To be honest, I think I've written and re-written this post about 100 times in my head over the last few days. It's one of those things that I feel I need to acknowledge and talk about a little bit, but also one of those things I'd rather just gloss over and sweep under the rug so to speak.
But I can't. I can't because I remember nearly every detail about January 24, 2009.
*disclaimer: What you are about to read is sad, very sad. It is also mostly unfiltered and may not be suitable for everyone.*
I remember the phone ringing not long after 7 am and I remember grabbing a granola bar (chocolate chip in case you're wondering) before running out the door. I remember I was supposed to meet my parents at the grocery store at 9 so I could get my shopping done and I didn't have to go alone. I called to tell them I wouldn't be there at 9 and that they should stay home because I wasn't sure what was going on just yet.
I remember being stopped at a stop light and seeing the ambulance going through on their green light. I remember following them to the hospital and getting there mere seconds after they did.
I remember being ushered into a small, private waiting room at the hospital with my husband's (then boyfriend) ex and her boyfriend and various other members of their families. I remember the doctor coming in and asking if he'd been sick recently. If there was any reason he would/could have stopped breathing. I remember being asked if we wanted to see him and of course we said yes. We didn't yet know the gravity of what was happening.
I remember walking into that room and hearing all of the beeping. A male nurse was doing CPR on his tiny body. He was only 7 months old. Seven months to the day. I don't think there was a dry eye in the room. I knew just barely enough to know what some of the numbers on the numerous machines meant and I knew they weren't good numbers. We were encouraged to talk to him, but it didn't do any good.
I hate hospitals. They make me nervous and anxious. I once fainted in a hospital because it was so overwhelming.
I had to leave the room before I got too overwhelmed. I had to make phone calls and tell everyone to come to the hospital. They were some of the hardest phone calls I've ever had to make.
I remember being ushered back to that small waiting room. His pediatrician came in and asked if he'd been baptized yet. It still wasn't good. He hadn't been, but his doctor offered to baptize him before it was too late. The doctor left the room and came back a short time later.
He was gone.
We went out to the car so my husband could smoke. I called my parents and could barely choke out "He's gone" before I burst into tears again. They said they would be there as soon as possible. My husband punched my car in anger and I yelled at him.
I remember the sun was shining and I thought it was a cruel trick. How could the sky be happy when there was so much sadness.
My parents showed up about 10 minutes later and it was like a scene out of Baywatch. They were running down the hall toward me and I was running down the hall toward them. I asked if they wanted to see him and we went back into that awful exam room.
I remember that everyone slowly filtered in, wanting to see him one last time. All of the tubes and wires had been removed and he was swaddled in a blanket.
I remember being asked if I wanted to hold him one last time. I didn't. I couldn't let my memory of the last time I held him be then. I wanted to remember the last time I held him the Thursday before. When I hugged him and kissed him and told him we'd see him again soon before his mom's boyfriend picked him up.
I remember that he was a happy baby. His laugh was contagious. His smile lit up the room. He ate like a champ. He loved to cuddle. It was hard not to love him from the minute you met him.
I remember taking this picture of him, one of the last.
It still makes me smile. All that drool and that hair. He was so loved. He loved so much.
I know some of you are wondering what happened to take a life so small so soon. The investigator who called my husband said the cause of death had been determined to be positional asphyxiation.
In simple terms, he suffocated because he had been put in bed with his mother and her boyfriend and at some point one (or both?) of them rolled over onto him.
I'm not going to lecture on the dangers of sleeping with your children in bed. I'm just going to ask you to think twice, maybe even a third time, before you decide to do it. Please. In fact I'll practically beg you. Before you decide it's ok to put your child at risk. Because this is a risk every single time they are sleeping in bed with you while you are also sleeping. All it takes is one time and sometimes you won't get the chance to try again. To be sorry you made a wrong choice one time and try something different another time.
Remember, you put that fancy thing called a crib on your baby registry for a reason. Or maybe you put a bassinet or a cradle on the list instead. At any rate, your child probably has somewhere else to sleep that is safer.
And with all of that I ask you to hug the special children in your life, even if they aren't yours. Tell them how much you love them and how special they are to you. Without getting into the topic of fertility, or lack thereof, I just want to remind you that every child is a gift and should be treated as such.
No comments:
Post a Comment