I held my forehead and leaned into my legs as if I would collapse at any moment.  My breath grew deeper and heavier like I were preparing to get sick or as though I had run the longest of races.  I was dizzy, motionless, trying to make reason out of non-reason.  My lips tingled; tears welled and receded, then flowed with the enormity of what was happening.  Rob was now childless too; I felt guilt, shame and yearning for his pain, let me carry it, I cried.   My damn broken body, “What is wrong with me?” “Why, why, why?” I screamed. Why did he have to die, why am I broken, why can’t I have it go my way, ever-ever-ever.

My thoughts reversed and I tried to recollect the events, quickly, as if it mattered.  Had I seen his soul escape or float or whatever they say it does.  I could not recall.  Maybe, or maybe I wanted to think I’d seen it. No, I think there was something. Oh, I don’t know.  I don’t know.  He was so precious, beautiful.  I started reliving the days of sitting with him nearly 24-hours a day, only leaving him when the nurses promised to call if any slight change occurred. I knew I needed rest, but I didn’t want to miss a second of his life.   Maybe I knew, or a part of me knew that he would die.  It had to have been very deep within my psyche because there never was a day that I consciously thought that we would lose him.  We were the eternal optimists.  We cheered every child in the unit and celebrated each victory as babies went home. No, I couldn’t have known.

I barely was aware that Jakob’s kind conscientious nurse was gently removing all of the monitors and needles.  Needles! My gracious, he had them everywhere, even in his forehead.  I would shudder every time they told me they needed to start a pick line, a main line used to sedate and medicate him. It meant finding a new vein, which could be anywhere on his tiny 1 pound, 7-ounce body.  Each heel stick, to check his glucose level, lined up next to the last leaving a state of complete rawness from side to side on his adorable one-inch foot.  I couldn’t remember the removal of the feeding tube, the staff had quickly unassembled it as I was gazing at his beautiful skin.  Now he was free, no more pain, no more struggle.  I knew he had felt the pain, a mother knows, even though they’d had him heavily sedated so the ventilator could do its job. Peace was now radiating from his face.  The battle to stay alive was finally over.

Next Page >