I woke up early on Friday morning. Something seemed wrong. I thought my water might have broken. I was wet and that had never happened before. I called the doctor. The nurse told me he wasn’t in, and to go to
the hospital for a check. At the hospital,
the nurse put the monitor on my belly, found the heartbeat and said, she
thought everything was fine, but I needed to stay to be monitored for an
hour. He moved and kicked and I heard
his heartbeat for an hour. Before I left
the nurse said, “he’s really happy in there.”
She thought he was pressing on my bladder and that’s why I was wet.
Thinking back, that’s not just the last time I heard his
heart beating, that was the last time I remember feeling him move like
that. I went to work, I came home, I ate
dinner and I went to bed. He didn’t move
all the time, I didn’t worry about it.
On Saturday we went to my aunt’s house. We played outside and chatted and had
lunch. When we got home I realized I
hadn’t felt him move- but sometimes when you aren’t thinking about it you don’t
notice or remember. I drank some cold
water; I laid down. I was having
contractions- painful ones, but not consistent.
I thought maybe he wasn’t moving because of the contractions.
On Sunday we watched to Super Bowl. I thought I felt him move, just a little bit.
I was still having contractions.
Early Monday morning, about 3:00 I was wet again. I thought it was the same thing. I tried not to worry about it. At 4:30 it happened again, and I got dressed
and told my husband I needed to go to the hospital to get checked. I told him
it was probably nothing, but I wanted to be sure.
I went to the same room I had been in just a few days
before. The nurse put the same kind of
monitor on my belly. She couldn’t find
the heartbeat. She tried several
different ways. She called in another nurse to try. She couldn’t find it either. They called in a third nurse.
My doctor came in and said, “I won’t say good morning until
we are sure it is a good morning.”
They took me to get a sonogram. Although I couldn’t see the picture on the
screen I knew as soon as they saw it.
Their faces fell.
I couldn’t do anything. I felt the tears, but I didn’t make
a sound. I didn’t cry out, I didn’t scream, I didn’t move- I could hardly
breath. My only thought was “Why?!” I couldn’t even ask.
The doctor said, “I’m so sorry, it is not a good morning.”
He said, “I know the only thing you want to know right now is why, but I don’t
have any answers for you. I may be able to tell you when I take him out, but
even then may never know why.”
We will never know why my perfect baby’s heart stopped
beating.
I needed a cesarean section.
He was 37 weeks. He was full term.
My husband was finally able to cme. I had told him on the phone that
our baby was gone.
We cried and stared blankly.
It couldn’t be real.
The doctor said he would try to get us in as soon as he
could, but there were already surgeries scheduled.
The nurse gave us information to help us make
decisions. We had to contact the funeral
home, did we want a photographer? Should
she call the chaplain? She had already called social services. She handed us paper work and a gift basket
from another grieving mother.
I stared at the paper work and basket for a while hoping
they would just go away.
My husband had to contact our families and tell them.
They started showing up within the hour. I wanted them to
have a chance to see and hold him, Michael Eugene- my beautiful lost baby boy, my first
son, my heart.
The anesthesiologist came in to talk to me. He told me what would happen, and he asked if
I wanted something to ‘help me forget.’ He said, “We can’t offer this in a
normal delivery, but in this case I can give you something so that it won’t be
so vivid.”
I said, “Yes.”
What did I forget- I don’t know. I remember most how quiet it was.
When my girls were born I remember the
doctors and nurses chattering, I remember country music on the radio. With Michael is was quiet. No music, not
chatting, no baby crying.
I was shaking uncontrollably. I was so cold. Did I cry the
whole time? I think so- I suppose I did forget something.
The nurses cleaned him and handed him to my husband while
they finished with my incision.
When I held him for the first time he was still warm from my
body. He was pale, but still looked like a sleeping newborn, so still, so
quiet, so amazing. He looked like my
second daughter. He was tiny, only 4
pounds 5 ounces. I loved him with all of
me. I needed him.
Our family came in and everyone held him for a while and
cried.
Before our daughters came in the room my husband had to
explain to a four year old and a two and a half year old that their much-anticipated
baby brother was dead.
“Why did he died?”
“I don’t know why baby, he just did, and we are all really
sad about it.”
“Do you want to see him? Do you want to hold him? Do you
want to give him a kiss?”
“After today we won’t see baby Michael anymore.”
“Where will he go?”
“He’ll go to heaven with God and the angels.”
“How will he go there?”
“They angels will take him.”
“I don’t want him to go.”
“I don’t either, baby.”
We held him for twelve short hours, and we said goodbye to
our tiny son, brother, grandson, nephew, cousin. We said goodbye to our
expectations, our hopes, and our dreams for that little boy.
After he was gone I felt empty, my belly was empty, my arms
were empty, but I can’t say my heart was empty. My heart was full of love and
sorrow. You don’t stop loving someone just because he is gone. My heart will
always be full of love and sorrow for my baby Michael.
I wondered when I had my first child how I could make room in
my heart for a second child, it felt so full. When I had my second child
everything just multiplied, it was magic. When I had my third baby- when I lost
my third baby I gained perspective. He taught me things I never wanted to know.
He taught me I’m stronger than I ever thought I was. I’m not angry at God. I’m not bitter or depressed. I don’t feel
guilty or jealous. (As some books indicate that I might feel.) I feel sad.
I feel sorrow. I feel loss. I feel sorry for myself sometimes, and I
feel it’s okay to have all those feelings.
He taught me how much you can love someone you never met.
He reminded me in the biggest way that we don’t get
everything we expect to get, no matter how much we want it.
He showed us how much our friends and family love and
support us.
He reminded me how important it is to how my girls how much
I love them as often as I can.
It’s been just over a month and my girls still ask about him
almost every day.
We did have a photographer come in, and I look in the mail
box everyday for pictures of that little prince.
I’m usually okay, but it strikes me at random times. “I
should have a baby right now.” “How would this be different if I had Michael
right now?” I wonder how long this grief will keep me on the verge of
tears. I’m worried it won’t go away, I’m
worried it will. I wonder if I will ever be able to smile when I think of him.
I loved him. I love him. I will always love him.
I wish all babies were loved as much as he is.
