Today is a beautiful, sunny, fresh smelling day. It has been 25 days since Andrew left us and days where I feel almost normal, light and somewhat gay are few and far between. For now, the fog has lifted from my mind and I am smiling at life. It is great to be alive!
A cousin of mine wrote to me yesterday and mentioned how ironic it was to learn that Andrew's gorgeous oak casket was crafted by the monks in Dubuque. She told me that her great aunt is a sister there at a Franciscan convent and has been for 60 some years. So naturally, when I went into the hospital suddenly in December after my water broke in the middle of the night at 31 weeks gestation, she informed the sisters of Andrew and I's need for prayer. Those wonderful women lifted up Andrew and I for the two weeks that we were monitored in the hospital as I laid there on bedrest to try to delay his birth for as long as possible. They held us up during their masses and other prayer times as I began to bleed due to the placenta abrupting early. And I believe they were praying, along with numerous others, as the doctors wheeled me into the operating room and the doctor made the incisions needed to reach into my womb and gently pull out our darling, precious Andrew.
The anesthesiologist asked Mark, who had just arrived in the delivery room, if we were ready. We looked anxiously at each other and then quickly glanced at the doctor. "You mean . . ." we said with excitement and anxiousness, "your son is about to be born." Wide-eyed we look back at each other in unbelief. We had never had a baby this way so it was all so strange and new. We didn't know what to expect or think. But we were very anxious to see our precious little one for the first time. Then we heard a most beautiful sound. A small cry rang out.
Our eyes got even wider and began to tear up. Andrew cried. Andrew cried. We both began to cry with great joy. Our boy cried! He was breathing! It was a miracle! At 33 weeks, he was crying! Oh were we thankful and our hearts erupted in tears. Gosh were his cries music to our ears. And then we watched as his little form was taken to the special little heated bed where they would do the APGAR tests and clean him. Oh gosh did he look so tiny. And oh was it wonderful to hear him crying! The doctors said he probably wouldn't be breathing when he came out, but he came out and announced he was alright.
Mark immediately went his side with the camera and began taking pictures of our newest miracle. Meanwhile, as the doctor began finishing the birthing process and closing up, I watched from half a room away as a team of doctors and nurses feverishly worked around him doing their tests and taking care of his initial needs. Tears kept streaming from my eyes as I was so glad he was alive and seemed to be okay. I was so glad he was here and frustrated that I was trapped on the table and couldn't see him.
Then after ten minutes, they put on his diaper, placed a cap on his little head, swaddled him in his first blanket and they walked towards me. My heart began to beat faster and my level of excitement grew as I wondered if I would get a peek at him. And sure enough, the nurse came by and asked if mommy would like a look. My lips quivered with emotion as I looked into the face of my dear little one, Andrew Michael. A new tear fell from my eye as I said with emotion, immense love and bursting joy, "hello sweetie! It's okay sweetheart. It's okay." He moved his head a bit and his crying subsided a bit as he heard my voice. "That's right sweetie. It's mommy. I sure love you!" He let out a few more cries and the very nerves in my arms began to long to take him and draw him close to comfort him and calm him.
"You can touch him." The nurse said. "I can!" I replied. I could hardly believe it. I reached out and gently stroked his brow as I continued to tell him that I loved him and that he was going to be just fine. Then she brought him close, I lifted my head and planted a tender kiss on his tiny little forehead. "I love you sweetheart. I'll see you real soon."
As I put my head back down, the nurse drew him close to her body and left with my husband following behind to stay near to our little one.
Anyway I got sidetracked. So the sisters at St. Francis in Dubuque were part of the prayer chain that God used to bring Andrew safely and with great health into this world. And four and a half months later, those same women, and many of the others that called on God when he came into this world, stormed heaven asking God to heal him from his fall. To do a miracle.
Interestingly, she said that her aunt had told her of the Trappist monks that make these beautiful wooden caskets. And it ended up that they were the ones that we ended up being told about that lovingly designed the casket that held his fragile body when it was laid in the ground.
It kind of makes that casket even more precious and special. Almost poetic.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
How to Mourn the Loss of Your Child?
I wish there was a book on "How to Mourn the Loss of Your Child?" or how to survive after your child dies or how to move on after watching your baby die. But there is no such book. No manual for this. No one right way to grieve, mourn or move on.
I remember feeling so numb as I held my precious son in my arms as his heart took its last beat. He was so limp. So cold. So lifeless. I knew he wasn't there anymore. That it was just his shell and that he was with Jesus and his sister. He was smiling and giggling, just not with us anymore. I felt heavy. Empty. Hollow. And I felt so many emotions at the same time, I was blank. And heavy tears slipped down my cheeks as I thought I was going to fall over. This couldn't be happening to us. We couldn't believe it. He wasn't there anymore. He was gone. He wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to start sitting up and rolling over and say "ma ma" first. (My silly desire.)
He was supposed to finally finish getting his first tooth in, start running after his brothers earlier than we would have been ready for, get potty trained, go off to kindergarten, be there when we took the kids to Disney World in 7 years and graduate, go off to college and get married. He was supposed to live a full, long, rich life. He was supposed to hold our hand when we died and grieve our loss instead of the other way around.
He had just started living!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No!!!!!!!!!!!
"Andrew!" I cried out in anguish after the doctor left the room as my husband knelt down and wrapped his arms around me while he sobbed.
And then in an instant, he was gone.
How do you handle that? How do you live with that? How do you say good-bye to such a dear one as our baby Andrew. I don't know how we live now. But we're having to find out each painful day at a time.
The house is quieter now with only 3 boys running around it. It's emptier. In short, it's just not the same without him.
About 100 showed up at his visitation/celebration of life service. That was amazing. And I was so sad that so few knew him and had had a chance to meet our darling boy. We kept him at home to protect him from germs since the doctors said he was more vulnerable than a full term baby is to them. And in the end, it wasn't the germs that got him.
After a grueling and awfully long, difficult week, we celebrated his life with worship music, testimonies about him and prayer. God was good. For some odd reason, I was fairly collected during it all as Mark really struggled. In fact, many were struggling through it. And I was at peace. Calm. Mostly collected. Not that I didn't shed a tear or feel sad. I did. This was my son, my flesh and blood that I carried for 7 1/2 months. The dear one I nursed at my breast. One whom I held close as he cried and comforted him. I hated to let go of his body. I hated to let go of him.
With a closed smile of the mouth only, I am grateful that we were told of a monastery in Dubuque that hand-crafts caskets as they pray for the deceased and those that remain here in this life. And then they bless the casket and do a mass for the soul that passed on. It seemed fitting to rest his darling body in such a beautiful, handmade, solid oak piece of art. It was gorgeous and seemed more personal to us.
Before closing the lid, Mark and I tucked him in one last time in one of his special blankets, told him we loved him and felt a new part of the loss as we walked away.
So we celebrated that he lived. We worshipped our God because He is always worthy of praise no matter what is happening. His worthiness does not change just because circumstances do. And I even danced. Some would say that was inappropriate or sacrilege or wrong. But I danced. It's something I was made to do. It's something God placed in me when He knit me together in my mother's womb. It's a way I connect with God and feel closer to Him. It's a way I bring His presence down to earth. It's a way I worship Him. And it was something I did in front of Andrew during his short life. So I danced to honor my God. And I danced to honor his little life. And I danced to let the devil know that he hadn't won. He may have taken my son, but he wouldn't get away with it.
Then my mother in law, brother in law and myself told those attending of what a delight he was. I started out because I wanted to introduce Andrew to everyone. Even in death, I am still a very, proud mother.
I shared about how he was my first child that really wanted to nurse. The nurses said preemies don't do it well. So I was saddened that I would not get to breast feed him. Then on the 5th day of his life, he rooted so persistently and anxiously that I tried it and he latched on like a pro. He already had my heart before that moment but then, he really grabbed it as he fed with great contentment, relaxed his tiny body and peeked up at me with his little darling eyes. How could I deny him this special bonding? So that was our special thing that I treasure. He looked forward to it every day. And I know that because one day I didn't come in to nurse at the usual time and the nurses said that he acted up and was quite upset. I never missed that nursing time again.
And I then I told about how he would get me when I changed his diaper. I consider myself a veteran diaper changer. And having all boys, I thought I knew how to handle "the fountain". But Andrew proved me wrong. He got the nurses and he got me too. The little stinker. I think he was a joker. A prank puller in the making. You see, he only got daddy once. But he got me over and over again and even seemed to smile like, "ha, I got you mom!" when I would look at him afterwards. Little pill. It was like he was waiting for the exact moment I would open the diaper and then let loose. It even makes me chuckle right now as I write this and shake my head at the memory of it.
Grandma Jean shared of how special he was to her. How he touched her life. And Uncle Terry sang a song he wrote for him about how sweet he was and that He's in Jesus' arms.
After the close of the service, we filed out of the church behind his casket, drove 12 miles to this quiet, country place and laid the last traces of his body in the ground. I didn't realize how hard that would be. It was so difficult to walk away from him in the hospital. But that moment at his casket seemed impossible to bear. I stroked the sides of the oaken container. It was soft and smooth except where the grain ran in its circular patterns. I gently traced my finger along the curves of the roses in the spray that would stay behind when we left. And my gaze fell to the ground. This was really it. I felt so hollow again. So emptied. So lost. Someone put their arm around me and led me back to the limousine. I guess I sat down and stared blankly at the tent under which the casket lay with the beautiful spray on top. There were conversations going. People were milling around hugging, wiping away tears, sniffling, leaving. Everything blended into one. Then the door closed. And I heard the gravel crunching beneath the wheels of the car. And then it happened. Intense balls of pain, loss and sadness welled up from deep within me. The feelings erupted from me as heavy sobs as we pulled away in the limousine. He was really gone. Andrew really was no more in this world. We really had to go on without his bright personality in our world. Andrew was gone.
It's been over 3 weeks since he passed away. I can't handle seeing babies. And I can't bring myself to pack away his belongings. I try to push myself on because the other 3 deserve it.
We are looking for a house to move into and want the pain of his loss to be gone. Somedays we're fine, almost normal feeling. And somedays, it hurts so much we can hardly stand it.
Our pastor shared with us that we really aren't grieving his life. He had a great life. Andrew was very happy and very content. Well, except he probably did want to be able to run around with his brothers. Otherwise he was such a wonderful addition to our family. We were truly blessed by him. We may have been a bit uncertain when we found out we were having him last June but that changed quickly as we got used to the idea of having a 4th around the house. And then we met him and fell in love. Such a doll. So we don't mourn that. We mourn for the life we thought he would live with us. Not that we had preconceived notions of him becoming this or that. It's the natural dreams you dream for your child. That they will learn to walk and talk, go off to school, prom, graduation, the firsts, the family trips, their wedding and kids. All that that you unconsciously begin dreaming for your child whether you realize it or not. Sure it's vague, but it's still there. They will life through certain milestones. They will share your milestones. And now we are sad because he won't. We're heavy of heart because a part of our family is no longer with us here and now. And that is what you grieve when a child dies.
So we live one day at a time. Try to love our 3 boys that are still here the best we can. Try to love each other as we both grieve in the opposite ways that we do. Try to move on and get used to the new routine we have now without his presence being with us. And feel the pain so that we can move beyond it quicker. It's not always easy. But God is faithful. And we will move on. And eventually it won't hurt so bad.
I'll close with the poem I wrote to put on his headstone.
With us but a moment, full of love and great joy,
And now you're with Jesus, little special, little boy.
We'll love you for always, greatly missed in our story,
But one day we'll see you, may God receive the glory.
- KK
I remember feeling so numb as I held my precious son in my arms as his heart took its last beat. He was so limp. So cold. So lifeless. I knew he wasn't there anymore. That it was just his shell and that he was with Jesus and his sister. He was smiling and giggling, just not with us anymore. I felt heavy. Empty. Hollow. And I felt so many emotions at the same time, I was blank. And heavy tears slipped down my cheeks as I thought I was going to fall over. This couldn't be happening to us. We couldn't believe it. He wasn't there anymore. He was gone. He wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to start sitting up and rolling over and say "ma ma" first. (My silly desire.)
He was supposed to finally finish getting his first tooth in, start running after his brothers earlier than we would have been ready for, get potty trained, go off to kindergarten, be there when we took the kids to Disney World in 7 years and graduate, go off to college and get married. He was supposed to live a full, long, rich life. He was supposed to hold our hand when we died and grieve our loss instead of the other way around.
He had just started living!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No!!!!!!!!!!!
"Andrew!" I cried out in anguish after the doctor left the room as my husband knelt down and wrapped his arms around me while he sobbed.
And then in an instant, he was gone.
How do you handle that? How do you live with that? How do you say good-bye to such a dear one as our baby Andrew. I don't know how we live now. But we're having to find out each painful day at a time.
The house is quieter now with only 3 boys running around it. It's emptier. In short, it's just not the same without him.
About 100 showed up at his visitation/celebration of life service. That was amazing. And I was so sad that so few knew him and had had a chance to meet our darling boy. We kept him at home to protect him from germs since the doctors said he was more vulnerable than a full term baby is to them. And in the end, it wasn't the germs that got him.
After a grueling and awfully long, difficult week, we celebrated his life with worship music, testimonies about him and prayer. God was good. For some odd reason, I was fairly collected during it all as Mark really struggled. In fact, many were struggling through it. And I was at peace. Calm. Mostly collected. Not that I didn't shed a tear or feel sad. I did. This was my son, my flesh and blood that I carried for 7 1/2 months. The dear one I nursed at my breast. One whom I held close as he cried and comforted him. I hated to let go of his body. I hated to let go of him.
With a closed smile of the mouth only, I am grateful that we were told of a monastery in Dubuque that hand-crafts caskets as they pray for the deceased and those that remain here in this life. And then they bless the casket and do a mass for the soul that passed on. It seemed fitting to rest his darling body in such a beautiful, handmade, solid oak piece of art. It was gorgeous and seemed more personal to us.
Before closing the lid, Mark and I tucked him in one last time in one of his special blankets, told him we loved him and felt a new part of the loss as we walked away.
So we celebrated that he lived. We worshipped our God because He is always worthy of praise no matter what is happening. His worthiness does not change just because circumstances do. And I even danced. Some would say that was inappropriate or sacrilege or wrong. But I danced. It's something I was made to do. It's something God placed in me when He knit me together in my mother's womb. It's a way I connect with God and feel closer to Him. It's a way I bring His presence down to earth. It's a way I worship Him. And it was something I did in front of Andrew during his short life. So I danced to honor my God. And I danced to honor his little life. And I danced to let the devil know that he hadn't won. He may have taken my son, but he wouldn't get away with it.
Then my mother in law, brother in law and myself told those attending of what a delight he was. I started out because I wanted to introduce Andrew to everyone. Even in death, I am still a very, proud mother.
I shared about how he was my first child that really wanted to nurse. The nurses said preemies don't do it well. So I was saddened that I would not get to breast feed him. Then on the 5th day of his life, he rooted so persistently and anxiously that I tried it and he latched on like a pro. He already had my heart before that moment but then, he really grabbed it as he fed with great contentment, relaxed his tiny body and peeked up at me with his little darling eyes. How could I deny him this special bonding? So that was our special thing that I treasure. He looked forward to it every day. And I know that because one day I didn't come in to nurse at the usual time and the nurses said that he acted up and was quite upset. I never missed that nursing time again.
And I then I told about how he would get me when I changed his diaper. I consider myself a veteran diaper changer. And having all boys, I thought I knew how to handle "the fountain". But Andrew proved me wrong. He got the nurses and he got me too. The little stinker. I think he was a joker. A prank puller in the making. You see, he only got daddy once. But he got me over and over again and even seemed to smile like, "ha, I got you mom!" when I would look at him afterwards. Little pill. It was like he was waiting for the exact moment I would open the diaper and then let loose. It even makes me chuckle right now as I write this and shake my head at the memory of it.
Grandma Jean shared of how special he was to her. How he touched her life. And Uncle Terry sang a song he wrote for him about how sweet he was and that He's in Jesus' arms.
After the close of the service, we filed out of the church behind his casket, drove 12 miles to this quiet, country place and laid the last traces of his body in the ground. I didn't realize how hard that would be. It was so difficult to walk away from him in the hospital. But that moment at his casket seemed impossible to bear. I stroked the sides of the oaken container. It was soft and smooth except where the grain ran in its circular patterns. I gently traced my finger along the curves of the roses in the spray that would stay behind when we left. And my gaze fell to the ground. This was really it. I felt so hollow again. So emptied. So lost. Someone put their arm around me and led me back to the limousine. I guess I sat down and stared blankly at the tent under which the casket lay with the beautiful spray on top. There were conversations going. People were milling around hugging, wiping away tears, sniffling, leaving. Everything blended into one. Then the door closed. And I heard the gravel crunching beneath the wheels of the car. And then it happened. Intense balls of pain, loss and sadness welled up from deep within me. The feelings erupted from me as heavy sobs as we pulled away in the limousine. He was really gone. Andrew really was no more in this world. We really had to go on without his bright personality in our world. Andrew was gone.
It's been over 3 weeks since he passed away. I can't handle seeing babies. And I can't bring myself to pack away his belongings. I try to push myself on because the other 3 deserve it.
We are looking for a house to move into and want the pain of his loss to be gone. Somedays we're fine, almost normal feeling. And somedays, it hurts so much we can hardly stand it.
Our pastor shared with us that we really aren't grieving his life. He had a great life. Andrew was very happy and very content. Well, except he probably did want to be able to run around with his brothers. Otherwise he was such a wonderful addition to our family. We were truly blessed by him. We may have been a bit uncertain when we found out we were having him last June but that changed quickly as we got used to the idea of having a 4th around the house. And then we met him and fell in love. Such a doll. So we don't mourn that. We mourn for the life we thought he would live with us. Not that we had preconceived notions of him becoming this or that. It's the natural dreams you dream for your child. That they will learn to walk and talk, go off to school, prom, graduation, the firsts, the family trips, their wedding and kids. All that that you unconsciously begin dreaming for your child whether you realize it or not. Sure it's vague, but it's still there. They will life through certain milestones. They will share your milestones. And now we are sad because he won't. We're heavy of heart because a part of our family is no longer with us here and now. And that is what you grieve when a child dies.
So we live one day at a time. Try to love our 3 boys that are still here the best we can. Try to love each other as we both grieve in the opposite ways that we do. Try to move on and get used to the new routine we have now without his presence being with us. And feel the pain so that we can move beyond it quicker. It's not always easy. But God is faithful. And we will move on. And eventually it won't hurt so bad.
I'll close with the poem I wrote to put on his headstone.
With us but a moment, full of love and great joy,
And now you're with Jesus, little special, little boy.
We'll love you for always, greatly missed in our story,
But one day we'll see you, may God receive the glory.
- KK
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Saturday, June 4th
My heart is heavy this morning and the house seems to be extra quiet. We have a whole in our hearts now since Andrew passed away yesterday at 3 pm. I held him in my womb when he took his first heartbeats. And I was there yesterday, holding him closely to me as I have done countless times in my arms, as his heart took its last beats. He is gone now. One moment he was smiling at me all big and adorable and now he is in the most wonderful place smiling at his sister and the others who have gone before. I miss him so much! My arms ache since they cannot reach out to hold him again. And I can't believe that he's gone.
Thousands were praying for him these last few days and I am so glad that so many were concerned for his life. That has touched us deeply. And we so appreciate that support and I know Andrew felt it.
In my grief, I am thankful for the time we got to spend with him and for the great joy he brought to our lives. But it was way too short. I want to hold him one more time as he looks up at me with such affection and sees my smile and then he smiles in response. I want put my forehead to his and kiss it like crazy and say, "I love you so much my little special." And hear his giggle as I tickle his pudgy belly and feet. I want to put my index finger into the palm of his hand and feel his tight grip. He never let go easily.
He was strong. He was happy. He was so good and so content.
He was just starting to reach out for me to pick him up. And I keep seeing his smiling face. He loved us all so much and was such a happy boy. And we loved him very much as well.
I don't understand this right now. I don't understand why this happened. But I know that God was with him to the last and is with him now. And God was with us crying as we cried, feeling the loss as we felt the loss and cried because our family is missing him so much right now.
Good-bye little special.
You're my little precious boy.
You're my little precious joy.
You are my special one,
My little special son,
You are my Andrew.
I love you sweetie!
Thousands were praying for him these last few days and I am so glad that so many were concerned for his life. That has touched us deeply. And we so appreciate that support and I know Andrew felt it.
In my grief, I am thankful for the time we got to spend with him and for the great joy he brought to our lives. But it was way too short. I want to hold him one more time as he looks up at me with such affection and sees my smile and then he smiles in response. I want put my forehead to his and kiss it like crazy and say, "I love you so much my little special." And hear his giggle as I tickle his pudgy belly and feet. I want to put my index finger into the palm of his hand and feel his tight grip. He never let go easily.
He was strong. He was happy. He was so good and so content.
He was just starting to reach out for me to pick him up. And I keep seeing his smiling face. He loved us all so much and was such a happy boy. And we loved him very much as well.
I don't understand this right now. I don't understand why this happened. But I know that God was with him to the last and is with him now. And God was with us crying as we cried, feeling the loss as we felt the loss and cried because our family is missing him so much right now.
Good-bye little special.
You're my little precious boy.
You're my little precious joy.
You are my special one,
My little special son,
I love you sweetie!
Saturday, June 4, 2011
The Unthinkable
Picture the face of a baby boy. A boy with chubby cheeks puffing up from a huge smile and sparkling blue eyes that look into your eyes as you enter the room. A perfect, previous little face that suddenly lifts his right eyebrow ever so slightly as he lights up even further as his lips part revealing an even bigger smile. A look that tells you clearly, I know you. A look that shouts "I am so very glad to see you and I sure do love you a lot." And sometimes he even sighs in such a way as though he is now content and at rest because you are there.
Let me introduce you to Andrew, my five month old son, my tiny, little blessing from God.
Andrew arrived in December a week before Christmas. Our little miracle. You see, Andrew was born 7 weeks early weighing in at five and a half pounds and 18 inches in length. He looked like a little dolly to me as I could place his entire head in the palm of my hand and his fingers were as small as some of the dolls I played with as a little girl. His little eyes would peek open at me and I would nestle him closely to my breast feeling like a feather in my arms.
I didn't get to see my precious wonder for 12 hours after that wonderful moment I got to say hello to him in the operating room. I had had a C-section and had to be able to walk a certain distance on my own before they would let me go to him. With great determination, I fought to get up and at 4 am was rewarded with my first moments of holding this tiny soul tenderly in my arms. Without any need for assistance in breathing, Andrew gained strength quickly and was discharged in an amazing 3 weeks from birth. Life was good. Our family was whole and Andrew grew and prospered as though he were a full-term baby.
It is June 3rd. And I sit at home struggling to sleep as my three oldest boys slumber in their beds while nine miles away, my husband sits in another ICU watching over Andrew who is lying in a larger hospital crib being kept alive by machines.
What happened you may ask? Well the unthinkable - our precious "little squirt", as we call him, fell about 2 - 3 feet yesterday. We don't know how. A freak accident it seems. My husband found his fragile little body face down on the floor not breathing. Naturally my husband began CPR and called 911. The paramedics arrived in a matter of minutes and continued working on him faithfully for 40 more minutes. Dazed, confused, scared and reeling with questions, I arrived at the ER in a police car that came to my work to take me to my son.
A social worker warned me that she didn't want me to be shocked but Andrew was being worked on by a team of professionals. And then I saw him. My precious little wonder was surrounded by at least 10 medical personnel and most notably a tall, tanned man who was keeping my son alive with the compressions of his hands. I thought I was going to faint. I thought that this couldn't be happening to my little special, as I call him. They asked if I wanted to be in the room and immediately I walked towards his lifeless frame and reached out to gently stroke his shoulder. Choking back the emotion, I managed to say, "Hello Andrew. Mommy's here and I love you so much."
For the next hour, I stayed by his side assuring him of my presence, love, affection and will to see him open his precious eyes, look into mine and smile with the bond of love he felt for me. I was there as they struggled to get the breathing tube in. I was there when they fought to find a vein to put his IV into and I was there when they found his little pulse as he slightly squeezed the index finger I had placed in his precious hand. It was all so surreal. The doctors, paramedics and nurses feverishly worked on saving his life. They were heroic and determined and diligent to get him stabilized so that he could be moved to the intensive care unit.
We're almost 36 hours after the event occurred. Andrew lies in a crib with a nurse watching him 24 hours a day as my husband and I take turns being by Andrew's side. He's asleep due to the drugs that keep him in that state as his body is suspended at about 92 degrees. Tomorrow, they will do another CAT scan to determine if the brain has swelled further and, if so, how much more and then they intend to slowly raise his body temperature by 3 degrees while they remove his medicine. Andrew will be given an opportunity to awaken from this sudden slumber. And I will be there to hold his hand and assure him that everything will be alright. Because you know what? Everything will be alright because nothing will ever change the fact that we love our Andrew and his brothers no matter where any of us are and that more than that, God loves us even more. And our God knows exactly what is happening. It's because of this, everything will be alright.
Good night my little blessing Andrew!
Let me introduce you to Andrew, my five month old son, my tiny, little blessing from God.
Andrew arrived in December a week before Christmas. Our little miracle. You see, Andrew was born 7 weeks early weighing in at five and a half pounds and 18 inches in length. He looked like a little dolly to me as I could place his entire head in the palm of my hand and his fingers were as small as some of the dolls I played with as a little girl. His little eyes would peek open at me and I would nestle him closely to my breast feeling like a feather in my arms.
I didn't get to see my precious wonder for 12 hours after that wonderful moment I got to say hello to him in the operating room. I had had a C-section and had to be able to walk a certain distance on my own before they would let me go to him. With great determination, I fought to get up and at 4 am was rewarded with my first moments of holding this tiny soul tenderly in my arms. Without any need for assistance in breathing, Andrew gained strength quickly and was discharged in an amazing 3 weeks from birth. Life was good. Our family was whole and Andrew grew and prospered as though he were a full-term baby.
It is June 3rd. And I sit at home struggling to sleep as my three oldest boys slumber in their beds while nine miles away, my husband sits in another ICU watching over Andrew who is lying in a larger hospital crib being kept alive by machines.
What happened you may ask? Well the unthinkable - our precious "little squirt", as we call him, fell about 2 - 3 feet yesterday. We don't know how. A freak accident it seems. My husband found his fragile little body face down on the floor not breathing. Naturally my husband began CPR and called 911. The paramedics arrived in a matter of minutes and continued working on him faithfully for 40 more minutes. Dazed, confused, scared and reeling with questions, I arrived at the ER in a police car that came to my work to take me to my son.
A social worker warned me that she didn't want me to be shocked but Andrew was being worked on by a team of professionals. And then I saw him. My precious little wonder was surrounded by at least 10 medical personnel and most notably a tall, tanned man who was keeping my son alive with the compressions of his hands. I thought I was going to faint. I thought that this couldn't be happening to my little special, as I call him. They asked if I wanted to be in the room and immediately I walked towards his lifeless frame and reached out to gently stroke his shoulder. Choking back the emotion, I managed to say, "Hello Andrew. Mommy's here and I love you so much."
For the next hour, I stayed by his side assuring him of my presence, love, affection and will to see him open his precious eyes, look into mine and smile with the bond of love he felt for me. I was there as they struggled to get the breathing tube in. I was there when they fought to find a vein to put his IV into and I was there when they found his little pulse as he slightly squeezed the index finger I had placed in his precious hand. It was all so surreal. The doctors, paramedics and nurses feverishly worked on saving his life. They were heroic and determined and diligent to get him stabilized so that he could be moved to the intensive care unit.
We're almost 36 hours after the event occurred. Andrew lies in a crib with a nurse watching him 24 hours a day as my husband and I take turns being by Andrew's side. He's asleep due to the drugs that keep him in that state as his body is suspended at about 92 degrees. Tomorrow, they will do another CAT scan to determine if the brain has swelled further and, if so, how much more and then they intend to slowly raise his body temperature by 3 degrees while they remove his medicine. Andrew will be given an opportunity to awaken from this sudden slumber. And I will be there to hold his hand and assure him that everything will be alright. Because you know what? Everything will be alright because nothing will ever change the fact that we love our Andrew and his brothers no matter where any of us are and that more than that, God loves us even more. And our God knows exactly what is happening. It's because of this, everything will be alright.
Good night my little blessing Andrew!
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