day by day

Before baby Zad was born, a social worker came into my room and started talking to me about options. She mainly asked about what we had planned for the baby, things like where he would sleep and if we had an outfit to take him home in. She than continued with saying how medicaid would be available, we spoke about childcare and different doctors for future surgeries. After his death, the same social worker came in and started talking about the memorial. She began explaining where we could go to get a cremation or a burial plot. It was a total 180, I didn't know how to take all the information in. All I wanted was to have a moment, I felt like as soon as Zad passed away I haven't had a moment to myself. Than again if I was alone, I don't know how I would handle my thoughts and actions.

After our baby left us, we tried healing the best way we knew how to. Trevor tried to burry himself in work, and I tried pushing myself physically to heal quicker. I didn't want to think about anything that could set me back, but than I found myself not being able to think... I wanted to cry every minute, but still didn't know how to face the reality of not being able to take my son home with me.

Throughout our time here, since we were admitted on 3/15/2012, Trevor may have gotten a grand total of 5 hours of sleep. I sent him home the day Zad passed on, so he could get some real sleep. Although he will never admit it, I knew he needed to get out of the hospital and collect his own thoughts before he could even begin to heal.

My dad stayed at the hospital with me so I didn't have to stay the first night alone. That night, whenever I would close my eyes I swear I could still feel the baby inside my belly. I would quickly open my eyes and I would see him in his crib. The anticipation of hoping for the baby to wake up and start crying any minute started to tear at me. Every part of my soul cried out in hopes of him looking up at me, hearing him coo, wanting to feel his little heart beat. I found myself not being able to understand why our son had to leave so suddenly, and it's hard to be calm about it all.

Trev and I still have things we need to work on. The hardest thing to do is accept the unfortunate reality that we don't get to take our son home. Trevor told me that if the chromosone test shows us that all our future kids will have life threatening illnesses, that we can adopt. Part of me feels like less of a woman, not being able to create and sustain life. People are telling me it's normal to go through all these stages of grief, and not to let my pride get in the way of allowing myself to feel what needs to be felt. It's still not real for me to accept it yet. I am trying not to take offense to those trying to comfort me, but sometimes the things you need to hear don't always sound the nicest at first. I'm trying to accept the help and support from those who offer. I know that a lot of people ask what they can do to help, and it seems like when they are told what they can do it helps heal both parties.

Every time I move I can feel my stitches. As time goes on the cut will heal, the scar will be a temporary physical reminder and than that scar will fade, but his life will never be forgotten and he will always be involved in our family.

We love our son and our son loves us.