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Archive for May, 2011
“Impacted by Memorial Day?”
I am not sure about the rest of the readers here on this blog, but I do not make the connection of Memorial Day and the death of my children. I was visiting my mom this past weekend and she kept asking me how my wife and I were doing with Memorial Day. I thought it was kind of a weird question until she told me that she had been thinking about Katie and Noah a lot. I told her that I have always attributed Memorial Day to the loss of service members and that I really didn’t feel much of anything regarding Memorial Day and the death of Katie and Noah.
How does everyone else feel about Memorial Day and the connection to the death your child? Did you spend time on this day (more so than others) thinking about them? Did you visit the cemetery and place flowers?
“Heroin”
Heroin
Heroin took my son took him far away
I found him on his bed so dead as he lay
Eyes closed in sleep spoon on night stand
Bloody foam in mouth with needle in his hand
This vision haunts my dreams keeps me from sleep
What sin did I commit that this is what I reap
It’s hard to close my eyes so many tears I’ve cried
Thought I was a good dad and know I really tried
Where did it all go wrong that I must feel this pain
I’d give up my own life just to see him once again
To hold him in my arms and tell him of my dreams
Tell him how I love him in frustration I do scream
There’s no turning back these cruel hands of time
How stupid I must be trying to capture this in rhyme
There’s just no explaining the feelings in my heart
I want to live again but don’t know where to start
Written 02/18/10 by: Thomas Patrick Calvert
This poem captures many of the things that dads feel or experience after the death of a child, regardless of the circumstances.
Trauma: We have all experienced the effects of trauma from either finding our child dead, receiving that phone call or being with our child when they died. The death of a child is trauma and it has major impacts on our lives and our ability to cope.
Questioning: We all have experienced and ask ourselves questions like “what did I do to disserve this?”, “why couldn’t I protect my child?” or “why them?”. The list of questioning is endless.
Picking up the pieces: We all are tying to put our lives back together after being shattered. Unfortunately the pieces don’t fit together like they use to. How could they? When we do manage to construct something, they look nothing like they did before. We are forever changed and the ability to accept that is hard but it must be processed if we have any hope of living again.
Thank you to my friend Tom Calvert for sharing this poem with everyone here. There is a lot honesty is this poem.
“Crying As I Write This”
“Crying as I Write This”
My wife and I found out that she was pregnant on Mother’s day of 2010. We were both very excited and very scared at the same time. The thought of a second child did what I am sure it does to lots of people…makes you wonder about everything…how will my daughter react to a new baby…am I ready for this all over again…well, there goes my sleep…and the list goes on and on. None the less, we were still excited. Fast forward about 4 or 5 months during one of the many, and I mean many, check-ups and sonograms…we find out that our baby may not have a kidney. So we go for more regular check-ups and sonograms and eventually find out that even if our child has only one kidney, he will be fine. Whew! (We later found out he had two healthy kidneys)
Fast forward again to the day of his birth. It was January 2, 2011 at just past 7 p.m. My wife went into labor just 2 hours before, and hard labor lasted only about 45 minutes. It was a whirlwind. Colin Emanuel Stuart was born that day, a beautiful little boy. Now we had one of each and were very happy to see all the new things a boy would bring. It made a new baby even more fun since we had no idea how to raise a son. We were starting to get the hang of raising a daughter, but a boy would bring new challenges. Now…STOP…WAIT…they rushed Colin to NICU because, as we found out later, the placenta tore, the cord was around his neck, and his birth weight was very low…a mere 4 lbs, 13 oz. NICU was a tough experience to live with, but after only four days, little Colin came home.
At home, Colin was a great baby, and all the fears and trepidation left when the most important thing (at least to me) happened…his big sister loved him immediately. She was so gentle and sweet and always made sure to kiss his little head before naps and bed time. Other than the normal sleep deprivation and occasionally getting peed on by the little guy, life was great. My wife nursed him and pumped when she had to so I could feed him now and again. After a few weeks, the little guy was over 5 pounds. A few more weeks and he was close to 7, a month later, he was a healthy and chunky 8 pounds and some change. He started to get those chubby baby cheeks. We were in the clear and Colin was going to be a normal, healthy boy.
This abbreviated version of the story then changes tone….quickly! My wife took Colin to the doctor the morning of March 2, 2011. He was just going for his check-up and vaccinations. It was routine at this point. They came home, my wife called; he was grumpy and fussy from the shots. Finally he settled down and went to sleep. Not long after, I picked my daughter up from day care and we went home to be a family…just like every other family…just like every other day. Normal things happened, dinner, tubby time for the kids, reading stories to my daughter before bed, etc. Life was blissfully boring. When Colin wouldn’t settle down for sleep, I took him downstairs so my wife could get some rest. It was my night for the early shift, and she would take over for the middle of the night feeding. The next night we would switch. Again, all normally routine stuff. Colin laid down on my chest that night and we dozed off together for about 30-45 mins. I woke up; he was in the same position as when he fell asleep. I sat up, cuddled him in my arms and immediately know something was wrong…he was no longer breathing. I screamed in a panic for my wife. She called 911, did the CPR, rode in the ambulance to the hospital as I talked to the police and held my daughter tightly. Then I got the call…it was 12:11 in the morning of March 2, 2011…Colin is dead.
In the hours, days, weeks, and now a few months that have followed, I (and my family) have been on an emotional roller coaster. It took 8 weeks for the medical examiner’s office to give us an official cause of death. It was ruled SIDS. The news was bittersweet since we now knew that there was nothing we could have done or not have done to save his little life. We were not horrible parents. The fact that he died on my chest that horrible night made me feel like I contributed somehow to his death. Now I could breathe again knowing I did not. Life, at least for me took a turn toward “better” a little after that. There was some peace in knowing that it just happened, he did not suffer, and for all eternity, our Colin would be perfect. Today is May 10, 2011 and I am crying as I write this, but the world should know the all too short life of a truly perfect soul…Colin Emanuel Stuart.
I will end this story with a message of hope. Colin was physically alive for only two months, but if the number of people who attended his funeral mass is any indication, he will live forever in the hearts, minds, and souls of a great many people forever, especially his Daddy, Mommy, and Big Sister!
I love you and miss you, son.
Daddy
Thank you to Steven for opening his heart, telling his story and allowing me to post it here on this blog to share it with all of you. I can feel the pain in his words. His story gives me flashbacks to those “moments in time” that all of us expereinced regardless of the circumstances. Moments forever burned into our memory. Peace. Kelly