I’m awake well after midnight. There is something about the night that makes me restless- it always has. Even in high school I would stay up until 3 or 4 in the morning- just reading books or writing in my journals. Occasionally sneaking out to smoke forbidden cigarettes. I have always dreaded lying in bed, eyes open, my mind spinning.
Sometimes Tommy Jr’s death feels so far away I can’t remember why I feel so messed up. The surgery and the hospital stay seem far away too. I think back on all the wonderful nurses who cared for us and I can’t even remember some of their names. At first I was so eager for our lives to fast forward pas the pain. It turns out that doesn’t work and I still feel so offended by the pace of life.
It’s the end of November. In a blink it’ll be Christmas. Another blink and Tom will be graduating from law school. While I sat in the hospital room breathing in the canned air and dreading phone calls from the NICU, I knew that time would be so precious. I miss those days more than any vacation, any time in school, any victory. I would give anything to be back in that room of rolling furniture and beeping machines. It was my own little womb where other people protected me and supported me and cared for me.
Towards the end I started being bothered by all the flowers for me, and not one “Its a Boy” balloon. I was so glad when Tommy Jr got a name tag with a dinosaur drawing on it next to his little incubator. Behind all the worry and the grief, I was still a mother who wanted her baby honored just like any other boy. It was impossible though, I understand that. Too many people were worried about me and too many people just didn’t know what the hell to do (myself included). If I had thought of it, I would have asked for an “It’s a boy balloon”. So many of my loved ones would have be happy, eager, relieved to be given a direct order that might lend me a little hope or joy. But I didn’t know I’d want it until it was too late. I remember so clearly when Tom Sr and I walked out of the hospital in the exact opposite way we had come in: slowly, alone, quiet, without a baby and without an inking of hope. I wished out loud that Tommy Jr had gotten a balloon or a cigar in his honor.
It’s getting later. The Sunday night clock is relentless. Tom just called for me from the bedroom. I hate how non-specific my sadness is now. That makes me feel more disloyal than laughing ever did. And worse, I know that the searing grief will get lighter and lighter, til it only haunts me on certain days or after seeing certain triggers. I think I’d rather wallow in the acute pain of my child’s death, then just let him become another part of my past.
Maybe you could help me. The next time you have a fine glass of wine or something, maybe you could just think to yourself “Here’s to Tommy Jr”. I’m just so desperate to keep him close.
You know we will. We keep him close too.
I think of Tommy Jnr quite often actually. If you would like to send me a photo, I’d love to add it to my wall of “babies in my heart”…those loved and lost by my nearest and dearest. It’s so important, to know that our babies are remembered, and cherished. I too wish people had acknowledged my baby’s birth as a birth, not just as a death.
Thank you so much Suzy, I will send you a picture. Thank you for your support.
Heather – I, too, think of Tommy Jr. As I read about your blue, “It’s a boy!” balloon thoughts, it struck me that might be a special tatoo you could get – if you believe in tatoos. Some of my cybergalpals who had mmc got tatoos to remember their angels. Tears are streaming down my face right now thinking of you and your angel.