I Cannot Bury Another Baby

A phrase I never thought I would say.  A phrase that sounds so foreign, coming from my mouth. No, scratch that, from my soul. From a deep, dark, terrified place in my soul.

Yet, more often than I like or want to admit, I hear those words in my head. They fly out of my mouth like a whip slapping out and stinging whoever they touch.

I cannot bury another baby.

At one time in life I was carefree.  "Oh don't be such a worrier" ... "They'll only do it once and they'll learn" ... I was a believer that allowing a child some space and freedom to explore and discover was a confidence builder and enabled decision making.

I still believe those things. I really do.  However, I am also more apt to control the environment.  To avoid risk that prior I wouldn't perceive as such a risk.  I doubt myself, I doubt others. 

It's infuriating when people say "Nothing is going to happen!".  Bad things happen every single day.  Colton dying wasn't supposed to happen, either. But it did.  He died.  And there was no reason, no danger, no action and consequence.  His death just happened. Without warning and without forgiveness.

So, why would I be so ignorant - or arrogant - to think it couldn't happen again? Why would I put myself in the position to challenge fate and invite situations that could put my daughter at risk?

I cannot bury another baby.

Am I paranoid? Probably.  Helicopter mom? Maybe a little.  Worst case scenario worrier? Yes, why yes I am.  Because I've already come face to face with the worst case and I cannot do it again.

I cannot bury another baby.

Words I never thought I would say, now a mantra in my day to day life. 

Blissfully Ignorant becomes Toremented Awareness

Before losing Colton I was blissfully ignorant to the fact it truly can happen to anyone. No one is exempt from losing a child.  I had already given birth quite successfully twice for myself, twice for others, totaling six babies. I did one think right and well in life - having babies.

So when Colton was stillborn my security was shattered.  I didn't screw up having babies.  They were safe in my care.  For goodness sakes, I carried triplets! How could I lose ONE ... mine?

I was blissfully ignorant.  Then, the reality hit, and I now live a tormented awareness.

This awareness can, at times, become almost paralyzing.  Once you know the truth of what can happen you become aware it can happen at any time and it can happen to you.

People say "it won't happen again".  Well, it wasn't supposed to happen the first time.

And if I think about it, we are never safe from it happening to our children.  Sure, Delaney is one.  So she's "safe" right?  No.  SIDS/SUDS happens still.  Cancer can sneak up at any time.  Drowning.... Car accidents... Choking....  Head injury ....

The list could go on forever. And, if allowed, can consume the mind, the spirit, and suffocate us into a hole of fear and despair.

I try to fight this vortex of "what if" as much as humanly possibly, yet the small whisper of death always breaths on my neck, reminding me to stay aware.

Delaney is so sick right now. She has horrible congestion and coughing and snot all over the place.  Last night she slept, and I did not.  She was breathing so heavy, then I couldn't hear her breathing.  I jumped up and ran to her crib.  She had just shifted and found a better position, apparently, because she was still breathing, still alive.  Almost fortunately she woke often through the night crying.  I find comfort in that.  At least then I know she's still breathing.  Still with me.

If I wake in the morning and she is calm and quiet in her crib I say a quick prayer. Short and simple. "Lord, please let her still be alive". 

Will this fear ever leave me? Probably not.  Once you know the other side you live in tormented awareness.  You can't regain that blissful ignorance.  You are wiser beyond anything you ever wanted to know.  Your innocence is broken, the deep break that can never be put back together again.

It Cannot Happen Again

That was my first thought this past Thursday night when we discovered a lump under Delaney's skin. A big lump. A big, quarter size hard knot.  On her left side of her chest.

It cannot happen again. I cannot bury another child.

I cannot adequately put into words how scared I was.  After she fell asleep I cried. And cried. And cried some more.

My thoughts were all over the place.  If it is the big C ... How? Why? Then it jumped to what if ... What if Colton had some type of cancer? What if that's why he died?  What if Brian and I just have some awkward mixing of the goods that gives our babies cancer? We should have had the autopsy. We should have continued to seek answers....  What would she go through??  What were we facing??

I called the pediatrician as soon as they opened on Friday. Saying to the receptionist "I need to get my daughter in, we discovered a lump" was like choking on my heart as it pounded out of my chest.  I cried all the way to the appointment (a 45 minute drive).

The doctor checked her over and immediately said "sub-cutaneous cyst".  Sub what? A cyst? She went on to explain it's probably a fluid filled cyst, quite common, and should resolve itself. We could help massage it and ... blah ... blah ... blah.  It wasn't until that moment that I even realized I hadn't, for one second, thought it could be anything benign. In hindsight I see how I *should* have been able to play out all the scenarios. Yet, all I could think was "I'm going to lose her too". 

I asked about cancer and the doctor said the odds are very low of that being the case.  If, at her one year check up next month it's still there we can be referred out to have it checked further. She was so calm, though, so nonchalant, that I felt silly for just a second.

Before that moment, though, I was just terrified.

I was told "I figured you were just being dramatic".  That kind of hurt ... even if it were true. I wish I could live blissfully unaware that babies - my babies - die.  I wish that I didn't think about what it would be like to bury a child ... again.  I wish that I could be naive and carefree and think the best.  But I know the worst.

I admit, I felt silly afterwards. I probably did overreact.  And I still hope that it's really "nothing".  I still rub it and pray it goes away.  I have a feeling, though, just like the fear deep inside, it's going to take time.

It just cannot happen again.

Guilt

I don't know if I'll ever stop feeling like I failed Colton.

I know - logically - I did everything I could to protect him. However, he died. In my womb. Under my care.

He died.

I couldn't protect him from whatever took him. I couldn't stop it.  I didn't even know anything was happening. How could I not know?

And now, I'm in a situation where I know danger is slamming head on into my daughters life. And I'm helpless. I can do nothing.

But pray. And pray. And pray some more.

The feeling of despair and guilt and fear of what you cannot control is overwhelming. It drowns you, suffocates you, and leaves you struggling to survive.

I couldn't protect Colton from the darkness that took him. And I feel lost, like I can't protect Delaney from the danger facing her. And I am angry, because she doesn't have to be in harms way. She doesn't have to be exposed to dangerous people and unhealthy situations.

But I cannot control every aspect of her life. I cannot make others see what they chose to be blind to.

And so I pray.

And I pray that this time prayer is enough to protect my sweet baby.  I am obviously powerless to do so myself.