Six years ago, on November 1st, 2008, you turned 30. Thirty years old! You made it to 30 years and I thought yes, another milestone has been met! Those who thought otherwise again proved wrong. You were healthy, happy, enjoying your Easter Seal program. You were an uncle for the first time (Cash having just been born in August 2007); you were so proud and excited with this new baby in our family. Life was good. Life was rewarding. Life was moving forward and you were right there by my side.
We celebrated the day by having a big costume party for you. Everyone celebrates big milestone dates and so would you! We bought decorations, planned a menu around things you would like, and took months trying to figure out what our costumes would be. At first I wanted you to be Prince Charming because it was your day, your celebration. But life is funny. When things don’t work out the way you planned, they tend to work out the way they should. Your costume was Peter Pan (the boy who never grew up) and I was Tinker Bell…Peter Pans protector, the one to guide him out of danger and keep him safe, the one creature most devoted to him.
Some may question why such an elaborate party. Would you care, probably not? Would you know the difference in how others celebrated such special dates, not really? But we knew the difference. You would get a really big costume party celebrating your 30th year, with all the accouterments that goes with it. I am so grateful we did it, I am so grateful family and friends came dressed in costume to celebrate your day. And I am grateful because we didn’t know how different our life would be one year later, and this celebration was not put off for another time, we don’t always have another time do we? It was your day and you had such fun.
It used to be at this time of the year, as Halloween approached, and November 1st crept forward, I would reminisce back to the day you were born. I would remember how your obstetrician, concerned that so late in my pregnancy you were not dropping into the birth canal, had set up an ultra sound appointment for me on Halloween, 1978. He thought the ultra sound would show that the placenta was blocking the birth canal. I would recall how after the ultra sound, the tech came and told me that the doctor was still concerned and wanted to take an x-ray. I worried that an x-ray might hurt you or cause damage. I was assured I was too late in my trimesters, that it was safe and only one would be taken. I went home with an appointment for the next day. But the next day, I was in labor. The doctors knew from the test results what to expect and had planned to talk to us, to prepare us, to tell us our options; they thought they had the time, but you wanted to be delivered early and I missed that appointment.
At this time, each year, I would remember how I waited all morning in labor, for a second doctor to be available, because I was having you by emergency C-section. I would recall how you were delivered and how I only saw you for a moment and heard barely a squeak out of you. And how blue you looked, almost black and the nurse telling me “your baby is very sick” … (31 years later I would hear those same words from another nurse coming out of your room when they placed you on a respirator… “your child is very sick…”.) I was so young, only 21 years, so all I could do, all I knew to do, was nod and say okay while they stitched me back together and wheeled me into a recovery room.
I would remember the doctor coming in and telling me how gravely sick you were and that you needed to be transferred to Children’s Hospital in Los Angeles. I don’t remember now if he said the words hydrocephalus… if he did, it didn’t register, it was a word I did not know. I would recall how he asked me if I wanted to be the one to tell your father or would I prefer that, he, the doctor, tell him, and I said no, I want to be the one to tell his father. Then the funny part, because when your dad came into the room he was expecting to be the one telling me this information; the doctor had put the same question to him and had, as such, told us both himself. How much I cried that day, we all cried, we all worried, we all felt helpless; Another moment in time that would be repeated again, 31 years later, at another hospital.
At this time each year, I would reminisce how a week later I was released from my hospital and got to go see you for the first time. In those days, in 1978, when you underwent a caesarean, you stayed in the hospital recovering for a week. Your father and our family would go see you a Children’s Hospital and report back to me at my hospital. I think in today’s social media world how different it would be. I would be receiving text pictures and mobile phone updates. I would send out prayer requests to all my FB family and so would my family and friends. Not the situation back in those days… sadly or maybe not, it was private… and yet here I am sharing your story for all to read.
The doctors were waiting on me to make a decision, to give you a chance at life, by placing a shunt in your brain to release the fluid buildup, or to let you go. We were advised to let you go; your condition was so severe. You had not developed an infant sucking motion and had to be fed by a tube down your throat. I was told you didn’t feel pain, but to me you appeared to feel pain. I was told only you would have no quality of life, that only your heart beat and your lungs gave you breathe (although one had collapsed)! And that was it.
It was my decision; only mine to make, your father said whatever decision I made he would support it. What a decision to make! What future would you have, what would I be subjecting you to if I said yes and you remained as the doctors, the experts, said you would, never sitting up, never talking, and never knowing us? Family said they would be there for us and help us, and other family said we were young, we can have more children. All meant well; but it was my decision.
At this time each year I would reminisce about your eyes, how big and bright and shining they were and how they seemed to follow me around the room. Your doctor was kind, he told me not to expect anything and he gave you no hope, but he also said some people believe in miracles; and although at the time it didn’t register in my conscience mind, I believe I must have clung to that phrase because I said yes to the shunt when you were 2 weeks old and you were home two weeks later before Thanksgiving.
Each year I would reminisce about your birth and the path it took us, and the advice given and the decisions made and I would be so happy thinking how far you came, how much you learned each year, how you surpassed all expectations of doctors and teachers and even me at times. And you turned 30 that one year before your death and we threw you a wonderful birthday party in celebration.
Now each year, as your birthday approaches, I remember those days and that time; and I remember that 5-years ago, on November 18, 2009, you stopped breathing and expectations by doctors were given that sounded very familiar. Your eyes did not follow me; you felt no pain and your heart beat only because a machine pumped air into your lungs and a different decision was made and you did not come home for Thanksgiving. You were a miracle child even at death when you gave the gift of life to 6 strangers. I had you for 31 years when I was told I wouldn’t have you for a day. When I was told not to keep you, I kept you and my goal to keep you happy, safe and loved was met. How I wanted to grow old with you and keep you safe forever. But forever does not exist.
Each year in November, the month of your birth and the month of your death, I reminisce and I remember and I always will. And the amazing thing is that Tinker Bell has learned so much from her Peter Pan; on how to give unconditional love, how to forgive, how to believe, how to give generously from the heart with an open soul. I am still learning things and trying to live better, be better, because I promised you I would.
November is your month, your miracle month; the miracle month for others who never knew you. November is full of joy and grief, grief and joy, your birth, your death, my mom’s death, my grandson’s birth, my marriage, my reunion with CHRIST. November is the month of Thanksgiving it is an appropriate month to celebrate you. I am thankful you were mine and I am thankful I can share you with others. I am thankful that I am finally at a place in my grief, where I can say I am thankful for those 31 years, although you know I wanted so much more, but we don’t get forever, do we?
Happy Birthday my son, until we meet again, all my love Mother
We celebrated the day by having a big costume party for you. Everyone celebrates big milestone dates and so would you! We bought decorations, planned a menu around things you would like, and took months trying to figure out what our costumes would be. At first I wanted you to be Prince Charming because it was your day, your celebration. But life is funny. When things don’t work out the way you planned, they tend to work out the way they should. Your costume was Peter Pan (the boy who never grew up) and I was Tinker Bell…Peter Pans protector, the one to guide him out of danger and keep him safe, the one creature most devoted to him.
Some may question why such an elaborate party. Would you care, probably not? Would you know the difference in how others celebrated such special dates, not really? But we knew the difference. You would get a really big costume party celebrating your 30th year, with all the accouterments that goes with it. I am so grateful we did it, I am so grateful family and friends came dressed in costume to celebrate your day. And I am grateful because we didn’t know how different our life would be one year later, and this celebration was not put off for another time, we don’t always have another time do we? It was your day and you had such fun.
It used to be at this time of the year, as Halloween approached, and November 1st crept forward, I would reminisce back to the day you were born. I would remember how your obstetrician, concerned that so late in my pregnancy you were not dropping into the birth canal, had set up an ultra sound appointment for me on Halloween, 1978. He thought the ultra sound would show that the placenta was blocking the birth canal. I would recall how after the ultra sound, the tech came and told me that the doctor was still concerned and wanted to take an x-ray. I worried that an x-ray might hurt you or cause damage. I was assured I was too late in my trimesters, that it was safe and only one would be taken. I went home with an appointment for the next day. But the next day, I was in labor. The doctors knew from the test results what to expect and had planned to talk to us, to prepare us, to tell us our options; they thought they had the time, but you wanted to be delivered early and I missed that appointment.
At this time, each year, I would remember how I waited all morning in labor, for a second doctor to be available, because I was having you by emergency C-section. I would recall how you were delivered and how I only saw you for a moment and heard barely a squeak out of you. And how blue you looked, almost black and the nurse telling me “your baby is very sick” … (31 years later I would hear those same words from another nurse coming out of your room when they placed you on a respirator… “your child is very sick…”.) I was so young, only 21 years, so all I could do, all I knew to do, was nod and say okay while they stitched me back together and wheeled me into a recovery room.
I would remember the doctor coming in and telling me how gravely sick you were and that you needed to be transferred to Children’s Hospital in Los Angeles. I don’t remember now if he said the words hydrocephalus… if he did, it didn’t register, it was a word I did not know. I would recall how he asked me if I wanted to be the one to tell your father or would I prefer that, he, the doctor, tell him, and I said no, I want to be the one to tell his father. Then the funny part, because when your dad came into the room he was expecting to be the one telling me this information; the doctor had put the same question to him and had, as such, told us both himself. How much I cried that day, we all cried, we all worried, we all felt helpless; Another moment in time that would be repeated again, 31 years later, at another hospital.
At this time each year, I would reminisce how a week later I was released from my hospital and got to go see you for the first time. In those days, in 1978, when you underwent a caesarean, you stayed in the hospital recovering for a week. Your father and our family would go see you a Children’s Hospital and report back to me at my hospital. I think in today’s social media world how different it would be. I would be receiving text pictures and mobile phone updates. I would send out prayer requests to all my FB family and so would my family and friends. Not the situation back in those days… sadly or maybe not, it was private… and yet here I am sharing your story for all to read.
The doctors were waiting on me to make a decision, to give you a chance at life, by placing a shunt in your brain to release the fluid buildup, or to let you go. We were advised to let you go; your condition was so severe. You had not developed an infant sucking motion and had to be fed by a tube down your throat. I was told you didn’t feel pain, but to me you appeared to feel pain. I was told only you would have no quality of life, that only your heart beat and your lungs gave you breathe (although one had collapsed)! And that was it.
It was my decision; only mine to make, your father said whatever decision I made he would support it. What a decision to make! What future would you have, what would I be subjecting you to if I said yes and you remained as the doctors, the experts, said you would, never sitting up, never talking, and never knowing us? Family said they would be there for us and help us, and other family said we were young, we can have more children. All meant well; but it was my decision.
At this time each year I would reminisce about your eyes, how big and bright and shining they were and how they seemed to follow me around the room. Your doctor was kind, he told me not to expect anything and he gave you no hope, but he also said some people believe in miracles; and although at the time it didn’t register in my conscience mind, I believe I must have clung to that phrase because I said yes to the shunt when you were 2 weeks old and you were home two weeks later before Thanksgiving.
Each year I would reminisce about your birth and the path it took us, and the advice given and the decisions made and I would be so happy thinking how far you came, how much you learned each year, how you surpassed all expectations of doctors and teachers and even me at times. And you turned 30 that one year before your death and we threw you a wonderful birthday party in celebration.
Now each year, as your birthday approaches, I remember those days and that time; and I remember that 5-years ago, on November 18, 2009, you stopped breathing and expectations by doctors were given that sounded very familiar. Your eyes did not follow me; you felt no pain and your heart beat only because a machine pumped air into your lungs and a different decision was made and you did not come home for Thanksgiving. You were a miracle child even at death when you gave the gift of life to 6 strangers. I had you for 31 years when I was told I wouldn’t have you for a day. When I was told not to keep you, I kept you and my goal to keep you happy, safe and loved was met. How I wanted to grow old with you and keep you safe forever. But forever does not exist.
Each year in November, the month of your birth and the month of your death, I reminisce and I remember and I always will. And the amazing thing is that Tinker Bell has learned so much from her Peter Pan; on how to give unconditional love, how to forgive, how to believe, how to give generously from the heart with an open soul. I am still learning things and trying to live better, be better, because I promised you I would.
November is your month, your miracle month; the miracle month for others who never knew you. November is full of joy and grief, grief and joy, your birth, your death, my mom’s death, my grandson’s birth, my marriage, my reunion with CHRIST. November is the month of Thanksgiving it is an appropriate month to celebrate you. I am thankful you were mine and I am thankful I can share you with others. I am thankful that I am finally at a place in my grief, where I can say I am thankful for those 31 years, although you know I wanted so much more, but we don’t get forever, do we?
Happy Birthday my son, until we meet again, all my love Mother
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