hours with our son
As I lay touching his nose so carefully, I could barely think. What do I do with his still pink body, his little nose, but his sleeping eyes? He was absolutely perfect. There was nothing wrong with him, no deformity the ultrasound had missed. The only thing they had mentioned was the cord. I asked if that was it, had the nuchal cord killed my son? The nurse nodded, but the doctor said no. It wasn't a question we would have answered that day. And it wasn't a question that would ever be answered "for sure."
Kim asked if she should take him away, clean him up, and bring him back. I said yes. The doctor was still working on me. I needed stitches. I had progressed fast. I looked to my left and saw the nurse put a little diaper on him. She was wiping off all of the blood and whatever else was on him so carefully.
At one point she picked up his leg and when she let go, it just fell back on the table. I looked away. That fall to the table was what truly drove home that fact that our son was dead. A living baby would have left that leg suspended in the air. Or kicked it around. But our baby....it was limp. It just fell.
I asked how long he had been gone for, probably just a day or two. He was in great condition, I was told.
The doctor tells us we did an amazing job, that I showed grace and we were an amazing couple. He said to make a follow up appointment, shook my hand, and was gone.
The nurse brought me Curtis wrapped in a dark blue blanket with yarn knotted in various locations. I am sure it was made by some sweet volunteer for the dead baby program at the hospital. But, truth be told, it was an ugly blanket. All of my pictures of Curtis have this ugly blanket in it. I was too scared to ask him to be wrapped in the fuzzy blue blanket in the diaper bag. The blanket we had anticipated him using right after his birth. The blanket my mother in law had given us. So the ugly, non fuzzy, blanket it was. When Kim placed Curtis next to me, she stayed, with her arm still near him and tears ran down her face. I can still see her face, her wet eyes, looking at my baby boy. It meant a lot to me that she felt real emotion for our son.
After Kim handed us Curtis, I sat up, and took a long look at my baby boy. I felt....nothing. That breaks my heart to write. I didn't know what to feel. Do I feel sad? Do I feel angry? Do I feel relieved delivery is finally over? Do I feel happy that I finally get to see his face? So I just felt...nothing.
Craig sat next to me on the bed just look at this face. He looked like he felt so much more. He looked like he felt love. He looked at me and said "I wanted to learn how to change his diaper."
My heart opened up and I felt it all. I felt the overwhelming love that mother's feel for their babies. I felt proud. I felt excited. But, it was so much to process when it surrounded a baby who was dead. That was an issue I faced, and continue to face, in the wake of his death. Being proud of my stillborn son. Something most people don't understand. I was a new mom! I wanted the world to marvel over the perfection that is my baby. But no one saw that. But me. I saw that.
I saw that on May 31st, 2006 and I see it to this day.
We sat looking at Curtis. Holding him. Spending a short amount of time the 3 of us. "Should we have our families come in?" I asked Craig.
"No. Not yet," He looked at me confused. I admit, I was anxious. I wanted them to come in and meet him. Even though he was gone, I wanted to show him off.
Eventually we invite our families to come in. I remember them pouring through the delivery room door, me holding my son. Each and everyone looked terrified. Wondering about what the next step would be.
At some point while I was in labor, we had asked my brother in laws to go to our car and bring in the diaper bag. We had also asked them to go to our house and let out our dog and bring that outfit from my mother in law that was on the counter.
We gave my dad the camera and he started taking dozens of pictures. The pictures tell the story of our 4 hours with our son. Each person, with the exception of my grandfather, holding our son. Each person with tears in their eyes. Makeup less faces. Each picture with each person looking distraught. My memories of this time are because of those pictures.
There is a picture of me and Craig holding our son. Our faces our flat, our eyes puffy. Staring at the camera. And then, there is a picture taken right after where I realize that I should try to smile. That I am holding my son, damn it. I am holding my son that I waited 9 months for! So I force a smile, it isn't my true smile, but it does reflect some of what I was feeling that day. I know most people don't understand that, however spending 4 hours with my baby boy was a reason to smile.
We have dozens and dozens of pictures. Kim has been taking some, my dad has made sure to take plenty. I am so scared of holding my son, that I never unwrap him. I never look at his feet myself. I never touch his hands myself. When they laid Curtis on me, I never took my eyes off of his face, so I never even verified for myself he is a boy. A fact that escapes me until months later. And when that fact smacks me upside the head, I cannot shake it. I cannot shake the fact that I am a mother of a little boy and I have never seen that boy naked.
We had a video camera with us that day. It was packed in the diaper bag. After all, I was 40 weeks pregnant going into my doctor's appointment. We opted not to take it out, something I regret. It is one of many regrets I have over that day. We did dress Curtis in the outfit my mother in law had bought a few days before his birth. A blue onesie and matching pants. The onesie stating "Thank Heaven for Little Boys."
The nurses get footprints and handprints. They clip some of his barely there hair. I get a copy, our moms get a copy. They do as many things possible that day. Normal things, normal moms get. But I have to cram it all in just 4 short hours.
We had numerous phone calls that days and a few flower deliveries. We were told that the Catholic priest in town would not do a baptism since the baby was dead. My Catholic in laws were horrified. The hospital offered their chaplin to do a blessing, which we agreed to. Two of my sister in laws hurried to the hospital and made it in time to be a part of the blessing. I remember the kind chaplin using a sea shell to hold the tiniest amount of water and pouring it on Curtis' head. I know he said some kind things. Said some kind prayers. But I wasn't paying attention. He told us how sorry he was and left.
It was now after 8pm and our families started to say our goodbyes. My grandparents had left before the blessing, my grandfather struggling with his emotions. My parents hugged us and gave Curtis one final kiss on the head. My in laws tell me how wonderful I am, how amazing I have been that day.
Kim was getting ready to leave, she had stayed late to be a part of the blessing with us. The next nurse, Mary Beth, was also part of the fetal demise program and said she would help us do things like get foot print molds.
They take Curtis away on occasion. Testing various things, taking blood, a sample of his skin. Trying to figure out what happened. We opted against the autopsy. I don't want to put his little body through that. I can't have them open him up. I just can't. I don't want to imagine that. The cord killed him, I am convinced at that point.
We have to decide on a funeral home. We have to decide what to do with his body. Whenever we are ready, they will call the funeral home and they will come get him from the morgue.
The nurses offers a free service from the company that takes photos of newborns. We can get some other pictures of Curtis, they will take them for free and send them in the mail. I say yes, I knew I wanted as many pictures as possible. I ask them to take off his hat because we don't have any pictures with is hat off. They take him away for these photos.
They bring him back and it is just the three of us. Craig sits on the chair with him, just holding him, looking at his little face. Tears. So many tears. Eventually he is placed in my arms again. His little face is starting to change so much. His mouth is starting to fall open. Blood is starting to come out of his nose.
The time is coming.
"He is starting to change. I want to remember him like this. A perfect baby."
Craig nods. He agrees. We sit on the bed together, the three of us. We tell Curtis we love him. We tell Curtis of all the plans we had. We tell Curtis about the dog. How they were going to be partners in crime.
Then we call the nurse, put our baby boy in her arms, and allow her to take him away forever.
4 hours with our son
As I lay touching his nose so carefully, I could barely think. What do I do with his still pink body, his little nose, but his sleeping eyes? He was absolutely perfect. There was nothing wrong with him, no deformity the ultrasound had missed. The only thing they had mentioned was the cord. I asked if that was it, had the nuchal cord killed my son? The nurse nodded, but the doctor said no. It wasn't a question we would have answered that day. And it wasn't a question that would ever be answered "for sure."
Kim asked if she should take him away, clean him up, and bring him back. I said yes. The doctor was still working on me. I needed stitches. I had progressed fast. I looked to my left and saw the nurse put a little diaper on him. She was wiping off all of the blood and whatever else was on him so carefully.
At one point she picked up his leg and when she let go, it just fell back on the table. I looked away. That fall to the table was what truly drove home that fact that our son was dead. A living baby would have left that leg suspended in the air. Or kicked it around. But our baby....it was limp. It just fell.
I asked how long he had been gone for, probably just a day or two. He was in great condition, I was told.
The doctor tells us we did an amazing job, that I showed grace and we were an amazing couple. He said to make a follow up appointment, shook my hand, and was gone.
The nurse brought me Curtis wrapped in a dark blue blanket with yarn knotted in various locations. I am sure it was made by some sweet volunteer for the dead baby program at the hospital. But, truth be told, it was an ugly blanket. All of my pictures of Curtis have this ugly blanket in it. I was too scared to ask him to be wrapped in the fuzzy blue blanket in the diaper bag. The blanket we had anticipated him using right after his birth. The blanket my mother in law had given us. So the ugly, non fuzzy, blanket it was. When Kim placed Curtis next to me, she stayed, with her arm still near him and tears ran down her face. I can still see her face, her wet eyes, looking at my baby boy. It meant a lot to me that she felt real emotion for our son.
After Kim handed us Curtis, I sat up, and took a long look at my baby boy. I felt....nothing. That breaks my heart to write. I didn't know what to feel. Do I feel sad? Do I feel angry? Do I feel relieved delivery is finally over? Do I feel happy that I finally get to see his face? So I just felt...nothing.
Craig sat next to me on the bed just look at this face. He looked like he felt so much more. He looked like he felt love. He looked at me and said "I wanted to learn how to change his diaper."
My heart opened up and I felt it all. I felt the overwhelming love that mother's feel for their babies. I felt proud. I felt excited. But, it was so much to process when it surrounded a baby who was dead. That was an issue I faced, and continue to face, in the wake of his death. Being proud of my stillborn son. Something most people don't understand. I was a new mom! I wanted the world to marvel over the perfection that is my baby. But no one saw that. But me. I saw that.
I saw that on May 31st, 2006 and I see it to this day.
We sat looking at Curtis. Holding him. Spending a short amount of time the 3 of us. "Should we have our families come in?" I asked Craig.
"No. Not yet," He looked at me confused. I admit, I was anxious. I wanted them to come in and meet him. Even though he was gone, I wanted to show him off.
Eventually we invite our families to come in. I remember them pouring through the delivery room door, me holding my son. Each and everyone looked terrified. Wondering about what the next step would be.
At some point while I was in labor, we had asked my brother in laws to go to our car and bring in the diaper bag. We had also asked them to go to our house and let out our dog and bring that outfit from my mother in law that was on the counter.
We gave my dad the camera and he started taking dozens of pictures. The pictures tell the story of our 4 hours with our son. Each person, with the exception of my grandfather, holding our son. Each person with tears in their eyes. Makeup less faces. Each picture with each person looking distraught. My memories of this time are because of those pictures.
There is a picture of me and Craig holding our son. Our faces our flat, our eyes puffy. Staring at the camera. And then, there is a picture taken right after where I realize that I should try to smile. That I am holding my son, damn it. I am holding my son that I waited 9 months for! So I force a smile, it isn't my true smile, but it does reflect some of what I was feeling that day. I know most people don't understand that, however spending 4 hours with my baby boy was a reason to smile.
We have dozens and dozens of pictures. Kim has been taking some, my dad has made sure to take plenty. I am so scared of holding my son, that I never unwrap him. I never look at his feet myself. I never touch his hands myself. When they laid Curtis on me, I never took my eyes off of his face, so I never even verified for myself he is a boy. A fact that escapes me until months later. And when that fact smacks me upside the head, I cannot shake it. I cannot shake the fact that I am a mother of a little boy and I have never seen that boy naked.
We had a video camera with us that day. It was packed in the diaper bag. After all, I was 40 weeks pregnant going into my doctor's appointment. We opted not to take it out, something I regret. It is one of many regrets I have over that day. We did dress Curtis in the outfit my mother in law had bought a few days before his birth. A blue onesie and matching pants. The onesie stating "Thank Heaven for Little Boys."
The nurses get footprints and handprints. They clip some of his barely there hair. I get a copy, our moms get a copy. They do as many things possible that day. Normal things, normal moms get. But I have to cram it all in just 4 short hours.
We had numerous phone calls that days and a few flower deliveries. We were told that the Catholic priest in town would not do a baptism since the baby was dead. My Catholic in laws were horrified. The hospital offered their chaplin to do a blessing, which we agreed to. Two of my sister in laws hurried to the hospital and made it in time to be a part of the blessing. I remember the kind chaplin using a sea shell to hold the tiniest amount of water and pouring it on Curtis' head. I know he said some kind things. Said some kind prayers. But I wasn't paying attention. He told us how sorry he was and left.
It was now after 8pm and our families started to say our goodbyes. My grandparents had left before the blessing, my grandfather struggling with his emotions. My parents hugged us and gave Curtis one final kiss on the head. My in laws tell me how wonderful I am, how amazing I have been that day.
Kim was getting ready to leave, she had stayed late to be a part of the blessing with us. The next nurse, Mary Beth, was also part of the fetal demise program and said she would help us do things like get foot print molds.
They take Curtis away on occasion. Testing various things, taking blood, a sample of his skin. Trying to figure out what happened. We opted against the autopsy. I don't want to put his little body through that. I can't have them open him up. I just can't. I don't want to imagine that. The cord killed him, I am convinced at that point.
We have to decide on a funeral home. We have to decide what to do with his body. Whenever we are ready, they will call the funeral home and they will come get him from the morgue.
The nurses offers a free service from the company that takes photos of newborns. We can get some other pictures of Curtis, they will take them for free and send them in the mail. I say yes, I knew I wanted as many pictures as possible. I ask them to take off his hat because we don't have any pictures with is hat off. They take him away for these photos.
They bring him back and it is just the three of us. Craig sits on the chair with him, just holding him, looking at his little face. Tears. So many tears. Eventually he is placed in my arms again. His little face is starting to change so much. His mouth is starting to fall open. Blood is starting to come out of his nose.
The time is coming.
"He is starting to change. I want to remember him like this. A perfect baby."
Craig nods. He agrees. We sit on the bed together, the three of us. We tell Curtis we love him. We tell Curtis of all the plans we had. We tell Curtis about the dog. How they were going to be partners in crime.
Then we call the nurse, put our baby boy in her arms, and allow her to take him away forever.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Our Story, Part 2
The delivery.
May 31, 2006 late morning.
We walk into the hospital, walk past the conference room we had our childbirth class. The class we skipped the second day of because it was that boring. I had read everything I wanted to about childbirth and the class wasn't teaching me anything I didn't already know. Craig and I had giggled through the first day when they were having us pretend to have a contraction and doing visual imagery of rowing in a 'golden' boat through a wave, a wave that symbolized a contraction. I also remembered laying on the floor with him, in the back of the room, giggling with the maturity of two 12 year olds. We were suppose to be doing some type of massage, him rubbing my back through a fake contraction, but we were too busy laughing at the camera that was planted in the ceiling. Wondering if some security guard was keeping watch on the class.
We got into the elevator and pressed two. Followed the signs to the maternity floor, went through the security doors, to the nurses desk. A nurse looked up at me, irritated. "Can I help you?" she snapped.
I stated my name. Her eyes shifted away from my face, she looked down. She never looked at me. "Oh, um, yeah. We are getting your room ready. We have a nurse coming in special for you."
Great, I get a special nurse.
They lead me to a room. A white rose with a purple flower was taped to the door. I knew immediately what that meant.
I was lead into the room, the nurse not looking at me. She pointed out the gown, telling me to undress. "Can I leave my bra on?" I asked. "No." I did anyway.
The nurse walked out. Laying the bed was an array of loss materials. A folder "The Fetal Demise" program. A green and white box, tied with a green ribbon. A brown, small, teddy bear tied with a blue bow. A book, something with a broken cradle and empty arms.
I looked at the materials with disgust. I said something to Craig about the stupid things laying on my bed. I was 40 weeks pregnant! I had a diaper bag packed with nuks and diapers and a video camera. I didn't want a stupid book telling me how to grieve my unborn, but dead child.
I don't remember meeting her. I do remember the way she came into the room, sat on my bed, and held my hand. She had a kind face. She told me her name was Kim, she would be my nurse and be with me through this. She said she is one of 2 nurses who are "okay" with dealing with pregnancy loss. The other nurses do not handle it as well. But she is okay. She tells me what they will do to induce me. She checks and thinks I am dilated to a two. They will insert some gel. I can have an epidural immediately. She tells me, depending on what happened, he will look like any other baby. His coloring may be off. But, when he is born, they will place him on my chest so I can see him right away. I can hold him and take pictures and do whatever I want. She is talking and talking, holding my hand and all I can do is stare at her bracelet. It is turtles. A turtle bracelet.
Curtis' nursery was turtle themed.
"She has a turtle bracelet." I tell Craig after she leaves the room.
Maybe not significant to many people, but it is to me. Months later, Kim and I discover we both have collected turtles and both have a turtle tattoo. Significant.
We sit, and wait. Some gel had been inserted and I feel fine.
My parents are the first to arrive. Red eyes, looking shell shocked. My dad has tears in his eyes. They sit and wait with us. A nurse comes in and says "Grandparents are here. Can I send them in?" I say yes, expecting Craig's parents. But my grandparents walk in. I remember saying "Oh, MY grandparents." My grandpa won't look at me. In fact, I don't think he looked at me that entire day. My grandma has tears in her eyes.
Craig goes out to meet his parents. He tells me later his dad about collapsed in the hallway he was so distraught.
Craig's 2 older brothers arrive. Maybe it is a mistake, one had said when he found out. It isn't a mistake. "You can have another, you guys are young," one says to Craig. Another insensitive comment. His wife is in labor with his dead child. My husband is thinking about the son he never got to hold while his heart beat. It isn't a comment meant to be hurtful, but it is. Like many other comments we will have to endure.
Contractions start. A nice doctor comes in and tells me in situations like this, they can give me as much epidural as I want. They aren't worried about the baby. They just want me to be comfortable.
I tell him I want to feel as little pain as possible. Wishing for an epidural for my heart.
"How do people get through this?" I wonder out loud as he is inserting the long needle in my back. "Drugs and booze." I joke to Craig. I then quickly say "I am joking," so they don't send in the psychologist to talk to me.
I remember telling Craig I am glad we have a dog. She will be a good distraction. I ask Craig if we can take a vacation soon. Somewhere together. I ask him if we can do therapy. He nods and holds my hand. Still dressed in his work clothes. His favorite blue polo shirt that brings out the blue in his eyes.
We wait.
I learn later my father in law went up to my doctor and asks "What the hell happened?" the doctor, having no clue who this man is, is short with him and rude. But to tell the truth, he was always short and rude with me when I was pregnant. But I had an easy pregnancy. The world's best. Felt great for 9 months straight. So I never worried about my doctor who was lacking in his bed side manner. I do pregnancy well. Getting the living baby here, not so much.
My mother in law tells me I am right, my doctor is a jerk. Something I had mentioned to her in the past. I tell her I can't worry about that now. I know she feels bad that she even brought it up right now.
We wait. I am progressing well. The doctor comes in and breaks my water. It is filled with merconium. "That means he was in distress." I say out loud. A fact I had known for some reason. No one answers me.
My brother comes in, and I break down. "Oh..." he says and puts his arm around me. We are not close, my brother and I. But I can see pain all over his face.
We wait, my in laws bring Craig some food. I hear him mention something about wanting to lose some weight. Idle chit chat. Someone asks my brother about his job lay off and a potential interview. He says that isn't a big deal. He doesn't want to talk about losing his job when his sister just lost her baby. I tell him to please talk about, tell us about the interview. It helps me to hear the idle chit chat. Sometime during the day we tell the name we picked out. It is Curtis. We had kept it a secret. No one really says anything. It is a somber moment.
My epidural is being adjusted as my contractions as getting stronger. Kim turns one of the other delivery rooms into a waiting room for our family. So they don't have to be in the public waiting area. You know, with all the families, Waiting for the living babies to be born. The cafeteria sends up food. We do appreciate the nice gestures.
My two brother in laws decide to leave. They have families and really, we have no idea how long this will take or what will happen when he is born. It is just a waiting game now. I joke and say they are leaving right at rush hour. It is getting close to 5. Craig walks them out.
I am starting to feel pressure, they turn up my epidural but it is really hurting on my right side. The nurse asks everyone to leave so she can check me.
I am dilated to a 10. I am ready to push. Kim arranges everything in the room, but I am struck by how calm it all is. I expected a ton of people. Then it dawns on me, the baby is dead. There is no reason to have a ton of people.
Kim gets my legs in position and Craig says to me "Can I tell you something? I am terrified of this part."
"Me giving birth?"
"Yeah."
"I never was. I was okay with this part." But I was talking about before, when he was alive. Not when he was dead.
Craig is instructed to hold one of my legs back. I am told hold the other. I start pushing, it is now 5pm.
It is all happening so fast. It has only been 8 hours since we found out he was gone. I push a few times and Kim tells me to stop. She calls to one of the other nurses that she needs help. The nurse comes in, but won't look at me. Kim calls the doctor and tells him she has a full crown. I am suppose to wait for him to come in. I don't. I keep pushing on my own when her back is turned. I don't care about the doctor. I am not waiting any longer. The doctor comes in, sits down, I give the final two pushes and at 5:31pm on 5/31/06, our son is born.
I hear something about the cord wrapped around his neck. I keep saying I am sorry. I am so sorry. I am apologizing to him, I am am apologizing to Craig, I am apologizing to myself. Everyone tells me it isn't my fault. It is just one of those things.
They lay him on my chest and I am terrified. He is still so pink. I can't look at him, I am struggling, so I focus on his nose. So much like Craig's nose. I reach up and touch his nose. I can't look at Craig, I can't see his heartbreak. Not anymore, it has been broken too much. So I just look at the baby's nose.
The delivery.
May 31, 2006 late morning.
We walk into the hospital, walk past the conference room we had our childbirth class. The class we skipped the second day of because it was that boring. I had read everything I wanted to about childbirth and the class wasn't teaching me anything I didn't already know. Craig and I had giggled through the first day when they were having us pretend to have a contraction and doing visual imagery of rowing in a 'golden' boat through a wave, a wave that symbolized a contraction. I also remembered laying on the floor with him, in the back of the room, giggling with the maturity of two 12 year olds. We were suppose to be doing some type of massage, him rubbing my back through a fake contraction, but we were too busy laughing at the camera that was planted in the ceiling. Wondering if some security guard was keeping watch on the class.
We got into the elevator and pressed two. Followed the signs to the maternity floor, went through the security doors, to the nurses desk. A nurse looked up at me, irritated. "Can I help you?" she snapped.
I stated my name. Her eyes shifted away from my face, she looked down. She never looked at me. "Oh, um, yeah. We are getting your room ready. We have a nurse coming in special for you."
Great, I get a special nurse.
They lead me to a room. A white rose with a purple flower was taped to the door. I knew immediately what that meant.
I was lead into the room, the nurse not looking at me. She pointed out the gown, telling me to undress. "Can I leave my bra on?" I asked. "No." I did anyway.
The nurse walked out. Laying the bed was an array of loss materials. A folder "The Fetal Demise" program. A green and white box, tied with a green ribbon. A brown, small, teddy bear tied with a blue bow. A book, something with a broken cradle and empty arms.
I looked at the materials with disgust. I said something to Craig about the stupid things laying on my bed. I was 40 weeks pregnant! I had a diaper bag packed with nuks and diapers and a video camera. I didn't want a stupid book telling me how to grieve my unborn, but dead child.
I don't remember meeting her. I do remember the way she came into the room, sat on my bed, and held my hand. She had a kind face. She told me her name was Kim, she would be my nurse and be with me through this. She said she is one of 2 nurses who are "okay" with dealing with pregnancy loss. The other nurses do not handle it as well. But she is okay. She tells me what they will do to induce me. She checks and thinks I am dilated to a two. They will insert some gel. I can have an epidural immediately. She tells me, depending on what happened, he will look like any other baby. His coloring may be off. But, when he is born, they will place him on my chest so I can see him right away. I can hold him and take pictures and do whatever I want. She is talking and talking, holding my hand and all I can do is stare at her bracelet. It is turtles. A turtle bracelet.
Curtis' nursery was turtle themed.
"She has a turtle bracelet." I tell Craig after she leaves the room.
Maybe not significant to many people, but it is to me. Months later, Kim and I discover we both have collected turtles and both have a turtle tattoo. Significant.
We sit, and wait. Some gel had been inserted and I feel fine.
My parents are the first to arrive. Red eyes, looking shell shocked. My dad has tears in his eyes. They sit and wait with us. A nurse comes in and says "Grandparents are here. Can I send them in?" I say yes, expecting Craig's parents. But my grandparents walk in. I remember saying "Oh, MY grandparents." My grandpa won't look at me. In fact, I don't think he looked at me that entire day. My grandma has tears in her eyes.
Craig goes out to meet his parents. He tells me later his dad about collapsed in the hallway he was so distraught.
Craig's 2 older brothers arrive. Maybe it is a mistake, one had said when he found out. It isn't a mistake. "You can have another, you guys are young," one says to Craig. Another insensitive comment. His wife is in labor with his dead child. My husband is thinking about the son he never got to hold while his heart beat. It isn't a comment meant to be hurtful, but it is. Like many other comments we will have to endure.
Contractions start. A nice doctor comes in and tells me in situations like this, they can give me as much epidural as I want. They aren't worried about the baby. They just want me to be comfortable.
I tell him I want to feel as little pain as possible. Wishing for an epidural for my heart.
"How do people get through this?" I wonder out loud as he is inserting the long needle in my back. "Drugs and booze." I joke to Craig. I then quickly say "I am joking," so they don't send in the psychologist to talk to me.
I remember telling Craig I am glad we have a dog. She will be a good distraction. I ask Craig if we can take a vacation soon. Somewhere together. I ask him if we can do therapy. He nods and holds my hand. Still dressed in his work clothes. His favorite blue polo shirt that brings out the blue in his eyes.
We wait.
I learn later my father in law went up to my doctor and asks "What the hell happened?" the doctor, having no clue who this man is, is short with him and rude. But to tell the truth, he was always short and rude with me when I was pregnant. But I had an easy pregnancy. The world's best. Felt great for 9 months straight. So I never worried about my doctor who was lacking in his bed side manner. I do pregnancy well. Getting the living baby here, not so much.
My mother in law tells me I am right, my doctor is a jerk. Something I had mentioned to her in the past. I tell her I can't worry about that now. I know she feels bad that she even brought it up right now.
We wait. I am progressing well. The doctor comes in and breaks my water. It is filled with merconium. "That means he was in distress." I say out loud. A fact I had known for some reason. No one answers me.
My brother comes in, and I break down. "Oh..." he says and puts his arm around me. We are not close, my brother and I. But I can see pain all over his face.
We wait, my in laws bring Craig some food. I hear him mention something about wanting to lose some weight. Idle chit chat. Someone asks my brother about his job lay off and a potential interview. He says that isn't a big deal. He doesn't want to talk about losing his job when his sister just lost her baby. I tell him to please talk about, tell us about the interview. It helps me to hear the idle chit chat. Sometime during the day we tell the name we picked out. It is Curtis. We had kept it a secret. No one really says anything. It is a somber moment.
My epidural is being adjusted as my contractions as getting stronger. Kim turns one of the other delivery rooms into a waiting room for our family. So they don't have to be in the public waiting area. You know, with all the families, Waiting for the living babies to be born. The cafeteria sends up food. We do appreciate the nice gestures.
My two brother in laws decide to leave. They have families and really, we have no idea how long this will take or what will happen when he is born. It is just a waiting game now. I joke and say they are leaving right at rush hour. It is getting close to 5. Craig walks them out.
I am starting to feel pressure, they turn up my epidural but it is really hurting on my right side. The nurse asks everyone to leave so she can check me.
I am dilated to a 10. I am ready to push. Kim arranges everything in the room, but I am struck by how calm it all is. I expected a ton of people. Then it dawns on me, the baby is dead. There is no reason to have a ton of people.
Kim gets my legs in position and Craig says to me "Can I tell you something? I am terrified of this part."
"Me giving birth?"
"Yeah."
"I never was. I was okay with this part." But I was talking about before, when he was alive. Not when he was dead.
Craig is instructed to hold one of my legs back. I am told hold the other. I start pushing, it is now 5pm.
It is all happening so fast. It has only been 8 hours since we found out he was gone. I push a few times and Kim tells me to stop. She calls to one of the other nurses that she needs help. The nurse comes in, but won't look at me. Kim calls the doctor and tells him she has a full crown. I am suppose to wait for him to come in. I don't. I keep pushing on my own when her back is turned. I don't care about the doctor. I am not waiting any longer. The doctor comes in, sits down, I give the final two pushes and at 5:31pm on 5/31/06, our son is born.
I hear something about the cord wrapped around his neck. I keep saying I am sorry. I am so sorry. I am apologizing to him, I am am apologizing to Craig, I am apologizing to myself. Everyone tells me it isn't my fault. It is just one of those things.
They lay him on my chest and I am terrified. He is still so pink. I can't look at him, I am struggling, so I focus on his nose. So much like Craig's nose. I reach up and touch his nose. I can't look at Craig, I can't see his heartbreak. Not anymore, it has been broken too much. So I just look at the baby's nose.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Our story.
Part 1: Finding Out.
May 31, 2006
It was a Wednesday morning. I was 39weeks and 6 days pregnant.
"I don't want to go to this appointment. We were just there on Friday. I know the baby isn't ready to come, I should just cancel and reschedule."
"You never know! Maybe the doctor will induce today!"
"No! He isn't ready to come yet. I don't want to have another internal, that one really really hurt last time."
We hugged. He was excited, I was scared.
Because I knew.
On May 30th, 2006 my husband, Craig and I, took a walk around a local park reserve. I hadn't felt the baby move much, if at all that day. I poked at my stomach on the walk "are you alive in there?" I said, jokingly.
"That isn't funny," Craig said.
I knew it wasn't, but deep down, I knew.
That night he sat by me on the couch. "I want to get the show on the road! I am SO ready to meet this little dude."
That night, as I lay in bed, I pushed and pushed on my stomach. Longing for a kick. Please kick me, Curtis. Kick me. "He has never been a big mover," I reasoned with myself. I pushed, hard. I felt something, but it felt more like me pushing him, as opposed to him moving on his own.
Come on, baby.
Nothing.
I took a deep breath, rolled, and allowed myself to say "it is okay" and fell asleep.
May 31, 2006.
9:00am.
"Wow, you have lost 5 pounds in 5 days. You were just here on Friday. " The nurse chattered. 5 pounds? That seemed like a lot to lose at 40 weeks pregnant.
The doctor comes in.
"He hasn't been moving much."
"Well, as you get to the end, they don't. Let's do the internal first....Well, you are dialated to a one, no change from Friday."
My heart is racing. The doppler was coming out. I knew, I knew, I knew. Now Craig was going to know. He was going to know, he was going to be welcomed into what had already become my secret hell.
The doctor put the doppler on and absolute silence. No placenta sounds, no blood flow sounds, and worse of all, no heartbeat. He moved it all over. He picked up a faint heart beat and felt my wrist. "My heartbeat. The only one. There should be two." I thought.
I knew.
"I will go get the ultrasound machine."
"I heard the heartbeat," Craig said.
"It was mine." I replied. I couldn't look at him. God, he is so good to me. Why is he going to have to go through this?
"No, it is fine."
The doctor brings back the ultrasound machine. He knows, I know, Craig doesn't know.
He gets everything turned on and the gel on me. I glance quickly to the screen, but don't even look long. There is a still body.
The doctor says nothing. No words. Just silence. Like Curtis' heart. But my heart is screaming. "There is no heartbeat." I am the one to say it outloud. The doctor nods.
I remember a slew of profanity escape from Craig's mouth. I just look up to the ceiling. I can handle this. I can, but I don't want Craig to go through this. Not him. He doesn't deserve this.
I don't remember getting off of the table, but I do. I don't remember putting back on my pants. My huge, stretched out maternity jeans. The ones I lived in the last weeks of my pregnancy. My huge stomach making it hard to bend down to pull them up.
The doctor stares at us.
"I know this won't be of comfort, but we do see this a few times each year. It won't happen again. You can have another"
I don't reply. I have 100 sarcastic replies for his insensitive comment now, but didn't then.
"So, I have to deliver today."
"Yes."
"Can we go over now?"
"Yes, after we do some blood work. I will call over the hospital. You need to go to the lab and get some blood drawn. Are you sure you don't want to go home first?"
For what? To walk into our living room, with the baby swing I set up in the middle? The outfit my mother in law bought still on our kitchen counter?
"No."
He leaves, a nurse comes in and says how sorry she is. We have to go to the lab.
We walk out of the exam room, down the hall. It is all a blur. The lab room is packed. Craig goes up the window, we are told to take a seat. Craig shows the only anger I saw of him all day.
"No. We are not sitting there. You cannot make her sit here. Get her in, right now!"
These people have no idea. I just look like another pregnant woman. Except tears are running down my face. His voice gets louder.
Another nurse comes running down the hall, apologizing, telling us we can come back to the exam room, they will take my blood there. Everyone is staring.
We can make phone calls, she says. Just dial 9.
I look at Craig. "We are going to need a lot of therapy. And booze." He smiles. God, I love his smile. He has this dimple that is to die for. I am sure the girls in junior high swooned over that dimple. I know I did at 27. I wonder if Curtis would have had his dimple?
I pick up the phone. I needed people to know. Now. I think Craig prefered not to share the news quite yet. I wanted the world to know the hell we were going through. I wanted the support. When I had thought about the delivery, I had always thought we would call people after it was all over "Suprise! He is here!" I wanted privacy.
Now, I wanted support.
I called my parent's house. It rang and rang. No one picked up. I called my dad's cell phone. He answered cheerfully. I am sure, expecting some type of good phone call from his 40 week pregnant daughter.
"We lost the baby."
"What?"
"Daddy, we lost the baby."
"I ... what?"
"We need you to come. I have to go to the hospital to deliver him. He is gone."
"We will be there."
Click.
Now, he is welcomed into the hell.
"We have to call your parents. I can do it. You don't have to." I don't want Craig to tell them. I want to protect Craig, I don't want him to go through this. I want to take it all on myself. He shakes his head no.
He calls his mom on her cell phone.
One hand on the phone, another one cradling his head in his hand.
"Mom," his voice breaks. "We lost the baby."
I tune out the rest. I don't remember. I can't listen. I can't listen to Craig's heartbreak. I cannot believe I have broke his heart. I cannot believe his son is dead inside of me.
He hangs up with his mom. "Well, she almost drove off of the road."
My dad raced home from work and woke my mom up from her sleep with the news her grandson died and her daughter was being sent to deliver. My sweet mother in law had to tell our son's Pop Pop that his second grandson had died.
I remember walking out of the clinic to the car. We had brought two cars that day. It was the first day of my maternity leave, but I was going to my good bye lunch at work. We opted to both get into Craig's car.
Where the carseat was installed. We both stared at it for a moment. Got in, and drove the block to the hospital.
We stood outside, a bright, sunny day, and made more phone calls. I left messages for my friends Annie and Christy. Only my co-worker Paige picked up the phone.
Craig called his co-worker.
"So, are you a father yet?" he was asked.
"That isn't going to be happening."
That wasn't entirely true.
Part 1: Finding Out.
May 31, 2006
It was a Wednesday morning. I was 39weeks and 6 days pregnant.
"I don't want to go to this appointment. We were just there on Friday. I know the baby isn't ready to come, I should just cancel and reschedule."
"You never know! Maybe the doctor will induce today!"
"No! He isn't ready to come yet. I don't want to have another internal, that one really really hurt last time."
We hugged. He was excited, I was scared.
Because I knew.
On May 30th, 2006 my husband, Craig and I, took a walk around a local park reserve. I hadn't felt the baby move much, if at all that day. I poked at my stomach on the walk "are you alive in there?" I said, jokingly.
"That isn't funny," Craig said.
I knew it wasn't, but deep down, I knew.
That night he sat by me on the couch. "I want to get the show on the road! I am SO ready to meet this little dude."
That night, as I lay in bed, I pushed and pushed on my stomach. Longing for a kick. Please kick me, Curtis. Kick me. "He has never been a big mover," I reasoned with myself. I pushed, hard. I felt something, but it felt more like me pushing him, as opposed to him moving on his own.
Come on, baby.
Nothing.
I took a deep breath, rolled, and allowed myself to say "it is okay" and fell asleep.
May 31, 2006.
9:00am.
"Wow, you have lost 5 pounds in 5 days. You were just here on Friday. " The nurse chattered. 5 pounds? That seemed like a lot to lose at 40 weeks pregnant.
The doctor comes in.
"He hasn't been moving much."
"Well, as you get to the end, they don't. Let's do the internal first....Well, you are dialated to a one, no change from Friday."
My heart is racing. The doppler was coming out. I knew, I knew, I knew. Now Craig was going to know. He was going to know, he was going to be welcomed into what had already become my secret hell.
The doctor put the doppler on and absolute silence. No placenta sounds, no blood flow sounds, and worse of all, no heartbeat. He moved it all over. He picked up a faint heart beat and felt my wrist. "My heartbeat. The only one. There should be two." I thought.
I knew.
"I will go get the ultrasound machine."
"I heard the heartbeat," Craig said.
"It was mine." I replied. I couldn't look at him. God, he is so good to me. Why is he going to have to go through this?
"No, it is fine."
The doctor brings back the ultrasound machine. He knows, I know, Craig doesn't know.
He gets everything turned on and the gel on me. I glance quickly to the screen, but don't even look long. There is a still body.
The doctor says nothing. No words. Just silence. Like Curtis' heart. But my heart is screaming. "There is no heartbeat." I am the one to say it outloud. The doctor nods.
I remember a slew of profanity escape from Craig's mouth. I just look up to the ceiling. I can handle this. I can, but I don't want Craig to go through this. Not him. He doesn't deserve this.
I don't remember getting off of the table, but I do. I don't remember putting back on my pants. My huge, stretched out maternity jeans. The ones I lived in the last weeks of my pregnancy. My huge stomach making it hard to bend down to pull them up.
The doctor stares at us.
"I know this won't be of comfort, but we do see this a few times each year. It won't happen again. You can have another"
I don't reply. I have 100 sarcastic replies for his insensitive comment now, but didn't then.
"So, I have to deliver today."
"Yes."
"Can we go over now?"
"Yes, after we do some blood work. I will call over the hospital. You need to go to the lab and get some blood drawn. Are you sure you don't want to go home first?"
For what? To walk into our living room, with the baby swing I set up in the middle? The outfit my mother in law bought still on our kitchen counter?
"No."
He leaves, a nurse comes in and says how sorry she is. We have to go to the lab.
We walk out of the exam room, down the hall. It is all a blur. The lab room is packed. Craig goes up the window, we are told to take a seat. Craig shows the only anger I saw of him all day.
"No. We are not sitting there. You cannot make her sit here. Get her in, right now!"
These people have no idea. I just look like another pregnant woman. Except tears are running down my face. His voice gets louder.
Another nurse comes running down the hall, apologizing, telling us we can come back to the exam room, they will take my blood there. Everyone is staring.
We can make phone calls, she says. Just dial 9.
I look at Craig. "We are going to need a lot of therapy. And booze." He smiles. God, I love his smile. He has this dimple that is to die for. I am sure the girls in junior high swooned over that dimple. I know I did at 27. I wonder if Curtis would have had his dimple?
I pick up the phone. I needed people to know. Now. I think Craig prefered not to share the news quite yet. I wanted the world to know the hell we were going through. I wanted the support. When I had thought about the delivery, I had always thought we would call people after it was all over "Suprise! He is here!" I wanted privacy.
Now, I wanted support.
I called my parent's house. It rang and rang. No one picked up. I called my dad's cell phone. He answered cheerfully. I am sure, expecting some type of good phone call from his 40 week pregnant daughter.
"We lost the baby."
"What?"
"Daddy, we lost the baby."
"I ... what?"
"We need you to come. I have to go to the hospital to deliver him. He is gone."
"We will be there."
Click.
Now, he is welcomed into the hell.
"We have to call your parents. I can do it. You don't have to." I don't want Craig to tell them. I want to protect Craig, I don't want him to go through this. I want to take it all on myself. He shakes his head no.
He calls his mom on her cell phone.
One hand on the phone, another one cradling his head in his hand.
"Mom," his voice breaks. "We lost the baby."
I tune out the rest. I don't remember. I can't listen. I can't listen to Craig's heartbreak. I cannot believe I have broke his heart. I cannot believe his son is dead inside of me.
He hangs up with his mom. "Well, she almost drove off of the road."
My dad raced home from work and woke my mom up from her sleep with the news her grandson died and her daughter was being sent to deliver. My sweet mother in law had to tell our son's Pop Pop that his second grandson had died.
I remember walking out of the clinic to the car. We had brought two cars that day. It was the first day of my maternity leave, but I was going to my good bye lunch at work. We opted to both get into Craig's car.
Where the carseat was installed. We both stared at it for a moment. Got in, and drove the block to the hospital.
We stood outside, a bright, sunny day, and made more phone calls. I left messages for my friends Annie and Christy. Only my co-worker Paige picked up the phone.
Craig called his co-worker.
"So, are you a father yet?" he was asked.
"That isn't going to be happening."
That wasn't entirely true.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
A few years ago, I mentioned the 5K walk/run benfitting a local foundation. In 2006, the year we lost our son, it was the first year of the event.
I worked days on making team tshirts for everyone. I poured a lot into those tshirts. With each one completed, it made me feel good. Like I was doing something for him. That year, we were the only group to have team tshirts. Honestly, I felt a little silly with it at first, since no one did it. I thought at things like this people made tshirts. Whenever I have done Race for the Cure, people have team shirts. So, I thought people would have these at this event too. But no one did. Except us. The directors of the 5K loved it and a picture of my hub and dad in their shirts even made their website and information card for the 2007 5k. I didn't feel so silly then.
At our support group we attended that summer, I was talking to a new couple and I mentioned Curtis' name and the woman's eyes lit up and she said "Hey! Are you guys Team Curtis? We saw the shirts you made, we are going to make some for our daughter...." It was kind of like being famous. Not so silly anymore.
At the 2007 walk? It was CRAZY to go there and see team after team with their shirts. My dad looked around and said "look at what you started."
It was pretty cool. So, I take a pretty big pleasure in knowing that we were the first ones to honor our child that way. Each year the 5K has grown with more and more people. We are never going to be the top fund raisers, or have the fanciest shirts. (I choose to make them myself as opposed to ordering them. It makes me feel good knowing I did them. But, since I have the creativity and crafty-ness of a rock, iron transfers will have to do!) But....we were the first to honor our son this way and lead the way for others to do that same.
I worked days on making team tshirts for everyone. I poured a lot into those tshirts. With each one completed, it made me feel good. Like I was doing something for him. That year, we were the only group to have team tshirts. Honestly, I felt a little silly with it at first, since no one did it. I thought at things like this people made tshirts. Whenever I have done Race for the Cure, people have team shirts. So, I thought people would have these at this event too. But no one did. Except us. The directors of the 5K loved it and a picture of my hub and dad in their shirts even made their website and information card for the 2007 5k. I didn't feel so silly then.
At our support group we attended that summer, I was talking to a new couple and I mentioned Curtis' name and the woman's eyes lit up and she said "Hey! Are you guys Team Curtis? We saw the shirts you made, we are going to make some for our daughter...." It was kind of like being famous. Not so silly anymore.
At the 2007 walk? It was CRAZY to go there and see team after team with their shirts. My dad looked around and said "look at what you started."
It was pretty cool. So, I take a pretty big pleasure in knowing that we were the first ones to honor our child that way. Each year the 5K has grown with more and more people. We are never going to be the top fund raisers, or have the fanciest shirts. (I choose to make them myself as opposed to ordering them. It makes me feel good knowing I did them. But, since I have the creativity and crafty-ness of a rock, iron transfers will have to do!) But....we were the first to honor our son this way and lead the way for others to do that same.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
So, I went back to work for the first time in a year.
I was put on bed rest when I was 20 weeks pregnant with my daughter. My bed rest wasn't strict, it was more modified due to low fluid. I just needed not to be driving around 200+ miles a day like I was for my job. After our daughter was born, we tried to make it work for me to be a stay at home mom. The numbers seemed like they could work. The money seemed like it was there, but despite 2 raises my husband got....we just haven't been able to cut it.
It broke my heart. I loved staying at home with her. I said over and over it wasn't about HER, it was about me. I felt I deserved it. Damn it! I lost my son. At 40 weeks! I deserve to stay at home with her and spend every single moment soaking in her cuteness and happiness.
But, we decided to try me going back part time at a less stressful position than I had been in. We found a lovely home daycare for her and are on our 3rd week of our new routine. I work about 4 hours a day and the rest I get with her.
It isn't the same, but I am thrilled I got to have 9 months straight with her. Just her and I. She is doing just fine in daycare, has adjusted well.
Me? I am still struggling. I seem to be turning to food to comfort myself (a bad habit I have had my whole life). I don't necessarily love my new position. I regret taking a less stressful position because I miss having more responsibility. I wanted the 'easy' way out at work. (I was lucky enough that my old company welcomed me back with open arms). I miss being with her all the time. I look with longing at the baby and me classes offered we can't take because I am working. I look with longing at the supervisors at my work doing the job I used to do. And do well.
I guess I don't know where I fit anymore.
I haven't known where I fit ever since we lost him. I was a mom, without a baby for so long. Then with my pregnancy with her, I was just focused on that straight for 8 months until she arrived screaming. Now I am a mom with a baby, but still missing my son so much. I don't feel like I have a career like I did.
I just don't know who I am ....and when I feel like that, the instant gratification of food is the only thing that fills me up.
I was put on bed rest when I was 20 weeks pregnant with my daughter. My bed rest wasn't strict, it was more modified due to low fluid. I just needed not to be driving around 200+ miles a day like I was for my job. After our daughter was born, we tried to make it work for me to be a stay at home mom. The numbers seemed like they could work. The money seemed like it was there, but despite 2 raises my husband got....we just haven't been able to cut it.
It broke my heart. I loved staying at home with her. I said over and over it wasn't about HER, it was about me. I felt I deserved it. Damn it! I lost my son. At 40 weeks! I deserve to stay at home with her and spend every single moment soaking in her cuteness and happiness.
But, we decided to try me going back part time at a less stressful position than I had been in. We found a lovely home daycare for her and are on our 3rd week of our new routine. I work about 4 hours a day and the rest I get with her.
It isn't the same, but I am thrilled I got to have 9 months straight with her. Just her and I. She is doing just fine in daycare, has adjusted well.
Me? I am still struggling. I seem to be turning to food to comfort myself (a bad habit I have had my whole life). I don't necessarily love my new position. I regret taking a less stressful position because I miss having more responsibility. I wanted the 'easy' way out at work. (I was lucky enough that my old company welcomed me back with open arms). I miss being with her all the time. I look with longing at the baby and me classes offered we can't take because I am working. I look with longing at the supervisors at my work doing the job I used to do. And do well.
I guess I don't know where I fit anymore.
I haven't known where I fit ever since we lost him. I was a mom, without a baby for so long. Then with my pregnancy with her, I was just focused on that straight for 8 months until she arrived screaming. Now I am a mom with a baby, but still missing my son so much. I don't feel like I have a career like I did.
I just don't know who I am ....and when I feel like that, the instant gratification of food is the only thing that fills me up.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
For a limited time, I put a link to our fundraising page up! It is for the 5K we pariticpate in to raise money in our son's name. I like this blog to remain pretty anonymous, and on the link to his page are pictures of us, of him and so forth. This 5K means a lot to us. The funds go directly to an organization dedicated to helping families dealing with stillbirth and infant loss. They are the organization we worked with to get our daughter here safely. I honestly believe without them, we would not have her. She had a cord issue as well and the MissingGRACE orgainzation had given me all of the tools to get her here. I had the best of the best doctors working with me thanks to them and particpated in stillbirth prevention research, thanks to them. Please, if you can, donate to us. Read the page we created for him....you will see how much it means to us.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Sigh.
I did something completely moronic on Saturday. To explain, we have to back up.
We packed up his stuff in September of 07. 7 months pregnant with her, we have a 2 bedroom home, we needed to make room for her stuff. My mom offered to store everything at her place. As I packed it up, I knew it would be the last time I would ever look at the stuff. I wasn't ready to sell it or donate it yet. But I knew if I do get pregnant again, and it is a boy, we will start all over with boy clothes and boy bedding. Packing up everything was really hard. I had picked out that bedding when I was 7 weeks pregnant. I had stalked ebay for random pieces of the discontinued set. I kept a few of the wall clings. Actually, 3 of them are hanging in her closet (they just look like huge stickers. Little bugs/turtles that matches the bedding). I put one in his memory chest. But, the rest of it, was packed away.
This May, right before his 2nd birthday, we were struggling with money a bit. We wanted to take a trip up north to a condo to celebrate his birthday. We wanted to take her to go with, we want to make this a tradition as we had done it the year before. But, money was tight. I thought long and hard and asked my mom to take the stuff to a child's consignment shop, Once Upon a Child. They have them all over the place. She did it, though it was really hard for her. I just knew I couldn't do it. And my mom did it, because she loves me. But I know she did it with a heavy heart and tears in her eyes. We got some money for his things, and that helped up be able to afford the two night trip for his birthday.
Fast forward to Saturday. I had been on the hunt for a stationary jumperoo for her. I didn't want to buy a new one because I know she will out grow it soon, so I thought aout hitting up a used kid's store. They have them all over, but I was meeting a friend for lunch so I went to one over by her.
Not even thinking.
Not even thinking I was walking into the store where all of his stuff was. I spotted the jumperoo area and walked up the aisle. There was a display to my right...a crib. Filled with the turtle and bug bedding. The valances. The crib skirt. The diaper stacker. The quilt. The clock, the light switch cover and the lamp.
I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach and slapped in the face. I stared at it for a minute. I took a step forward and ran my hand over the pieces. I had forgotten about the clock. I had someone make that for me to match his room.
How could I just walk into that store and NOT remember that is where his stuff was? I was on such a hunt for her, I didn't even think. And you know, if I had thought I would have figured maybe it would have been sold. But at least I would have been prepared.
I hadn't really thought about his bedding for a long time. But now, it keeps flashing through my mind. I can see it....but the sad thing is I don't see it in his room like I used it. I see it sitting in a crib at Once Upon a Child. Not even his anymore. Just on sale for $75 for some other little baby. Some other baby will have the cute whimiscal bugs and the turtle with a party hat. The bedding I bought at 7 weeks pregnant because I just couldn't wait.
No great thoughts about it. No wonderful thought to pull it all together. Just the knowledge I am never going back to that store again. I can't handle it.
I did something completely moronic on Saturday. To explain, we have to back up.
We packed up his stuff in September of 07. 7 months pregnant with her, we have a 2 bedroom home, we needed to make room for her stuff. My mom offered to store everything at her place. As I packed it up, I knew it would be the last time I would ever look at the stuff. I wasn't ready to sell it or donate it yet. But I knew if I do get pregnant again, and it is a boy, we will start all over with boy clothes and boy bedding. Packing up everything was really hard. I had picked out that bedding when I was 7 weeks pregnant. I had stalked ebay for random pieces of the discontinued set. I kept a few of the wall clings. Actually, 3 of them are hanging in her closet (they just look like huge stickers. Little bugs/turtles that matches the bedding). I put one in his memory chest. But, the rest of it, was packed away.
This May, right before his 2nd birthday, we were struggling with money a bit. We wanted to take a trip up north to a condo to celebrate his birthday. We wanted to take her to go with, we want to make this a tradition as we had done it the year before. But, money was tight. I thought long and hard and asked my mom to take the stuff to a child's consignment shop, Once Upon a Child. They have them all over the place. She did it, though it was really hard for her. I just knew I couldn't do it. And my mom did it, because she loves me. But I know she did it with a heavy heart and tears in her eyes. We got some money for his things, and that helped up be able to afford the two night trip for his birthday.
Fast forward to Saturday. I had been on the hunt for a stationary jumperoo for her. I didn't want to buy a new one because I know she will out grow it soon, so I thought aout hitting up a used kid's store. They have them all over, but I was meeting a friend for lunch so I went to one over by her.
Not even thinking.
Not even thinking I was walking into the store where all of his stuff was. I spotted the jumperoo area and walked up the aisle. There was a display to my right...a crib. Filled with the turtle and bug bedding. The valances. The crib skirt. The diaper stacker. The quilt. The clock, the light switch cover and the lamp.
I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach and slapped in the face. I stared at it for a minute. I took a step forward and ran my hand over the pieces. I had forgotten about the clock. I had someone make that for me to match his room.
How could I just walk into that store and NOT remember that is where his stuff was? I was on such a hunt for her, I didn't even think. And you know, if I had thought I would have figured maybe it would have been sold. But at least I would have been prepared.
I hadn't really thought about his bedding for a long time. But now, it keeps flashing through my mind. I can see it....but the sad thing is I don't see it in his room like I used it. I see it sitting in a crib at Once Upon a Child. Not even his anymore. Just on sale for $75 for some other little baby. Some other baby will have the cute whimiscal bugs and the turtle with a party hat. The bedding I bought at 7 weeks pregnant because I just couldn't wait.
No great thoughts about it. No wonderful thought to pull it all together. Just the knowledge I am never going back to that store again. I can't handle it.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
I don't think a lot of people read my blog. Sure, people stumble upon it by accident, google or something, but it is frickin' sad! People love funny, true to life blogs. I wish I had a blog like that. A blog to make you laugh, a blog to make you think. That would be cool.
Once upon a time, I wanted to write. Fiction stories, mainly. I wrote story after story. Thanking my lucky stars I went to a high school that offered Creative Writing as an elective. And you know what? I was a pretty good writer.
I never pursued it. I wasn't so good with the grammar (as I am sure you have figured out by now) or making a point. Or following a train of thought. I really didn't enjoy English classes and learning about grammar either. When I got to college, I majored in Social Work and writing took a back seat. Quite a few years later, I took a creative writing class through a community education class. Once again, I really enjoyed it, but I think I realized I wasn't that great of a writer. I was average, I just enjoyed doing it.
I do think I write about him fairly well. I think my feelings with him do come pouring out. It may be a mubled mess but I try my best to convey what I am feeling. I was asked to write a piece for a local newsletter for an organization that has helped us in our grief process. It was about having a living child after a loss and if they liked it, maybe they would use it. I tried NOT to get excited. I knew they probably wouldn't use it, as they have asked me to write other stuff they have never published. The funny thing is, when it comes to him, getting to talk about him or write about him: I just love it. It is another way I have to keep his memory going. It is another way to parent him. I was pretty sad to receive an email back saying "Gee, that was nice. Thanks!" So, yeah. Obviously, my hopes and dreams of finally being a plublished writer have been dashed. It makes me cry when I read it, it made Hub cry when I read it to him. So, there!
For your reading pleasure, however, I have included it below. I have taken the names out as I try to keep this blog as anonymous as possible.
A piece of him. A piece of her. Our version of a family.
I think it is an understatement to say we were shocked when our son was stillborn at 40 weeks. We planned 9 months for his arrival and were left with a few precious photos and an urn full of his ashes. After his death, I would often wonder out lout if I had really been pregnant. Had I really prepared a nursery? Had I really given birth? It felt like a gigantic game of pretend. A game everyone around me joined in on, and one day, we all just stopped pretending. A piece of me was gone. How could we begin to move through the grief that now surrounded our lives?
I became pregnant with our daughter 10 months after losing him. We suffered a miscarriage in betweenm so not only did we have the worry about a stillbirth; we had the worry about a miscarriage. We knew the grim realities. But, as a fellow loss mom once told me “When the fear of having a loss outweighs the desire to have a living child, I will stop trying.” So we kept trying.
My pregnancy with her was a roller coaster from day one. It was long, it was stressful, and it was joyous. Each kick, each wiggle, each time I heard her heartbeat or saw her on the ultrasound, I drank that moment in. I tried my best to be optimistic; I tried to push the fear away. I worked hard, very hard, to get my daughter here safely. Each day slowly, and I do mean slowly, inched by.
I was shaking as I was being prepared for my c-section. “It is cold in here,” I remember the nurse saying. That isn’t why I was shaking. On some level, I wasn’t convinced she would be born alive. All I knew was stillbirth. All I knew was 9 months of pregnancy and going home empty handed.
She was born screaming, which for a mom of only a silent baby, was a welcomed sound. “I want her to keep crying,” I told Hub. He just nodded. Smiled. Told me to look to my right, I could see her under the warming lights. “Is she okay?” “She’s perfect.”
We often will say the day he was stillborn was not our worst day. How could it be? We got to hold our son for the first time. We got to finally see his face after 40 long weeks. Yes, that day had some of our worst moments, but it will never be our worst day. It was all so different with her. It was all so normal. Her birth was everything we had been dreaming about. She was here. She was okay. She was coming home with us. The first time I held her felt like pure and utter relief. No one was sad. Everyone was happy. We had our baby.
We know she will grow up, and dream her own dreams. But right now, we are living our dream come true. It is a dream that was born out of losing him. After saying goodbye to him, I wanted to be the parent of a living child. I never thought that would be a dream, a want, and a desire of mine. I thought when I got pregnant with him, that was a given. But then I became the parent of a stillborn child. So, in his death, new dreams were born.
Grief is a funny thing. The first time she started to all out giggle, my eyes welled with tears. She was giggling! But I would never hear his giggle. The other day, she cut her first two teeth. Sadness overwhelmed me. Yes, I never had the chance to discover his first teeth, but on a deeper level, the grief that it is all going so fast hit me like a ton of bricks.
Hub and I have desperately tried to put the brakes on each day that is flying by. For so long we wanted time to hurry up. We wanted past that first year after losing him, past that intense, pain. Then, we wanted to get to the finish line of her pregnancy. We wished for the better part of 18 months for time to hurry up. Well, it finally is, but right when I want it to slow down. Each little milestone means so much to us. We don’t take a moment for granted. We know what it is like to wish we had our child with us, and this is everything we had hoped for. We do our best to live in the moment.
Her birth has been one of our greatest blessing. I cannot say it has healed us, because I don’t think you ever heal after losing a child. You learn a new normal. You learn to live with a piece of yourself forever missing. I lost a piece of my heart, a piece of myself, when he left us. But she gave me a new piece of my heart. It isn’t the same one he took with him, but that new piece; I think it is called joy.
Wherever my children are, they are forever the pieces of my heart. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
Once upon a time, I wanted to write. Fiction stories, mainly. I wrote story after story. Thanking my lucky stars I went to a high school that offered Creative Writing as an elective. And you know what? I was a pretty good writer.
I never pursued it. I wasn't so good with the grammar (as I am sure you have figured out by now) or making a point. Or following a train of thought. I really didn't enjoy English classes and learning about grammar either. When I got to college, I majored in Social Work and writing took a back seat. Quite a few years later, I took a creative writing class through a community education class. Once again, I really enjoyed it, but I think I realized I wasn't that great of a writer. I was average, I just enjoyed doing it.
I do think I write about him fairly well. I think my feelings with him do come pouring out. It may be a mubled mess but I try my best to convey what I am feeling. I was asked to write a piece for a local newsletter for an organization that has helped us in our grief process. It was about having a living child after a loss and if they liked it, maybe they would use it. I tried NOT to get excited. I knew they probably wouldn't use it, as they have asked me to write other stuff they have never published. The funny thing is, when it comes to him, getting to talk about him or write about him: I just love it. It is another way I have to keep his memory going. It is another way to parent him. I was pretty sad to receive an email back saying "Gee, that was nice. Thanks!" So, yeah. Obviously, my hopes and dreams of finally being a plublished writer have been dashed. It makes me cry when I read it, it made Hub cry when I read it to him. So, there!
For your reading pleasure, however, I have included it below. I have taken the names out as I try to keep this blog as anonymous as possible.
A piece of him. A piece of her. Our version of a family.
I think it is an understatement to say we were shocked when our son was stillborn at 40 weeks. We planned 9 months for his arrival and were left with a few precious photos and an urn full of his ashes. After his death, I would often wonder out lout if I had really been pregnant. Had I really prepared a nursery? Had I really given birth? It felt like a gigantic game of pretend. A game everyone around me joined in on, and one day, we all just stopped pretending. A piece of me was gone. How could we begin to move through the grief that now surrounded our lives?
I became pregnant with our daughter 10 months after losing him. We suffered a miscarriage in betweenm so not only did we have the worry about a stillbirth; we had the worry about a miscarriage. We knew the grim realities. But, as a fellow loss mom once told me “When the fear of having a loss outweighs the desire to have a living child, I will stop trying.” So we kept trying.
My pregnancy with her was a roller coaster from day one. It was long, it was stressful, and it was joyous. Each kick, each wiggle, each time I heard her heartbeat or saw her on the ultrasound, I drank that moment in. I tried my best to be optimistic; I tried to push the fear away. I worked hard, very hard, to get my daughter here safely. Each day slowly, and I do mean slowly, inched by.
I was shaking as I was being prepared for my c-section. “It is cold in here,” I remember the nurse saying. That isn’t why I was shaking. On some level, I wasn’t convinced she would be born alive. All I knew was stillbirth. All I knew was 9 months of pregnancy and going home empty handed.
She was born screaming, which for a mom of only a silent baby, was a welcomed sound. “I want her to keep crying,” I told Hub. He just nodded. Smiled. Told me to look to my right, I could see her under the warming lights. “Is she okay?” “She’s perfect.”
We often will say the day he was stillborn was not our worst day. How could it be? We got to hold our son for the first time. We got to finally see his face after 40 long weeks. Yes, that day had some of our worst moments, but it will never be our worst day. It was all so different with her. It was all so normal. Her birth was everything we had been dreaming about. She was here. She was okay. She was coming home with us. The first time I held her felt like pure and utter relief. No one was sad. Everyone was happy. We had our baby.
We know she will grow up, and dream her own dreams. But right now, we are living our dream come true. It is a dream that was born out of losing him. After saying goodbye to him, I wanted to be the parent of a living child. I never thought that would be a dream, a want, and a desire of mine. I thought when I got pregnant with him, that was a given. But then I became the parent of a stillborn child. So, in his death, new dreams were born.
Grief is a funny thing. The first time she started to all out giggle, my eyes welled with tears. She was giggling! But I would never hear his giggle. The other day, she cut her first two teeth. Sadness overwhelmed me. Yes, I never had the chance to discover his first teeth, but on a deeper level, the grief that it is all going so fast hit me like a ton of bricks.
Hub and I have desperately tried to put the brakes on each day that is flying by. For so long we wanted time to hurry up. We wanted past that first year after losing him, past that intense, pain. Then, we wanted to get to the finish line of her pregnancy. We wished for the better part of 18 months for time to hurry up. Well, it finally is, but right when I want it to slow down. Each little milestone means so much to us. We don’t take a moment for granted. We know what it is like to wish we had our child with us, and this is everything we had hoped for. We do our best to live in the moment.
Her birth has been one of our greatest blessing. I cannot say it has healed us, because I don’t think you ever heal after losing a child. You learn a new normal. You learn to live with a piece of yourself forever missing. I lost a piece of my heart, a piece of myself, when he left us. But she gave me a new piece of my heart. It isn’t the same one he took with him, but that new piece; I think it is called joy.
Wherever my children are, they are forever the pieces of my heart. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
I often wonder what people think when they come over to our house. We have two glass cabinets on both sides of our entertainment center. On 2 of the shelves are his things. Foot print molds. His urn. 3 framed pictures. A rose. His 'baby book' which is geared toward loss. Little things people have given us that have been special.
I think if someone came to our house and saw those shelves, they would 'get it'. It is behind glass. In a cabinet. Kind of has an official, special, hands off look.
But then, there is the refridgerator. I love, love, love having a fridge covered in stuff. To me, it makes the kitchen look warm and lived in. Magnets all over the place, random pictures scattered about. I leave my nieces and nephews pictures up, my parent's Chistmas collage of pics from the year stays up year round. A picture of Hub and I from 4 years ago. Pictures of our daughter. Magnets from local establishments. A picture my niece colored for me years ago. A card my parents sent my husband, years ago. Off to the right on the freezer door is a 5x7 photo of him. It is the only picture I have with his hat off.
The company at the hospital that takes the newborn photos and usually charges new parents a bazillion dollars took it. Free of charge. I thought it was a really nice offer and agreed to have his photo taken. We had our own camera and got a lot of pictures, the nurses had a camera and took some. But even in my grief I knew I wanted as many photos as possible. They took him away to have his picture done and sent them to me in the mail. I had promptly forgotten about that extra photo until a month later when it arrived in the mail. I called Hub, all excited that we had another picture. He actually left work early so he could come see it. When he got home, it struck us that he should be racing home to see his son, not a picture of his dead son. It is all so damn sad.
It is a nice picture, I know they did some editting on it, because his head is nice and round. But it is nice to see his hair line, the tops of his little ears (so much like Hub's).
I put one of the copies on our fridge that day, and there it is. I know some people in our extended family struggle with the pictures we have around. It makes them feel sad. It doesn't make us feel sad though. He is just as much a part of our life as our daughter is. Pictures of him keep him real. But I do wonder, when people who don't really know us, or never really knew how "real" he was to us think when they wander into our kitchen. A fridge covered in photos, tons of her and one big one of him. Do they avert their eyes away? Do they look at his cute ears and sleeping eyes? Does it make them uncomfortable?
We have talked about putting the house on the market. We do need to move closer in to the city. I know it won't be happening anytime soon thanks to the housing market tanking, but one of my biggest fears is I know we would have to put away "his" stuff. Someone would see it and it would make them uncomfortable. A picture on the fridge. A teddy bear urn on a shelf...you really don't want to be confronted with that while house shopping. I just am not comfortable shoving these things in a closet. I don't want his picture off the fridge.
I miss him. I am so so so tired of missing him. It never goes away.
I think if someone came to our house and saw those shelves, they would 'get it'. It is behind glass. In a cabinet. Kind of has an official, special, hands off look.
But then, there is the refridgerator. I love, love, love having a fridge covered in stuff. To me, it makes the kitchen look warm and lived in. Magnets all over the place, random pictures scattered about. I leave my nieces and nephews pictures up, my parent's Chistmas collage of pics from the year stays up year round. A picture of Hub and I from 4 years ago. Pictures of our daughter. Magnets from local establishments. A picture my niece colored for me years ago. A card my parents sent my husband, years ago. Off to the right on the freezer door is a 5x7 photo of him. It is the only picture I have with his hat off.
The company at the hospital that takes the newborn photos and usually charges new parents a bazillion dollars took it. Free of charge. I thought it was a really nice offer and agreed to have his photo taken. We had our own camera and got a lot of pictures, the nurses had a camera and took some. But even in my grief I knew I wanted as many photos as possible. They took him away to have his picture done and sent them to me in the mail. I had promptly forgotten about that extra photo until a month later when it arrived in the mail. I called Hub, all excited that we had another picture. He actually left work early so he could come see it. When he got home, it struck us that he should be racing home to see his son, not a picture of his dead son. It is all so damn sad.
It is a nice picture, I know they did some editting on it, because his head is nice and round. But it is nice to see his hair line, the tops of his little ears (so much like Hub's).
I put one of the copies on our fridge that day, and there it is. I know some people in our extended family struggle with the pictures we have around. It makes them feel sad. It doesn't make us feel sad though. He is just as much a part of our life as our daughter is. Pictures of him keep him real. But I do wonder, when people who don't really know us, or never really knew how "real" he was to us think when they wander into our kitchen. A fridge covered in photos, tons of her and one big one of him. Do they avert their eyes away? Do they look at his cute ears and sleeping eyes? Does it make them uncomfortable?
We have talked about putting the house on the market. We do need to move closer in to the city. I know it won't be happening anytime soon thanks to the housing market tanking, but one of my biggest fears is I know we would have to put away "his" stuff. Someone would see it and it would make them uncomfortable. A picture on the fridge. A teddy bear urn on a shelf...you really don't want to be confronted with that while house shopping. I just am not comfortable shoving these things in a closet. I don't want his picture off the fridge.
I miss him. I am so so so tired of missing him. It never goes away.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
There are so many times that I think about him, that I want to write about him, that amazing thought I know should get written down and then life gets in the way, I am not near my computer and it slips away. So, when I do sit down to create an entry, I feel at a loss.
And while this blog is not about her, it is. It is about loving her and loving him and how they both fit into my life. This blog started long before her but I let it just sit, pretty much empty. It was after her arrival that the feelings came pouring out and I decided I need to continue to write.
So, she is 7 months now and all of a sudden two teeth appeared. I apparently have the world's easiest baby because I had no idea they were about to show. She was kind of cranky one day, but it was on a day where just daddy was in charge and mommy was out charging herself, if you know what I mean! :) I just figured her schedule was out of whack because of the difference in ways of doing things.
So, all of a sudden, a few days later, there were these teeth! I was so excited, I called Hub and told him. She has two teeth! Bottom, front. I dug around her mouth more, feeling their sharp edges...noting on her "first year" calendar the date of her first tooth.
Then I sat on the floor, held my head in my hands, and let the tears fall. With *every* joy surrounding her (which are thousands) comes absolute sadness. Not just because we should have been through this already. That is a big part of it, everything we missed out on with him, we get with her and that is hard a lot of day.
But....because it is already going by way too fast for me.
For the better part of 18 months, I was just wishing time away. I wanted nothing to do with the present and only wanted the future. Well, I got my future. And I have tried, desperately, to put the brakes on. Ever since she was born, I am trying in vain to slow things down. I really think I do a good job soaking in the moments. Laying with her on the floor. Letting her pull my hair, stick her hands in my mouth, making her giggle. Talking long walks with the stroller, dressing her in cute outfits, splashing in the baby tub... but it is all still too fast. I am afraid of it all slipping by. I have wanted this for *so* long, I was robbed of it in the last moments of my pregnancy with him, and I am *not* taking it for granted with her. But why can't I just slow time down? She will not be by baby forever.
What is sad, is I do have a "forever" baby. He will always be my tiny little dude, with sandy blond hair, tiny baby feet, tiny baby fingers.... I so badly wanted to see him grow up. Now I get to see his sister grow up and it all seems too much, too fast.
Talk about confusing, conflicting emotions.
And while this blog is not about her, it is. It is about loving her and loving him and how they both fit into my life. This blog started long before her but I let it just sit, pretty much empty. It was after her arrival that the feelings came pouring out and I decided I need to continue to write.
So, she is 7 months now and all of a sudden two teeth appeared. I apparently have the world's easiest baby because I had no idea they were about to show. She was kind of cranky one day, but it was on a day where just daddy was in charge and mommy was out charging herself, if you know what I mean! :) I just figured her schedule was out of whack because of the difference in ways of doing things.
So, all of a sudden, a few days later, there were these teeth! I was so excited, I called Hub and told him. She has two teeth! Bottom, front. I dug around her mouth more, feeling their sharp edges...noting on her "first year" calendar the date of her first tooth.
Then I sat on the floor, held my head in my hands, and let the tears fall. With *every* joy surrounding her (which are thousands) comes absolute sadness. Not just because we should have been through this already. That is a big part of it, everything we missed out on with him, we get with her and that is hard a lot of day.
But....because it is already going by way too fast for me.
For the better part of 18 months, I was just wishing time away. I wanted nothing to do with the present and only wanted the future. Well, I got my future. And I have tried, desperately, to put the brakes on. Ever since she was born, I am trying in vain to slow things down. I really think I do a good job soaking in the moments. Laying with her on the floor. Letting her pull my hair, stick her hands in my mouth, making her giggle. Talking long walks with the stroller, dressing her in cute outfits, splashing in the baby tub... but it is all still too fast. I am afraid of it all slipping by. I have wanted this for *so* long, I was robbed of it in the last moments of my pregnancy with him, and I am *not* taking it for granted with her. But why can't I just slow time down? She will not be by baby forever.
What is sad, is I do have a "forever" baby. He will always be my tiny little dude, with sandy blond hair, tiny baby feet, tiny baby fingers.... I so badly wanted to see him grow up. Now I get to see his sister grow up and it all seems too much, too fast.
Talk about confusing, conflicting emotions.
Friday, June 20, 2008
For a long time; it was his room. When I got pregnant in the fall of 2005, one of the first things I did? Bought bedding for the room. I fell in love with a discontinued bed set, so I stalked eBay for random pieces to complete the set. I think I had the main pieces by the time I was 7 weeks pregnant. Crazy to think about, but I was really excited about that room.
So, my entire pregnancy with him was spent doing little things for that room.
It was actually in that room that I had my first weird, deep, gut feeling that he wasn't coming home. It is a weird thought I had when I was about 35 weeks along, not a paranoid thought, but a matter of fact thought. That is a subject for a different blog post though.
So, back to the room. After we lost him, we threw everything baby related around the house (swing, bouncy seat) into that room and closed the door. But the room was never off limits. I went in there often, to look around. To touch the crib. To remember and grieve. It also became a "catch all" for other random stuff, like a bed frame or a dresser we had no space for anymore.
But it was always HIS room. Blue and yellow. With cheerful bugs and turtles marching up and down the wall. "It is a turtle! With a party hat!" I exclaimed cheerfully.
When I got pregnant again, I knew I would redo the room. Regardless of gender. The bugs and turtles were his theme. I would use the furniture again, obviously. The bouncy seat and swing were brand new. But I wanted new bedding, wall art, a new paint job. Getting pregnant with a girl made that decision even easier. We would go from blue to pink, pink and more pink. In fact, in an effort to find joy in a a very scary pregnancy, I looked at crib sets at the very start. Focusing on picking out a set I loved made me smile and get excited again.
Late in September of 2007, my mom came over and started painting over his room to turn it into her room. She did a wonderful job. Her huge gift to our daughter. After she completed the pink and tan paint job, I got to work. Hanging the valance (that, once again, I had to stalk eBay for because I fell in love with a clearanced bedding set!), ordering pink and brown baskets, scouring the internet for a brown changing pad and on and on. There were those thoughts "What if I am doing this all again for a baby who doesn't come home?" But, to be fair to her and really, fair to myself, I pushed ahead.
Then, the room was complete. But...it still looked like his room. Despite the pink and brown and the clearly girly bedding with cupcakes and ice cream cones...when I walked in, it still looked like his. The furniture all in the same place. I could see a little blue paint peeking out from a corner that had been missed in our pink painting job.
So, I got to work again. I rearranged the furniture. I moved the rocking chair to the other side of the room, the bookshelf which can be placed two different ways, got laid on it's side against a wall instead of in a corner. The dresser went into the other corner.
I left the blue paint, however, peeking out. Not that I needed it, but a reminder of what used to be.
When she was born, she looked so much like him. At certain angles, it would catch me off guard. Her, with him peeking out, reminding me of what used to be.
Now that she has grown and changed, I don't see him in her every time I look anymore. I go into that room and my first thought is not "his room" like it was for 2 years. It is now her room, with burp cloths thrown on the floor, the baskets in disarray, the closet a mess....the room is lived in.
But that blue paint...it remains, and it catches my eye every now and again. Peeking out.
And with her....well, she is my 7 month old. With full cheeks. Chubby thighs, and no longer my tiny baby.
He is forever that newborn, and she is now a full blown baby. But....every once in awhile, while she sleeps, I catch a glimpse. I see both of my children. Peeking out behind those closed eyes.
So, my entire pregnancy with him was spent doing little things for that room.
It was actually in that room that I had my first weird, deep, gut feeling that he wasn't coming home. It is a weird thought I had when I was about 35 weeks along, not a paranoid thought, but a matter of fact thought. That is a subject for a different blog post though.
So, back to the room. After we lost him, we threw everything baby related around the house (swing, bouncy seat) into that room and closed the door. But the room was never off limits. I went in there often, to look around. To touch the crib. To remember and grieve. It also became a "catch all" for other random stuff, like a bed frame or a dresser we had no space for anymore.
But it was always HIS room. Blue and yellow. With cheerful bugs and turtles marching up and down the wall. "It is a turtle! With a party hat!" I exclaimed cheerfully.
When I got pregnant again, I knew I would redo the room. Regardless of gender. The bugs and turtles were his theme. I would use the furniture again, obviously. The bouncy seat and swing were brand new. But I wanted new bedding, wall art, a new paint job. Getting pregnant with a girl made that decision even easier. We would go from blue to pink, pink and more pink. In fact, in an effort to find joy in a a very scary pregnancy, I looked at crib sets at the very start. Focusing on picking out a set I loved made me smile and get excited again.
Late in September of 2007, my mom came over and started painting over his room to turn it into her room. She did a wonderful job. Her huge gift to our daughter. After she completed the pink and tan paint job, I got to work. Hanging the valance (that, once again, I had to stalk eBay for because I fell in love with a clearanced bedding set!), ordering pink and brown baskets, scouring the internet for a brown changing pad and on and on. There were those thoughts "What if I am doing this all again for a baby who doesn't come home?" But, to be fair to her and really, fair to myself, I pushed ahead.
Then, the room was complete. But...it still looked like his room. Despite the pink and brown and the clearly girly bedding with cupcakes and ice cream cones...when I walked in, it still looked like his. The furniture all in the same place. I could see a little blue paint peeking out from a corner that had been missed in our pink painting job.
So, I got to work again. I rearranged the furniture. I moved the rocking chair to the other side of the room, the bookshelf which can be placed two different ways, got laid on it's side against a wall instead of in a corner. The dresser went into the other corner.
I left the blue paint, however, peeking out. Not that I needed it, but a reminder of what used to be.
When she was born, she looked so much like him. At certain angles, it would catch me off guard. Her, with him peeking out, reminding me of what used to be.
Now that she has grown and changed, I don't see him in her every time I look anymore. I go into that room and my first thought is not "his room" like it was for 2 years. It is now her room, with burp cloths thrown on the floor, the baskets in disarray, the closet a mess....the room is lived in.
But that blue paint...it remains, and it catches my eye every now and again. Peeking out.
And with her....well, she is my 7 month old. With full cheeks. Chubby thighs, and no longer my tiny baby.
He is forever that newborn, and she is now a full blown baby. But....every once in awhile, while she sleeps, I catch a glimpse. I see both of my children. Peeking out behind those closed eyes.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
So, it is Father's Day today. It is our first Father's Day with a living child.
In 06, I had just given birth to our son. In 07, I was pregnant with our daughter.
But, in 2006, I had a stack of Father's Day cards in the drawer. Being that I was due so close, I had stocked up on cards for grandpas, and great grandpas and daddy in advance. I didn't know what life would a 1 week old would be like, so on the day before my son was born, I bought 6 cards.
The next morning, I learned he was gone. What is sad, is while I was happily picking out Father's Day cards, my son was dead inside of me. And I had NO IDEA.
Looking back, I know he never moved that day, a Tuesday. I now figure he died sometime Monday night since I know I felt him that Monday. So Tuesday, I went to work, I picked out Father's day cards, I took a walk with my husband. I played with my dog. I emailed my friends. I talked to my mom.
The whole time, my son was dead inside of me. And I didn't even notice.
I cannot tell you how much the thought of this guts me. I was happily living my little life. And I didn't even know the worst thing to ever happen to me, my son's death, had already occured. Inside of me, no less. This haunts me every single day. There are a lot of other things that haunt me.
Like the image of him being laid on my chest right after he was born with his closed eyes and his daddy's nose. Looking so much like a sleeping baby, but so much like a dead baby as well.
Then when we finally decided to have the nurse take away his little body. Handing him to her and watching her walk away with him, wrapped up in a hospital blanket with his "Thank Heavens for Little Boy" onesie on.
These two images haunt my dreams, my waking moments, and every breath I take.
We wanted to take him home. I wanted to give his dad and grandpa those silly, cutesie Father's Day cards I picked out. But he died. And I left with haunting images of our short, much too short, time together and Father's day cards sitting in a box upstairs mixed in with all the other special things we had planned for his life.
I am sorry, to my dear dear husband. I am sorry I couldn't get him here safely. I am sorry you don't have both of your children to hug today.
In 06, I had just given birth to our son. In 07, I was pregnant with our daughter.
But, in 2006, I had a stack of Father's Day cards in the drawer. Being that I was due so close, I had stocked up on cards for grandpas, and great grandpas and daddy in advance. I didn't know what life would a 1 week old would be like, so on the day before my son was born, I bought 6 cards.
The next morning, I learned he was gone. What is sad, is while I was happily picking out Father's Day cards, my son was dead inside of me. And I had NO IDEA.
Looking back, I know he never moved that day, a Tuesday. I now figure he died sometime Monday night since I know I felt him that Monday. So Tuesday, I went to work, I picked out Father's day cards, I took a walk with my husband. I played with my dog. I emailed my friends. I talked to my mom.
The whole time, my son was dead inside of me. And I didn't even notice.
I cannot tell you how much the thought of this guts me. I was happily living my little life. And I didn't even know the worst thing to ever happen to me, my son's death, had already occured. Inside of me, no less. This haunts me every single day. There are a lot of other things that haunt me.
Like the image of him being laid on my chest right after he was born with his closed eyes and his daddy's nose. Looking so much like a sleeping baby, but so much like a dead baby as well.
Then when we finally decided to have the nurse take away his little body. Handing him to her and watching her walk away with him, wrapped up in a hospital blanket with his "Thank Heavens for Little Boy" onesie on.
These two images haunt my dreams, my waking moments, and every breath I take.
We wanted to take him home. I wanted to give his dad and grandpa those silly, cutesie Father's Day cards I picked out. But he died. And I left with haunting images of our short, much too short, time together and Father's day cards sitting in a box upstairs mixed in with all the other special things we had planned for his life.
I am sorry, to my dear dear husband. I am sorry I couldn't get him here safely. I am sorry you don't have both of your children to hug today.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
So. His birthday came and went with little fanfare. Last year, last year it was a Big Deal. I got cards. I got letters. People remembered. This year. Not so much.
Now, I DO understand. And there were people that did remember. But compare them to the numbers of last year and it is hard not to feel slighted. Not that I am counting but last year we probably got 20 some cards, this year we got 3. And the 3 were from people you wouldn't even expect to send one.
I have to remind myself that he is *my* son. Not theirs. It is up to me to remember him. If he was alive, it would be our family's deal and not anyone elses. So I cannot get upset when a friend asks me to watch her dog that day or when friends casually invite us out for drinks.
But, that day. His birthday. He should be 2! Two!!! He should be holding up two fingers, mouth full of cake and saying "Imtwo!" all muffled like. Instead, Hub and I sat out on the deck of the condo we were staying in and drank beer and each ate a cupcake and talked. And talked. The could've and should've and would've. We went through them all. The guilt. The heartache...and the happy stuff.
Hours before we were in the pool with our 6 month old daughter. We were talking about what swimming would be like when she is older and imagining the "daddy! Watch me!" as she jumped off the side of the pool. Just them, a family of 3 walked in the door. A dad and his daughter, who was about 6, jumped in the pool together. The dad was teaching her how to swim, had her laughing so hard she could barely stay afloat. It was a nice scene, it was nice to look at a family and know that is our future. For so long, we would see parents and a little boy and look at them and know that should have been our future. It was a nice little gift on a hard day.
Now, I DO understand. And there were people that did remember. But compare them to the numbers of last year and it is hard not to feel slighted. Not that I am counting but last year we probably got 20 some cards, this year we got 3. And the 3 were from people you wouldn't even expect to send one.
I have to remind myself that he is *my* son. Not theirs. It is up to me to remember him. If he was alive, it would be our family's deal and not anyone elses. So I cannot get upset when a friend asks me to watch her dog that day or when friends casually invite us out for drinks.
But, that day. His birthday. He should be 2! Two!!! He should be holding up two fingers, mouth full of cake and saying "Imtwo!" all muffled like. Instead, Hub and I sat out on the deck of the condo we were staying in and drank beer and each ate a cupcake and talked. And talked. The could've and should've and would've. We went through them all. The guilt. The heartache...and the happy stuff.
Hours before we were in the pool with our 6 month old daughter. We were talking about what swimming would be like when she is older and imagining the "daddy! Watch me!" as she jumped off the side of the pool. Just them, a family of 3 walked in the door. A dad and his daughter, who was about 6, jumped in the pool together. The dad was teaching her how to swim, had her laughing so hard she could barely stay afloat. It was a nice scene, it was nice to look at a family and know that is our future. For so long, we would see parents and a little boy and look at them and know that should have been our future. It was a nice little gift on a hard day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)