The kids and I flew into Houston on July 9th and were greeted with open arms by my parents. My dad had never met Ian before but it was love at first sight. Ian just had this way of making you love him no matter what. Every day my mom and I did things together. Every evening my dad came home and loved on that little boy. I had help. I had breathing room. I had hope. We went to the circus (the first for Alex) and my dad held Ian throughout. The next day the kids and I packed up in my mom's car and drove 9hrs to see my in laws. We stayed there for four days again leaving a wake of people smitten with Ian. On Thursday afternoon we packed up again and left to go visit my sister from another mother Jenn. We get there around 5pm and it was great to see someone I missed so much. Jenn's son, Zech, got really close to Ian as did her daughter, Cilla. Thursday evening I got violently ill. I was throwing up everywhere. I couldn't keep anything down. At one point on Friday I was so sick I was throwing up bile because there was nothing left. Saturday I was supposed to head back to Houston but it was decided that I would stay an extra day. Feeling like my normal self, Jenn and I got out that evening to take a trip down memory lane leaving cilla in charge of my three children. They couldn't have been in better hands. When we arrived back home, all three kids were asleep and Cilla, Zech, Jenn and I decided to play cards. Something we had done a million times before. Around 2:30 in the morning Maggie woke up screaming. I thought nothing of it. I figured she was in a new place, teething and would calm herself down to go back to sleep. After about five minutes when she hasn't calmed down cilla and I go to check on her. This is where my life changes forever. Maggie is crying. I look over to check on Ian and he's blue and covered in vomit. I call out to Jenn while holding my lifeless son and she comes running. I swept Ian's mouth, pounded on his back and I prayed. I prayed like I have never prayed before. 91 1was called. CPR was performed by Jenn, Zech and myself. The ambulance shows up. I have such an overwhelming need for my parents I can't stand it. They are called. My preacher is called. Then the call I dreaded. While on the way to the hospital, I called Jeff (Traveling Dad). Jenn has to take over the phone call because I break out into the prayer that would become my mandra that day. When Jenn and I get the hospital we are told they are still working on him. We are then told hes being moved to picu and we could see him for just a moment. There lays my baby only he's not my baby anymore. The next several hours are a blur. Jenn and I took turns comforting each other. Always praying. We have him baptized. It was important to me. My parents show up. They aged 10yrs in a day. Everyone prayed for a miracle. His blood was acidounic. He wasn't breathing on his own. He had no brain waves. I knew then it was my last day with my baby. Jeff, his parents, and his youngest brother come in late that evening. We talk with the Dr and decide to take him off life support. I kissed my baby held him and watched him take his last breath. I was alone allowing no one near me. No one to comfort me because I shut everyone out.
They preform an autopsy on him. It's protocol for this type of death. Jeff pulls away from me. In a way blaming me for our son's death. Preliminary results come back and it looks like Ian contracted meningitis. Everyone who has had contact with him in the past five days must go on this antibiotic. We head to Houston to prepare for our son's funeral. Everything is planned. Alex asks about him. We decide to let Alex and Maggie say goodbye at the viewing. He looked so peaceful. So sweet so beautiful. There laid my son but everything that made him my son was gone. His wild hair tamed. His dimples gone. The easy smile erased forever.
I was in such a dark place. I lashed out. I was wrapped up in my grief and had little time for anything else. However my kids needed me. They needed reassurance. Guidance. They needed their mom. I started by giving Alex the words. If I felt mad I told him. If I was sad. I said it. I let myself feel whatever I was feeling but shared it with my children so they knew the words to use and to know it was OK to be feeling this way. I was pissed. I mean pissed at the world. Angry at God. Angry at myself and angry at Ian for leaving me. I had no control. I was falling and there was no one and nothing to catch me. But for my children. As much as I wanted to sleep all the time my kids needed me. As much as I wanted to crawl in my skin and shut down they were hurting too. I needed to find a way to help my kids and help myself. We started with books. When we got back to Florida I called hospice for therapy for Alex as well as myself. I reached out to Alex's school letting them know what had happened and that a guidance counselor needs to be on standby. I got Maggie into play therapy. I kept moving. I woke up every day totally worn out but determined to help my kids and cried myself to sleep every night.
Somehow over time things got better. Time has a funny way of healing. Each time I shared his story I would get the "I'm sorry". "God has a plan for everyone" "at least you have other kids". Each time the words hurt less. A year later I can say it does still get to me but I'm in a better place for it. I miss him every moment of every day but know I will see him again. Its a huge price to pay to lose a child. The reward from knowing him is so much greater though. I don't instantly feel pain when I think of him any more. I feel joy for having had him and knowing him. It's a long hard road to travel. It's dark and twisty and sucks when its all so fresh. Now it doesn't hurt as much. I still feel the loss. That will never go away but the pain associated with the loss has lessened. Some days it hits me hard but for the most part I don't hurt remembering him. In ways in sharing him I keep his spirit alive. I never understood what they meant by "he's survived by...." But in losing my son I understand so much. His death hasn't killed me although for a while I wish it had. I survived losing him. I survive life without him present. It's strange how such a small gesture can help ease away the ache when you allow yourself to lean on them. I don't think anyone who hasn't been here can truly understand how horrific it is for a long while. Nor would any of us who have been here want you to understand what it's like to be taken to the pits of hell. You as "normal" people offer what you hope are words of comfort, sympathy and empathy when we as "damaged" want to twist your words around on you so you feel a little bit of the pain we are trapped in. We dare you to find a different way of saying the same words...."he's with God ", " he's no longer in pain", "I'm sorry for your loss". We hear the words until they lose most meaning. Then something happens and we become open to comfort again. We somehow let ourselves feel happiness again even when we don't want to for the longest time. If you had told me a year ago i would be where I am today I would have never believed you. Yet somehow the pain eases, changing into something else completely until we come out of our darkness and welcome the kind words once more. No one will ever know my loss because it is my personal story but most can empathize with me which holds comfort too.
I never knew how to answer the question most moms know too well. "How many kids do you have?" Do I answer "2" and just leave it at that? Somehow that never feels right. Do I answer "3" and then have to go into this whole story about my beautiful baby that isn't here anymore? I don't know, even now, how to answer. My current answer is "I have 3. 2 that run and 1 that flies." For now, in this moment in my grief, I take comfort in my answer. It doesn't fully answer the question but it's the fullest answer for me.
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