by Angela Westermann
Tonight the question was asked.
"How did you live through that?"
"I don't know, " I replied, "I just did."
Somehow I lived through the day my baby died.
That moment is forever embedded in my mind.
"Is he still alive?" I asked. "His heart is still beating,"
was the reply. I gently cradled my baby son against my beating heart,
as the very life I so wanted to give him drained from his. I play this
image over and over in my mind. I know it by heart. One single breath,
one single beating of the heart separated us. I looked at his father,
the tears burning his face, streaming like a river. Neither one of us
knew how to comfort one another. But somehow we did. He crawled up in
the bed, mother, father, and son lying together. A family. That moment
time stood still. All was as it was supposed to be. We wrapped our arms
around our little son and slept. Waking up only to find out it was true.
They moved us to a private room.
Family and friends surrounded us.
A thick silence filled the air.
A baby gone
lies in the bassinet beside me.
I look over and think "Why?"
All I can say is, "It's not supposed to be this way!" Confusion,
betrayal, sadness and complete chaos take over my world. My baby, my baby
PLEASE I beg. The nurses come in and tell me that they have to take him
away. "What do you mean, take him away?" I asked. "He has
to be kept cold," they say. I had to send my son away to the cold
harsh morgue. So when they bring my baby back to me he is no longer warm
he is as cold as ice. But you see it has to be this way. He is dead.
The next 24 hours are a complete blur.
"Do you want an autopsy?"
"Is there anyone we can call?"
"Would you like a cremation or a burial?"
Phone is ringing, questions from family far away.
"What happened?"
"Are you ok?"
All I can do is let the tears fall. And they continue to fall. I dress
my baby for his service. Caressing all his fingers and toes. Memorizing
him. My mind not letting me realize this is the last time I will touch
him. Then the time comes when I hand him to his father, who places him
in the bassinet. He kisses his son on his head and lets him go. They wheel
him away. His time with us is done.
Now over a year has passed.
How did I get through it?
I didn't.
I live it everyday.
I just do.
Written for Andrew by his mum, Angela
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