The rambling taboo subject of dead babies

It has been over 7 weeks since he died.  I say died because terms like 'passed on' or 'he left us' tend to hide the magnitude of what really happened.  People do not like to hear about dead babies, it is a taboo subject when death in general is frowned upon in our society in general.  Our country spends billions on healthcare for the elderly.  Now before you call me a genocidal maniac and Dr. Kevorkian's right hand man, listen to what I mean.  We are so concerned about prolonging life in this country.  The goal is not the quality but the length.  My grandmother was in a nursing home due to a degenerative disease, she was total care.  Absolutely could not do a thing for herself.  What kind of life was that?  I have seen others in nursing home forgotten by their family just being cared for by overworked nursing aides.  These people are kept alive basically as a symbol for their families, to escape the inevitable.  Say there were no nursing homes, just acute care like hospitals and we cared for our elderly parents in our own home without all the intrusive medical treatments.  What if these people who were in the home and not the nursing home died because they did not have all the care they provide.  Is that a bad thing?  To die at home while you can still perform some of your own acts of daily living and surrounded by family in a safe environment?  Or would you rather sit in a nursing home for 5 years wallowing in your own diaper because they are too busy to change you.  Me I prefer to die at home, with my family.  I want them all to be surrounding my bed as I grip the hand of my grandson and whisper in his ear where I buried my treasure.  I do not want to die in a nursing home.  I told Marcellus I would though, for him.  I told him the day he died that I would trade places with him, that he could live and I would wallow in a nursing home for years as he looked over me.  But he did not live.  He did not trade places with me, I could not take him away from that.

So I had to watch my baby die.  And plunge myself in a world full of dead babies.  A secret society of sorts, parents who lost children.  A such taboo subject that people do not know what to say to you about it.  I dont want to be in this society, I do not want to know what is comforting and what is not comforting to say to people in grief.  A couple weeks before Marcellus was born we went to a pig pickin hosted by some of my brewing buddies.  One of my brewing buddies lost his 2 year old unexpectedly and this was their first public function.  I avoided them, I had no idea how to approach them.  Her death affected me, I felt very sad to hear about it.  I felt like I needed to go to the funeral for some reason.  I saw the mother walking by the cars, visibly lost in thought.  I thought about walking up to her and trying to give her sympathetic words.  I am so glad I did not now.  Nothing I could have said would have made it any better to her.  She wanted to be alone, and me approaching her would have voided that want and made her upset.  Now I know what to say to them because I know what they are going through.  It sucks.  It is no longer taboo to me.

I told my best friend who I finally talked to last night about what I am going through.  He admitted it is hard to know what to say and he has never been exposed to something like this.  I told him straight up what I wanted him to do.  I told him that never to worry about bringing it up to us because we are always lost in thought about it.  People say things like they do not want to upset you by bringing it up.  Like we are going through our day happy as two bees in a sunflower field until you brought up our dead baby.  We are constantly upset about it.  Its the first thing that we wake up to and the last thing that we fall asleep to.  Marcellus is always in my thoughts because he is always in my heart.  I told him I would carry him with me.  If I could not raise him I would live for him. 

Marcellus is not taboo, he is not forgotten, he is not passed on.  He is dead.  His body is lying in a box buried in the cold ground.  Sometimes I lay in bed and put my hands over my eyes to see total darkness so I could know a little what it is like in there where he is.  When I do that I slowly let a little light in and imagine what it would be like to be called home with Jesus.  I hope he is smiling down on us, giving our hearts a hug.  I miss my son so terribly much it hurts, it hurts right below my heart in a knot.  Last night I sobbed uncontrollably because I missed him so much.  No words could have made me feel better, I just needed to cry.  I will cry my tears for him.  He deserves that from me.  I love him so much.

Grief hangovers

Grief is exhausting and taxing on your mind, body, and spirit.  I have noticed that after a particularly heavy day of grief the next day is followed by a disconnected, mindless day.  I still grieve and spend part of my day thinking of Marcellus, but it is no where near the day prior.  I had a heavy grief day on Christmas and thus spent yesterday in a grief hangover.  We did not go to any cemeteries or walks to talk to Marcellus, we did not talk much of how we were feeling, we just kind of went through the motions, waiting for bed.  I did have my moments yesterday where I spent some time actively thinking of him.  One on my run where I fell and laid there for a second and felt like I could lay there for the rest of my life feeling sorry for myself.  But I got up and took it as a sign to slow down and think of him so I did.  Then during my shower, or thinking pod as it is called, I ended up getting pretty angry.  I can work myself up in the shower and scream at the walls, it is a good release for me.  I end up crying all the time afterwards but that is helpful too.  None of those events were like Christmas where the grief was so heavy all day. 

His videos and pictures hurt more to view now.  When I think about him I do not ask 'why is he gone?' so much anymore, I long for him.  A heavy yearning that when I know I cannot have him I plunge into sadness.  He looks so healthy and we are so happy in the pictures and videos, why cannot mommy and I have that?  Why must we live in this way, searching for meaning, some shred of importance of to why we were here.  I was prepared to give my life for my son, to be completely selfless for him.  I will be able to do that with more earnest with his little brothers and sisters when they arrive but until then I cannot pour selflessness into memories of him.  There is only so much you can do with a memory, I am not strong enough yet to direct it towards other people.  It is still Marcellus's selflessness that I have.  The dog takes some, and I give a lot to my wife.  I just long for my son, I long to be a daddy.  I long to have him here, to wake up to him in the night and tend to him, to carry him around the house.  To come home from work and have the dog come to the door and see my wife holding him and hear her say with excitement "daddy's home!"  I will never have that with him. 

For weeks it did not seem real, his death was tragic and sudden which sent us into shock and numbness.  We knew we watch a baby die, that we cried over it, that we held it and buried it.  But a part of our brains said, close your eyes really tight and when you open them you will be back in the NICU.  Obviously that never worked but for the longest time I felt like that.  Now no matter how hard I close my eyes, how much I stomp my feet or scream in the shower he will never be here.  He will be forever out of reach, fading away into the distance as we grasp for bits and pieces of him to cling onto.  My wife wants to hold him, one more time.  I just want to touch him, to tell him as he looks up with those dark eyes of his and tell him that "Daddy loves you Marcellus, Daddy loves you more than he ever loved anything in his entire life.  Daddy will do anything for you." 

I wish I could see him again, just for an instant. I love you Marcellus!

Its Christmas everybody! Lets update our status!

For me, not on the book.  I am not ready for FB merry Christmas status's yet, but I am not going to post on there some anti-happiness status.  I am not going to be that guy.  I would rather spread my message of Christmas disgust on here.  I want people to have a merry Christmas, I am just not ready to have a merry Christmas with them. 

We went to midnight mass last night hoping to hear a clear message.  It was like any other mass except longer. The whole time I kept looking at the families and the fathers with their children.  Now there was only one baby in the church (it was Midnight, I do not now why that baby was there in the first place) so most of the kids were older. But sure enough the father was there with the family.  I hated seeing that, seeing a family together spending time.  I used to spend time with my family every Christmas Eve, it was our alone time together to spend as just ourselves.  After my brother left for the Air Force I continued to come home, never missing Christmas Eve.  There was always a feeling of love and togetherness with us.  I realized last night that there will always be someone missing on Christmas Eve.  When it is our night as a family we will be spending it one less.  Christmas will always have a different meaning for us, one we wanted to have come true so bad.

Marcellus was suppose to be home by Christmas.  Sure it was a goal set by the doctor and not a go home date by any means but it resembled something tangible to us.  Christmas was an event to the whole world, a time of receiving gifts you waited all year to have.  We waited for Marcellus, longer than a year, to my Wife, 9 years.  When my Wife and I decided to start for a baby it was about a year ago we decided to prepare for it.  I started my waiting then.  It seems so long ago.  After he died Christmas became just another date on the calendar that reminds us that we travel through time farther away from the wonderfully short time he was alive with us.  Those words of the doctor still echo through my head, that he could be home by now.  No more monitors, just my wife, my dog, and most importantly my tiny yet feisty son.  He would be so big now, compared to his birth.  We would know so much about him.  We would be able to hear him cry without a feeding tube in his mouth.  We would know his ques and his wants and his rhythm from being in the NICU.  Each day would be a gift, each day would represent our family as a whole.  Each day would be better than the last. 

But he is not here.  I do not know his ques, his wants, what his eye color is, what his cry sounds like, what his squeaky laughter would sound like, what his butt looks like, none of that.  I know him dead, I know what he looked like laying in a casket smelling of horrible chemicals.  I know what his gravesite looks like.  I know what my Wife's cry sounds like.  I know what my cry sounds like, I know how I handle myself in complete despair and grief.  I have been longing for him the last couple days.  Just bitter yearning to hold him, to see him, to be his father.  I just want to close my eyes really tight and hope he would appear.  I just want to run to the hospital to see if he is there.  I miss him so much, I just want him with me.  Nothing else matters in my life now, my son is dead, he is not coming home for Christmas.  I am crumbling inside, reaching for memories of him that fade as the time goes by.  Each fading memory takes a piece of my heart as its companion.  The first Christmas without him is not going to be a good one.  The second will not be a good one.  The third will not be a good one.  When will it be good?

"There goes my hero, watch him as he goes"

Rough night last night.  Really rough.  Grief is a balancing act.  If you decide to go through grief with someone by your side, you need to be able to pull them through when you feel like every muscle aches in your body.  Grief is a solitary journey by nature, humans share joy and isolate sadness.  I was not there when my partner in grief needed me.  I became selfish, I let my emotions dictate my reaction to the needs I faced.  I cannot bottle up my grief, I cannot put it on a shelf for later.  I asked god if I could, if I could set it aside so I could be there for my wife.  I tried, and I failed.  God said I was not ready, god told me that I love my son too much that I cannot simply hide this.  So I must take the hand of my wife and walk through the choking dust of grief together.  But I need to be able to hold her up when she trips in the dark, and recognize when she is able to help me to the ground when I need it.  I also must find ways to express my grief.  Talking about it just does not work.  Typing does, writing does.  I wrote his angel birthday story and it took up 12 pages.  No one is going to read it besides my family someday of course.  I will share my grief, distribute it the only way I know how, to not stop talking about it.  I cannot hold up a phone conversation and face to face conversations I throw up blocks.  Even when I am speaking to the counselor or another grieving parents I look away, I look at empty space, I pretend I am speaking to no one, that my words are not falling on concerned ears, that they fall to earth to rest in the dust never to be heard again.  I need to tell people how I feel, what I am going through, how every day feels like a dagger in my soul.  My wife told me that her heart is hanging on by a string, all the pieces are falling apart.  I wanted to be an extra string, to tie real tight around it, instead I acted as a flame, burning the string, allowing the pieces to come crashing down to earth.  I know I am being hard on myself and that really is not the case, but it just helps to write out my feelings.

I asked god to help me through this, I asked god to be there for me, to give me strength that I need to breathe every day.  What I need from god is someone to listen to my thoughts, to turn that concerned ear and allow me to speak to him when I need to.  And I need to, I need to talk.  Marcellus's death opened up a whole new realm of emotions guys spend their entire lives burying under their hobbies and activities.  Right now I could give a shit about my hobbies, beer is a long lost friend, brewing is an acquaintance I lost touch with.  Video games spark little interest.  Even shooting holds no passion in my heart.  I have never been much for sports, so now they make me sick. The idea of people being so concerned about a bunch of guys being paid millions of dollars to play a game.  I want to play to the game, to play football, to play softball.  I do not want to watch grown men play.  Tangent, sorry.  My emotions have come through in music though, I am still trying to make a playlist to help me through this, I am getting there.  I have just rediscovered a live performance Foo Fighters thats acoustic.  Listening to Best of You and My Hero with the emotions he sings touches me.  My hero is not my father, my hero is my son.  He is ordinary, he is the best of me.

I love my son, I miss my son so much.  My son represents everything that is good in the world.  His death represents all that is tragic and sad but I do not associate him with his death.  His death is an event, an action on his life that is just one part of it.  It does not represent him.  Marcellus is not my son who died.  Marcellus is my son, he was here, he taught me how to love, he died, and now he is an angel.  It is a mere stone in his path to eternity.  Someday when that stone does not weigh my heart down so much I will be able to celebrate my son and let his memory light up my soul.  He is my guiding light, he is trying to pull me through this grief, he whispers in my ear and says "daddy, you have to do this, you have to do this for me.  Once you get through I can be with you.  I can be your right hand man and show you the true glory and joy in life, daddy I love you, I miss you, and I know you miss me.  We can be eachothers hero."

He is my hero, my son is my hero.  

Visions of the future born from the past

One thing I have not read about grief is how you will view your future.  I am a very adapt to be able to fantasize.  I spent most of my elementary and high school education day dreaming.  I still day dream a lot to this day.  My day dreams now focus around my son.  He would have been 2 months old today.  Yet his adjusted age still would have not come into play.  He would be two months old today but smaller than he would have been when he was born.  It is an odd concept to wrap your head around.  He would not progress like any other newborn since he was born so early, we would have to subtract 11 weeks from his age to find his developmental age. 

All of this is irrelevant now since he is dead.  There is no adjusted age, no developmental age, no growth charts, no milestones, no first crawl, first effort to stand up, first words, first walk, etc.... Now we just have the what if's, what if he was alive for Christmas, it would have been his first.  What if he was alive for Mothers Day, Fathers Day, it would have been our firsts.  Since I have been robbed of these milestones and his subsequent growth my mind has taken to fabricating him to a degree.

Oh dear he is going crazy, time to call the men with the white jackets.  Poor Morgan, to have a dead baby and a committed husband...  No, I am not going crazy, I am not pretending that I have a baby in my arms or any of that sort.  I am day dreaming when I am sad of what he would look like and what he would act like.  But honestly I day dream what he would be like when he would be 4 or 5 years old, not what he would be like as a plump pink baby crying for mommy to feed him.  I am sure I would do that if he was still alive.  I imagine him crying because he cannot get a cookie before dinner, or him running around the coffee table chasing the dog.  Or most of all I dream of me saying good night to him and hugging him and telling him that I love him so much every night.  I will never get to do that for him.  That is the hardest day dream.  To be able to tell him I love him to his face in my mind but not in real life.  I love my son, everyday.  Everything I do in my life I do through my son.  Every thought I have filters through his memory, I have now begun to live my life for him.  But no matter what I will never have the opportunity to say "I love you Marcellus" and see his smile grow wider on his face.  I just want to tell him I love him one more time. 

I love my son, I will keep day dreaming of him to keep his memory alive in my mind. 

"Its the most, wonderful time of the year..."

Yeah right,

Christmas is here, Christmas has been upon us for a couple weeks with only one week to go.  We all are thrust unwillingly into the Christmas spirit with decorations galore, songs blaring, Christmas packaging, etc.  I have always enjoyed Christmas, the traditional side of it more so than the kitchy side.  Most of all I love the message and the ability to bring families together.

But what about when families are finally suppose to be together on Christmas after waiting only to have that not come true?  Marcellus was suppose to be born right around Christmas or a little after.  When he was born early and in the NICU they told us hopefully he will go home by Christmas.  We had set that mind in our date as some joyous homecoming for our son.  If we could not have our homebirth by the Christmas tree we were going to be changing diapers by it on a tiny baby.  But none of this is true, Marcellus has been dead for almost six weeks.  Six weeks without my son.  The time of him being alive is growing ever smaller compared to the time he has been in the grave.  I have no desire for Christmas, this year, Christmas represents the painful elimination of my Son from our family.  His memory I will celebrate for sure during this time, but I will not celebrate Christmas.  I just want to get through these next few weeks.  I want people to stop asking me about Christmas, to stop wishing me 'Merry Christmas.'  This holiday is not absolute, sure it will come every year but there is no rule you have to celebrate it.  I am even getting sick of typing the word in this post.  Marcellus never knew Easter, that is the only holiday where he was not alive for...barely.  I will use Easter as my holiday for him.


Happy Easter.

I miss my son, I miss him terribly, every day.  Everytime I see a baby in the store or a father with a child no matter what old my heart feels a distinct stab.  I avoid them, but sometimes they are everywhere.  I just want to hold my baby so much, to stare into his face, hear him cry, squeak, yawn, hiccup.  I want to look at his little toes and fingers.  Most of all I want to tell him that I love him so much my heart hurts everyday.  I love you Marcellus

The demanding disability of grief

Mourning and grief, interchangeable to some, vastly different to others.  Mourning the loss of a loved one takes time, it takes effort, it can be intense at times, but it passes.  Grief is constant, grief is a part of you, grief identifies you as much as your hair color.  In some instances stating that you are a grieving parent is as much applicable as stating that you have a food allergy in a restaurant.  Grief is a disability.  A disability which no manual is written, sure books are but every ones grief is so different and unique to their personality.  There is no manual written for my personality, so therefore no one can tell me how my grief should go.

Like any disability you have to take grief in account when you plan everything, your meals, your day, and your life.  Grief is a terrible thing to live with, at first it commands your life.  It demands all your time and thoughts.  Grief also can branch out to anyone in the presences of someone grieving and cause them to have grief as well.  Like its ally misery, it thrives on company.  It is hard to be around people grieving, it exhausts you, conflicts you emotionally.  Even when you are grieving yourself, being put in a situation surrounded by others grief is draining.  But grief can be managed.  Some can manage it by hiding it, tucking it away for a rainy day.  Some manage it by running away from it by drinking, drugs, destructive behaviors.  Others choose to accept it and live through it.  Taking the risk of letting grief overwhelm you, to bind you down, never letting go.   Those who choose to go through their grief are the ones who visibly hurt when you look at their faces, their happiness has departed as they travel that scary, long road.  But they are the ones who get to the end of that road the quickest finding happiness and joy at the end.

It feels odd writing happiness and joy while talking about grief.  I do not feel happiness or joy and I feel like the long road of grief is still stretched out far in front of me, disappearing into the horizon.  You can never let your guard down and give grief an advantage.  For instance, a couple nights ago we decided to stay up late and watch both Harry Potter and the Dealthy Hallows until 4 am.  What a silly, stupid thing that was.  I had to wake up at 11 and get ready for work in three hours.  I was miserable yesterday because of that.  I felt like at any second I would collapse into an emotional wreck, my muscles ached, and my mind felt like mush.  I missed Marcellus terribly yesterday, my grief wreaked havoc with my lack of sleep. Today I slept better and woke up earlier.  Taking the dog outside to go potty I opened the front door and sunlight blasted me in my face, it made me reel backwards a few steps but I pressed on.  I could not help remark how crisp the air was, how nice the sunshine felt on my face.  I knew I had the energy to take on my grief today and someone was going to help me.

My grief is me, my personality has been changed, it will change again I am for sure.  But now I got to put on my shoes and start walking down that long road.

The week of meetings

We have had four meetings in the last two days.  Good, something to do, a plan, a goal for the day.  Too bad they would not be how we envisioned them.  The first three were much worse than the last, which was much better than anticipated.

The first meeting was an appointment for my Wife's six week postpartum check up.  Since we planned our picture perfect homebirth and ended up in the hospital we did not have an O.B.  So our appointment was scheduled at the health clinic.  Oh dear we really did not have an idea how that would go over did we.  We walk into our 8 am meeting at the health clinic and its surrounded by mothers with children.  Dealing with low income government assisted families the staff has become quite narcissistic and disenchanted.  We are waiting in the waiting room for ages and the tv has a breast feeding segment playing and my wife loses it and we have to wait outside while she cries.  They finally drag us into the appointment and they checked her over and she was fine.  But they had no information on her, they did not know our precious son died, or had any of her charts.  It was worthless. 

The second meeting was with our counselor.  We met her once and we did not like her but gave her a second chance.  Between the first and second meeting she gave us a mental health exam to fill out to see how we are doing with depression/anxiety.  Well the scores were less than ideal because we are trying to cope with our baby's death.  She took none of that in consideration and pushed us to get anti-depression medications.  She spent the whole meeting talking about getting us medicated.  I know I have signs of depression now, I am in grief!  LET ME WORK THROUGH MY GRIEF.  Needless to say we want someone who will try to help us through our grief, not just someone who wants to hook us up to meds on the second appointment. 

The third meeting was Compassionate Friends.  It was our first roundtable meeting of discussion and we were excited for the healing which we wanted to be experiencing.  There were about 10 people there, half newbies like us.  Unlike us most have lost older children, from 18 years all the way to 40 years.  Now I know that it is not easier when you lose a child who is an adult or even survived childhood than losing a child/infant.  It is a different type of grief with one big similarity, you lost your child.  But there was this lady here with her daughter, she had lost her other daughter at 29 years old to an auto-immune disease.  My heart went out to her but my patience did not.  She spent the entire meeting talking about her daughter, even when it was our time to talk and we said "we only got to hold our son for 12 days" she cut us off and went into a crying fit by saying "God took her before her 30th birthday"  and on and on.  I kept thinking, I wish I got Marcellus to 29 years old so I would have known what fucking eye color he had or WHAT HIS VOICE SOUNDED LIKE!  I know I should not judge or put my grief over anyone elses, it is just hard sometimes.  We will go back, give it a couple more tries. 

The last meeting we had was with the neonatal doctor who worked on Marcellus the day he dies.  That was a healing, sign of relief appointment.  Emotional to say the least, the last time we saw him I looked over at him and he pronounced my baby as dead at 12:43 pm.  I thanked him from the bottom of my heart that day for trying to save my sweet boys life and asked if he had children.  I then told him to hug them and tell them that he loves them.  I wanted everyone that day to go home and tell their children how much they love them because I would never get that chance again in my life to tell Marcellus.  I really hope he did, I really hope he called them and I really hope that everyone else walked out of there more thankful to have their children that day.  Back to the appointment with him, he reassured us that we did everything that we could and that everything was done correctly to try to save Marcellus.  Somehow he got blood clots which cut the blood supply to his digestive tract and there would be no hope saving him even if we would have stopped feedings a day earlier.  We do not know how he got the clots and there was no way of checking for them.  Those questions remain but we know that we did everything we could and so did they.   A relief to say the least, he then went on to tell us that we are a 'remarkable young couple' and he admired the way we handled ourselves that day.  He went on to praise us for being so active in Marcellus's life in the NICU, being not afraid of the monitors and hoses coming out of our son.  We had to be there, it was not a choice to us.  We thanked him again sincerely and he told us to contact him if we have any more questions.

Leaving the meeting we saw the doctor who assessed him the day he was born.  To see him, to see the man who asked if I wanted to touch my son two minutes after he was born was emotional.  He was the reason for the best moment of my life.  I hugged him with tears in my eyes and he walked us to the elevator.  Marcellus was looked after by such caring, compassionate gentleman it makes my heart so grateful.  The entire staff at the NICU there ensured his life was so pure and so loved.  I take comfort in knowing that Marcellus was always surrounded by people who cared for him, he never knew anything other than love and caring.  Such a wonderful feeling that would be in your life.  It humbled me to see that to my core. 

It is our first parent care tonight, hopefully we find more comfort and healing with people who can associate with us more.  People who can associate with loss of an infant.  Such a painful loss, you lose more than just your child, you lose your future, you lose your chance to prove yourself as a daddy. 

I love my family more than anything, I love my wife so much it hurts sometimes, I love my child in ways I cannot describe in words, we dont have words for the feelings I feel towards my family. 

You dont say...

Grief is an interesting journey, sometimes its predictable, most times not.  Sometimes people approach your grief with the right words and a hug, but most of the times not.  Most people stumble through their condolences with the wrong words and the pity look.  Any grieving parent knows that look, the tilted head, sad puppy eyes, corners of their mouth drooping downward, and an audible sign of pity.  Its the look you give a bird with a broken wing or a child who dropped their ice cream cone on the pavement, its not a look for grieving parents.  When faced with this look and the wrong words the grieving parent instantly withdraws and gives the person asking the standard "ok" answer.  When you see a grieving parent, dont look at them like they are a wounded puppy, their grief is so thick that it wont help.  Offer a hug, give them a shoulder to cry on, bring them something, dont offer "let me know if there is something I can do for you" instead say "do you have a specific meal you would like when I bring you dinner next week" or "I am going to take your dog out, what time works best for you."  Grieving parents know you mean well when you give the look or say the cliche condolences but a sincere "I dont know what to say but just know my heart hurts with you" does the trick a lot of the times.

What doesnt help and should never be said is the "It will get better soon," "they are in a better place" or the one I came across the other day "I have seen worse..."  Hmmm you dont say.  Well if you have seen worse then I feel much better, in fact I think I am done grieving and want to go play in a nursery full of young babies.  Do you want to come over and drink beer and watch the football game cause I am cool now, I will relay the message to my wife that you have seen worse and that our grief is done so I dont have to watch her cry her eyes out anymore, thanks dude.

But who would say something like that, especially to a newly grieving parent?  Well my coworker would,  he is about my age, same position in life, all around a pretty decent person once you get to talking to him.  When I returned to work after my absence I saw him and I knew he wanted to offer his 'condolences.'  I shook his hand and he said "I am sorry to hear about your baby.......but I have seen worse."  Shocked I stood there blankly and listened to him continue on how his wife worked in a NICU for 4-5 years and these babies have a lot of problems in life and you are better off not having your son as it would have been a challenging life and the NICU nurses basically teach the parents to suffocate the child who do not do well to save them from a life of challenges.  I let him rant on for a couple minutes as he elaborated on this and walked away from him by saying "I will catch up with you later."  But really I was walking through a tunnel of anger just trying not to freak out and lose my job.  How dare you minimize my grief by saying such a crass statement as "I have seen worse"  and then go on to say that its better that my fucking son is dead because he would have had troubles in life.  I know his life would have been altered but it would have been his life, not his death.  I want to raise my son no matter what he would have faced in life.  I wanted to give him a chance to face life in general!  And he has not seen worse, he has not seen his child die, he has not seen his wife hold his 12 day old child in her arms as he dies.  HE HAS NOT SEEN THAT.  I am afraid the outcome could have been different if I let anger take control, if I would have succumb to the bubbling rage that filled my body.  I replay that scene over in my head where I scream at him my reaction to his statements.   But I am glad I did not because he really was trying to give condolences to me and he just thought what he knew would have helped.  I am however going to avoid talking to him at all costs as I still get angry when I see him.  And if he tries to continue on I will blow up on him, job be damned.

I want to sit down with someone and talk to them about how I am feeling, I want it to be in a private place and in person.  I want it to be unsolicited so it does not feel like someone is doing me a favor, I want it to feel like they want to hear me vent.  I did a little at TCF tonight but she just lost her son (at 40 years of age) a day before Marcellus died so I really did not want to dump all my emotions on her.

Grief is tricky, sly, and patient.  It will wait for you, life be damned.

The day after

Yesterday was the 1 month anniversary of Marcellus becoming an angel.  We had a memorial service at our home for him.  We did that for a couple reasons.  One, my Wife did not want to go back to her building and have to tell everyone the story on a 1 to 1 basis or have them too shy to talk about it.  And secondly, we are so proud of him we wanted to show him off!  It was a pretty good memorial service, I had no idea how to go about it so I just started talking and I ended up telling his story.  It was hard to share his story in such a public matter but it was also such a relief to have everyone attention on me and willing to hear my story.  I even got tears from some people.  My Wife was concerned that we were not crying while telling the story but in reality that would have not worked because who can tell a story when you are crying.  I definitely had to fight the tears, not because I do not feel like I can cry but because I wanted everyone else to hear the story.

I do cry, I cry alot.  The Wife and I broke down at 12:43 pm yesterday because that is the time he died.  We cried hard for a good 30 minutes reliving all the raw, painful memories of his death.  The only difference was it did not feel numb like a month earlier.  The numbness has worn off so it was complete despair and sadness, a type of crying where you feel your breaths are not bringing in any oxygen and the whole room is crashing in around you.  The type of sadness where you feel nothing is possible, basic functions of life are impossible, there is no escaping this sadness, ever.  Like the waves of grief it passed, and we were able to drag ourselves out of bed an hour or so later and start preparing. 

I am glad we were able to show his story to people who wanted to be there for us and him.  Grief is loneliness, emptiness.  Especially for me I feel terribly alone, to be surrounded by people who wanted to be with me and hear me talk was humbling and very comforting. 

One of the older ladies, my Wifes department secretaries was there and she told us a story of her older brother Dave who was the same age as Marcellus when he died (12 days).  57 years to the day her Dad still cannot talk about Dave or mention his name and its killing him.  These were the days when men were to 'suck it up' and 'be strong, do not cry' or 'its best to forget about him and not talk about it.'  That type of coping is alien to me, that type of coping would destroy me.  If I was suppose to do that I would retreat into my mind and become an alcoholic.  I am glad no one has said that to me yet because they would probably be a release for my anger which builds on itself. 

Grief feels like a job now, we have been doing this for a month straight and I feel like each day we punch in but never punch out.  There are no scheduled hours, just you have to work.  Grief is our life, someday we will manage it, not today though.

One month today

A month ago today my son passed away.  It was foggy the morning Marcellus died.  But as we were being driven home it was bright and sunny.  Beth, who was there when Marcellus died for us remarked how angry at the sun she was for being so bright.  I could not remember it being bright, I cant remember the drive home at all.  Now I am feeling very sad, the sort of sadness that you just stare blankly into space and it is hard to think about anything. 

They say eventually you will have good days, and then you will have more good days than bad days in turn eventually.  I feel like having a good day would not be fair to Marcellus right now.  Marcellus deserves my sadness and despair.  By being sad as I can I feel like I am still doing something for him.  I am feeling for him, I cannot feel the joy and love I felt when I saw him alive so I must feel different, opposite emotions now. 

This pain is the worst pain I can imagine.  No one should have to deal with this, ever. 

Marcellus, I love you so much, I miss you terribly every second of the day.  You are the reason for my existence.  I love you baby.

daddy

Why hello there lack of sleep

4 weeks today.  4 weeks from this date my son passed away.  The absolute worst 8 hours of my life.  Cannot sleep, have not slept much in the last few days.  Going to try to eat healthy today and get some exercise in hopes of sleeping tonight. 

My wife and I are meeting with a counselor today.  We have met with a few but just on a one time basis.  Now that we are back in Raleigh we can hope to find a steady counselor to talk to in hopes of helping us through this grief.  They say you have to go through your grief, not over it, or around it.  So we are, and let me tell you it sucks. 

You never expect to have your child die, that is not something you ever consider when you are growing up.  You may think "well duh, no one expects it"  but what I mean is growing up you know your dog is going to die, you know one day your grand parents, and your parents and maybe your brother or sister will die while you are alive, you begin to prepare for it in your mind.  You never consider your baby dying.  You never consider the moment you have to watch your baby die in your wifes arms.  Its a horrible moment, not recommended.  I had to do that 4 weeks ago, never again do I ever want to see that.

Marcellus continues to improve

The first day was exhausting both physically and emotionally.  In a short time we went from preparing for a natural birth at home by the Christmas tree to a completely unnatural cesarean and a baby hooked up to every damn monitor in the world.  Adjusting to this was really quite difficult.  It felt like fate had taken our homebirth and our ideologies and provided its own.  We were at the complete mercy of the hospital and its doctors.  We had no control.  We were powerless.

But we had him, even though he was 11 weeks early.  We had him and he was healthy.  The doctors were amazed at how well he was doing.  Especially for a white male which statistically are the worst preemie babies.  They would say 'Marcellus does not suffer from WWS'  which stands for Wimpy Whiteboy Syndrome.  That made my wife and I so very proud of him and gave us tons of hope.  She is in school for her PhD in Statistics and I was in my first semester of prenursing.  Marcellus changed all of our plans.  She suspended her research and I missed a week of class to take care of her and be with him.  I did not care because I was finally with my family, we had our son, we had our child, we were so happy. 

Our happiness continued for the next 11 days.  For 11 days we had our wonderful son.  He never left the NICU of course and the doctors said he would be in there for a long time but we did not really care.  The NICU was not a burden to us.  It was just something we had to endure to see him and spend time with him.

Some of the time we spent with him was the best time of my life.  We got to k-care him, which was really kangaroo care.  Skin to skin contact which when done by the mother and father improves the health of the baby.  At first we only got to k-care for an hour at a time because of his body temperature but when he was able to regulate his body temperature a few days out we would k-care for hours.  Having my son on my chest resting, living, breathing, growing, and pooping was the most wonderful times I had him in the NICU.  I felt like I was actively participating in his care during these sessions.  I would have k-cared him for the rest of my life.

I was so glad to be a daddy, my life purpose is to be a father, to have children.  I miss my son very much.

Marcellus Robert, his story

I did not know how I was going to start this blog, in fact until very recently I had no desire to blog.  When I heard people talk about blogging I wondered what do they have to talk about?  I have read a couple and not very interested in them unfortunately.  It was not until my son passed that I realized maybe I have something to say, not to preach, but to share my experiences in hopes to help maybe one person out there.

back to how I would start,  I did not know if I should start blasting away with my feelings, or with a poem, or a picture.  I then realized that I should start with him.

Marcellus Robert was born 10/28/2011 at 10:01am.  Born 28 weeks 5 days gestation he was considered "very premature" but not a "micro-preemie."  My wife and I were planning a homebirth followed by an extended breastfeeding period, slings and baby wearing, and cloth diapering.  We were going to raise him as close to us as possible following the advice of alternate parenting and people like Dr. Sears.  What we got was a cesarean section and a highly medical journey.

He was breached, and the O.B. said that she would not deliver a breach baby at 28 weeks, and immediately after that she said she would have to do a vertical incision because of the size of the uterus at that point.  That marked the first time we both lost it.  Vertical incision would me no more vaginal births in the future and a limit to future kids.  Our midwife (doula at that point because she held as much power in the hospital as does a stranger) argued for a horizontal incision and we begged and begged for one.  She relented her position and said she would try.  Fast forwarding to the happiest moment of my life.

At 10:01 as I was holding my wifes hand I heard the O.B. say "its a boy!"  and "we did a horizontal incision."  I barely remember much after 'its a boy'  as I kissed my wife and rushed after the baby as the baby was rushed to the exam room where the doctors and nurseres were waiting to clean/asses him.  I stood there as they were assessing him smiling and literally jumping for joy.  I was looking at my son, my crying, screaming son.  I was a daddy, at that moment in life everything changed for me.  The Dr.  turned to me and said "hes really crying, thats a good sign"  and then in a awe he said "you want to touch him?"  I did not know if touching him would cause a deadly infection or anything like that, I mean he looked so fragile and everyone was covered head to toe in surgical gear.  I reached out my hand and touched my son for the very first time in my life.
He grabbed my finger.
It was only for tens of seconds I am sure but time felt like it stopped, I just stared at him and everything around me just melted away, my son was holding my hand forever connected.

The doctors wanted to get him on a ventilator to give him some rest from trying to breathe as his lungs were so premature.  This meant that they could not bring him into the O.R. where my wife was being stitched shut.  I went back for the rest of the surgery and told her about everything that happened.  I felt like I talked for the 20 minutes or so about him when I only saw him for a couple minutes.  I kept saying "he looks so good, he looks so good, hes perfect, hes ok!"  And he was ok.  His apgar scores were 8 and 9!

Being 28 weeks 5 days gestation that meant he had a lot of time to spend in the hospital and the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit).  We quickly succumbed to that fate for him, we wanted a natural birth around Christmas with candles and the tree on and we got a highly medical c-section.  A completely opposite outcome of his birth than what we planned for but we had our son.

She set herself on healing as quick as possible (she already saw him twice the evening of the surgery, being wheeled there by me)  the next day she was walking to the NICU and pumping for breastmilk.  What I saw in my wife was extraordinary, I saw such strengh and determination for our son.  She WAS going to see him and she WAS going to get him breastmilk.  Nurses would say "you should rest" and she would say "were going, get the wheelchair"  and of course I had to listen to my wife.  She was his mother, no one was going to stop her from being with him, not even major surgery.  Of course this was at 3 pm after the surgery.  I saw him earlier with my midwife because she could not get out of bed because of her spinal (which made her essentially paralyzed.)