Sawyer’s Story (part 16): Becoming a Stalker
May 10, 2011 at 11:08 am | Posted in Death, Grief | 3 CommentsTags: child loss, death, grief, Sawyer
We had missed the first call from the medical examiner. She had left a message. I called back. I had missed her for the day. I called again the next day. And the next. The Tuesday after Sawyer died I spoke to one of the two pathologists who had performed Sawyer’s autopsy. I spoke to Dr. R. She told me the preliminary findings and explained that it would be a few weeks before all the test results were back.
Dr. R. proceeded to tell me that Sawyer had a coarctation of his aorta. She explained that this is a narrowing of the aorta. She gave me the measurements. I asked frantically if there was some way that we could have detected this. Did we miss a symptom or a sign? Could we have prevented it? If it was a heart defect than that would mean that it was not a virus or something else that I could have let Sawyer be exposed to.
After hanging up the phone with Dr. R. Evan called our pediatrician. He told him the preliminary results. Our pediatrician explained to us that the measurements of the narrowing in Sawyer’s aorta were small but Sawyer and his heart were small. I was now wishing that I could understand more of these medical terms. More than once when Jake was in the NICU I cursed myself for going to law school instead of medical school
I tried to call Dr. R. back. She was not in her office. I left a message. She did not call back the next day so, I called again. And again. I contemplated how many times a day I could call her. I decided to keep calling but just leave messages once a day. Two painfully long weeks went by. I began to think about going to the medical examiner’s office in person.
I asked the receptionist what she thought would be good times to call. I called at the times she suggested. I called at other times. I jumped every time our phone rang hoping it would be her.
“Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it. We anticipate (we know) that someone close to us could die, but we do not look beyond the few days or weeks that immediately follow such an imagined death. We misconstrue the nature of even those few days or weeks. We might expect if the death is sudden to feel shock. We do not expect this shock to be obliterative, dislocating to both body and mind. . .” — Joan Didion (The Year of Magical Thinking)
Telling the Twins part 2
April 4, 2011 at 1:14 am | Posted in Grief, silver lining | 8 CommentsTags: death, life after loss, twins
Evan and I have tried our best to explain to the twins that Jake, Sawyer and Mom Mom are dead. It is hard to tell what actually is going on in their 3 1/2 year-old minds. However, every once in a while they give us some insight into what they are comprehending. The other week they came home from school and announced that one of their teachers had died.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
They both answered, “Yes, she was not at school today or last day (yesterday). She died.”
I quickly tried to reassure them, “She is probably on vacation or home sick.” They both look as if a light bulb just went off in their little minds.
They both happily clarify, “Yes, that is it. She got sick and then she died.”
You will all be happy to know that their preschool teacher is alive and well. She went to a wedding and is back at school. Evan and I clearly have some more explaining about death to do. . .
In my next attempt I am going to tell them the following story:
Waterbugs and Dragonflies : Explaining Death to Young Children” by Doris Stickney
Down below the surface of a quiet pond lived a little colony of water bugs. They were a happy colony, living far away from the sun. For many months they were very busy, scurrying over the soft mud on the bottom of the pond. They did notice that every once in a while one of their colony seemed to lose interest in going about. Clinging to the stem of a pond lily it gradually moved out of sight and was seen no more.”Look!” said one of the water bugs to another. “One of our colony is climbing up the lily stalk. Where do you think she is going?” Up, up, up it slowly went….Even as they watched, the water bug disappeared from sight. Its friends waited and waited but it didn’t return…
“That’s funny!” said one water bug to another. “Wasn’t she happy here?” asked a second… “Where do you suppose she went?” wondered a third. No one had an answer. They were greatly puzzled. Finally one of the water bugs, a leader in the colony, gathered its friends together. “I have an idea”. The next one of us who climbs up the lily stalk must promise to come back and tell us where he or she went and why.”
“We promise”, they said solemnly.
One spring day, not long after, the very water bug who had suggested the plan found himself climbing up the lily stalk. Up, up, up, he went. Before he knew what was happening, he had broken through the surface of the water and fallen onto the broad, green lily pad above.
When he awoke, he looked about with surprise. He couldn’t believe what he saw. A startling change had come to his old body. His movement revealed four silver wings and a long tail. Even as he struggled, he felt an impulse to move his wings…The warmth of the sun soon dried the moisture from the new body. He moved his wings again and suddenly found himself up above the water. He had become a dragonfly!!
Swooping and dipping in great curves, he flew through the air. He felt exhilarated in the new atmosphere. By and by the new dragonfly lighted happily on a lily pad to rest. Then it was that he chanced to look below to the bottom of the pond. Why, he was right above his old friends, the water bugs! There they were scurrying around, just as he had been doing some time before.
The dragonfly remembered the promise: “The next one of us who climbs up the lily stalk will come back and tell where he or she went and why.” Without thinking, the dragonfly darted down. Suddenly he hit the surface of the water and bounced away. Now that he was a dragonfly, he could no longer go into the water…
“I can’t return!” he said in dismay. “At least, I tried. But I can’t keep my promise. Even if I could go back, not one of the water bugs would know me in my new body. I guess I’ll just have to wait until they become dragonflies too. Then they’ll understand what has happened to me, and where I went.”
And the dragonfly winged off happily into its wonderful new world of sun and air…….
Waterbug 1
Waterbug 2
Sawyer’s Story (part 14): Seeing Sawyer
March 29, 2011 at 11:20 pm | Posted in Death, funeral, Grief, mourning | 3 CommentsTags: child loss, death, Jake, Sawyer
All I wanted to do was see Sawyer again and hold him. Somehow I thought none of this would be true if I saw him. He would not really be dead if I held him and talked to him.
Me & Sawyer
Evan and I made calls to the funeral home and the cemetery. Both the people who helped us with Jake’s funeral arrangements were still there. We made appointments to plan another funeral. I just wanted to know when we could see Sawyer. His body had been taken to the medical examiner’s office. After the autopsy he would be brought to the funeral home.
We went to the funeral home. Evan and I sat in the same room we had been in 4 years earlier. We had the meeting about the casket, the service and all the other arrangements. It was not a long meeting. Just like with Jake there was no choice of casket. There is only one size casket for babies.
The meeting was over and Sawyer had not arrived. We were told that we would not be able to see him till the next day.
We thought of you with love today,
but that is nothing new.
We thought about you yesterday,
and the day before that, too.
We think of you in silence,
We often say your name,
But all we have is memories
and your picture in a frame.
Your memory is our keepsake,
with which we’ll never part.
God has you in his keeping,
We have you in our hearts.
We shed tears for what might have been,
a million times we’ve cried.
If love alone could have saved you,
you never would have died.
In life we loved you dearly,
in death we love you still,
In our hearts you hold a place
no one could ever fill.
It broke our hearts to lose you,
but you didn’t go alone,
For part of us went with you.
– Author Unknown
Telling the Twins
March 26, 2011 at 11:50 pm | Posted in Death, Grief, silver lining, twins | 8 CommentsTags: cancer, death, grief, twins
We did not have too much time to figure out how to tell the twins that Sawyer died. I went with whatever came out of my mouth first. Evan and I did have some time to figure out what we would tell the twins when Evan’s mom died. Below are some options that we could have told the twins when talking to the twins about Jake, Sawyer and Evan’s mom:
- We lost Jake. We lost Sawyer. We lost Mom Mom. They are not lost. I knew where Jake and Sawyer were every minute they were alive. I know where they are now that they have died. On a separate point, if they were lost – I would have found them by now (if I had not found them, some one should report me to family services and/or the police).
- Jake, Sawyer and Mom Mom went to sleep. We all go to sleep. Some of us take longer to go to sleep than others. No need to make going to sleep scary for the twins.
- Jake was sick. Sawyer was sick. Mom Mom was sick. Jake was premature. We still do not know what happened to Sawyer. Mom Mom had cancer. We did tell the twins that Mom Mom was sick and the medicine she took no longer worked.
- Jake, Sawyer and Mom Mom passed away. I used this option quite a bit when Jake first died. However, when I spoke to the twins about death – “passed away” did not seem quite right anymore.
We told the twins that Mom Mom died. We told them that she had been sick for a long time. The medicine no longer worked. They both looked at us. Our daughter asked, “Where is Mom Mom?” Before either of us could answer, she said, “Oh, I know Mom Mom is with Sawyer and Jake.” Evan and I could not have given them a more perfect answer.
So sad
March 14, 2011 at 10:36 pm | Posted in Death, Grief, mother, mourning | 17 CommentsTags: cancer, death, grief, hospice, mom
I have tried to write this post several times in the last week. I cannot seem to find the words but I am going to try.
Evan’s mother lost her battle with cancer. I was very lucky to have her as a mother-in-law.
She was an amazing artist.
She was an amazing business woman.
She was an amazing athlete. In one 9 month period, right after chemo for the cancer which had returned to her bones, she had 3 holes in one.
And most importantly, she was an amazing mother, grandmother, wife, sister and friend. I am so sad that she died.
A few weeks ago Evan and I were talking. He told me that in a perfect world his mom would be healthy, happy and teaching art to all 4 of our children. Here she is playing with the twins last summer:
I like to think that Evan’s mom is now with Jake and Sawyer. Maybe, just maybe she is teaching art to them as I write.
Sawyer’s Story (part 10): The Unthinkable
February 4, 2011 at 11:12 pm | Posted in emergency room, Grief, hospital | 14 CommentsTags: child loss, death, grief, Sawyer
We stood in the room with the ER doctor. We did not want to believe what he had just told us. How could Sawyer be dead? Just a few hours before he was alive and fine. I felt like my head would never stop spinning. Had he gotten a virus? Had he choked? Were there signs we had missed?
A medical examiner had come into the room at some point. He said he had to ask us some questions but we could go see Sawyer first. We both jumped at the chance to go to Sawyer. I just wanted to hold him. Maybe if we saw him and held him everyone would realize this was just a big horrible mistake.
As we were taken to the room where Sawyer was it was explained to us that all we could do was literally “see” him. We were not allowed to hold him. We were not allowed to kiss him. We were not even allowed to touch him.
We were brought through the door to the room in the ER that earlier I had desperately wanted to open. There was Sawyer. He was lying on this huge hospital bed. He was so small. He was so still. He had tape on his face from one of the tubes. I screamed. I just wanted to take the tape off of his face. The doctor or maybe the medical examiner said I could not remove the tape. In fact, Evan and I could not even get very close to him. I could not stop screaming. I just wanted to hold him. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare. I ran out of the room.
I waited for Evan in the hallway. I tried so hard not to think about the fact that it was time to feed Sawyer. I tried even harder to get the image I had just seen out of my head.
Sawyer’s Story (part 9): The ER
February 2, 2011 at 4:40 pm | Posted in Death, emergency room, Grief, hospital | 9 CommentsTags: child loss, death, Jake, Sawyer
In the hallway of the emergency room I did not know what to do. I stared at the door willing myself to be on the other side of it with Sawyer. I thought Evan was driving right behind the ambulance so I did not understand where he was. I later found out he jumped in the car and followed the ambulance. However, when Evan got to a main street he realized he did not have his glasses on. He did not have his contacts in his eyes either. He drove back home to get his glasses.
Meanwhile, I continued to cry in the hall. The ER nurses and doctors were going about their business. They were doing their jobs. I kept thinking, “How can they possibly be going on with their lives when something is very wrong with Sawyer?”
My cell phone rang. It was my brother. He told me that he was taking our parents to the airport. I told him I hoped to call him back soon to let him know that Sawyer was fine.
Time seemed to stand still. Why had I not heard back from the doctor? Where was Evan? The hospital chaplain came to talk to me. I knew what this meant. The hospital chaplain came to talk to Evan and me 5 years earlier. They came to talk to us about Jake. I could not talk to the hospital chaplain that night in the ER. I walked away. I might have said something but I do not remember.
I called one of my oldest and closest friends. I knew it was 4 something in the morning but I called anyway. I remembered she told me she had gotten up the day after Thanksgiving to go shopping at an extremely early hour. She answered and offered to come to the hospital. I thanked her but said no. I hoped to call her back soon to tell her everyone was fine.
Evan finally arrived. I had nothing to tell him. No one had given me any updates. The hospital chaplain was back. This time she took us to a room. I am not sure how long Evan and I were in that room. Eventually, a doctor came to talk to us. He told us they were doing everything they could but Sawyer was not responding. He said he would be back with another update.
I paced and every once in a while I sat on the floor. Evan asked me to sit next to him on the couch. I tried but I could not sit still.
The doctor returned. He said the words I could not believe we were hearing again. “Your son is dead.”
Little Angel
We were given an angel to cherish and love. 
So tiny, so perfect, a gift from above.
When we looked at his face it was calmness we found
And that peace seemed to spread to all he was around.
His love touched our hearts like fine threads of spun gold
And we thanked G-d for giving us this angel to hold.
But we did not know then that time was our foe
And too soon, with a whisper, our angel would go.
Our hearts almost breaking, a touch soft as lace
Seemed to wipe at the hurt as it coursed down our face.
We still have our angel to cherish and love.
Those gold threads now shimmer from Heaven above.
And though we can’t see him or cuddle him tight,
We won’t say goodbye, Little Angel, goodnight.
– Author unknown
Sawyer’s Story (part 8): The Ambulance
January 26, 2011 at 6:50 pm | Posted in Death, emergency room, Grief | 13 CommentsTags: child loss, death, Sawyer, twins
I felt like I was moving in slow motion as the ambulance drove the 3 miles to children’s hospital. I kept trying see what was happening to Sawyer. I could not see very much because there were so many paramedics in the back. I asked the driver many times if my baby was ok. Every time I asked he would respond, “I really can’t say ma’am. Just calm down.” Inside I was screaming. How could I possibly calm down? And, who was this “ma’am?”
It did not help matters that the ambulance driver went down the road with the bridge that was out. The bridge had been out for months because of all the rain we had in the fall of 2009. I thought that maybe the ambulance driver knew something I did not and emergency vehicles could go over the bridge. I was wrong. The bridge was out for all vehicles including Sawyer’s ambulance. The driver turned around at the bridge. He then asked me for directions to the hospital.
We finally arrived at the children’s hospital emergency room. I had been there twice before. One time for each of the twins. Those times we went in through the regular entrance. Each time the twin was fine and we all left through the same entrance.
Sawyer was rushed into the ER through the ambulance entrance. I ran down the hall following Sawyer. He was whisked into a room. The door closed. I was not allowed in. I just stood in the hallway and cried.
I tried my best to rationalize what I had seen in the back of the ambulance. I had seen Sawyer’s EKG. It was a flat line.
“Do not judge the bereaved mother.
She comes in many forms.
She is breathing, but she is dying.
She may look young, but inside she has become ancient.
She smiles, but her heart sobs.
She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works, she IS,
but she IS NOT, all at once.
She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity.”
–Author Unknown
Sawyer’s Story (part 7)- 2:46 am
January 20, 2011 at 2:46 am | Posted in Death, Grief | 11 CommentsTags: child loss, death, Jake, Sawyer
I woke up at 2:46 am. The night nurse was in our room. She was doing CPR. On Sawyer. She was saying over and over again, “The baby is not breathing.” I could not comprehend what was happening. One year and 1 month later I still do not understand. I doubt I ever will.
I jumped out of bed. I started to scream. Evan called 911. The night nurse continued to do CPR. Sawyer’s coloring was all wrong – but he was not blue. I wanted to hold him. I did not because he was receiving CPR. I just watched. I thought I saw his eyes open. I could feel a flicker of hope mix with the horrible pit of fear in my stomach.
The police were the first to arrive. I have no idea what the police officer said. I just could not understand what was taking the ambulance so long. Evan told me to get dressed. I was soaking from the night sweats. I changed my clothes.
I thought back to a Friday night/Saturday morning 5 years earlier when I got dressed to go to the hospital to see Jake for the final time. The morning/night in 2005, I walked down the hall to where my parents were sleeping. I told them we were going to the hospital to see Jake. At 2:56 am December 26, 2009 I called my parents to once again tell them we were going to the hospital. This time we were going to the hospital with Sawyer.
The firemen arrived next. Evan ran downstairs to put our dogs in Uncle W.’s room.
Sidenote: We have 2 dogs. I cannot believe I have not written about them yet but I will. In another post.
Evan waited outside our house to make sure the ambulance did not miss it. Finally, the paramedics arrived. They came up to our room with a huge stretcher. The night nurse stopped doing CPR. The paramedics took over. Now I not only could not hold Sawyer but I was having trouble seeing him through all the people gathered around him.
They took Sawyer to the ambulance. There were so many people. It was so chaotic. I remember getting my jacket from the closet next to Uncle W.’s room. I tried to tell him that there was something wrong with Sawyer. I am not sure what I said.
Now I was in the front seat of the ambulance. Evan was beside me. The paramedics would not let us in the back with Sawyer. We were both in the front seat. The ambulance driver told us only one could sit up front. The other would have to drive separately. Evan promised he would be right behind us. We left Uncle W., the night nurse and the police in the house with our twins who miraculously were still asleep. We drove away.
Sawyer’s Story (part 6): A normal night
January 16, 2011 at 7:28 pm | Posted in Death, Grief, parents | 4 CommentsTags: child loss, death, grief, Sawyer
The twins woke up from their nap not long after I took this picture of Sawyer and Evan. Everyone was much calmer and happier when they woke up. The twins played. I fed Sawyer again. We all ate dinner together. The twins, Evan and I sat at the table. Sawyer was in his bouncy seat next to me. The second that Sawyer dropped his pacifier one of the twins would jump up to get it for him.
After stories, songs, more blankets and every other stalling tactic the twins could come up with Evan and I put the twins to bed . During the bedtime routines I held Sawyer when I could. If Evan and I were helping the twins Sawyer would sit in his bouncy seat.
The twins were asleep around 8 pm. Then, Sawyer and I Skyped with my parents. I fed Sawyer again. He fell asleep. I walked our dogs. Evan stayed with Sawyer and cleaned the kitchen. I called my brother while I walked the dogs. I remember telling him about my challenging day with the twins and how excited I was that we had a night nurse coming over soon.
At 10:15 pm the night nurse arrived. She had worked with the twins before but this was the first time she had met Sawyer. Evan and I went over everything about him with her. There was not too much to go over. Sawyer had some congestion since birth. He had been to the pediatrician. The doctors all said he was perfect.
In his 5 1/2 weeks he had spit up twice. He was a good eater. He ate every 3 to 4 hours. I was breast-feeding so we were not sure how exactly how many ounces Sawyer ate. That night I would pump so that I could sleep. The night nurse would give him his next feeding.
Sawyer had just gotten baby acne and the night nurse told me what to put on it. I was very excited to try her remedy – I was anxious for his baby acne to go away. I was holding him the whole time we were talking. Finally, the night nurse said, “Give Sawyer to me so that you can go get some sleep.” Evan and I kissed our baby boy. I placed Sawyer in the night nurse’s arms. If I had known this would be the last time I would hold him I would have never let him go.
In our room I pumped. Evan brought the milk to the night nurse a little after 11:00 pm. We were both asleep by 11:30 pm.
Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.
Entries and comments feeds.
A Mourning Mom 