9 Years Post Apocalypse

It's been nearly 9 years since that fateful morning that Mr. Weasel and I awoke to find our entire world crumbling down around us.  In one brutally swift moment in time, life as we knew it was over.

It was apocalyptic.

Just one short week prior, all had been right with the world.  The doctors had given our brand new baby girl a clean bill of health and we would take her home from the hospital the following day.

Mr. Weasel and I left the NICU during the evening shift change to have a dinner at home with our other children for the first time in a week.  A week that had been filled with fear, anxiety and many more questions than answers.  Yet, we had emerged from that week victorious; I had 5 healthy children, a loving husband and father and a happy home that we would soon bring our newest addition, Claire, into for the first time. 

Anxious to be away from Claire's bedside, I headed back into the car, after a simple meal and a quick visit, for the 40 minute drive back to the hospital.  The sun was shining, the sky had been almost as beautiful as her blue eyes and a warm June breeze drifted through the air.

I was possibly the happiest that I have ever been.

I cranked up the radio in the minivan and sang along with a smile that you couldn't have smacked off my face as Steven Tyler belted out words that surely had been written for me and this exact moment in time. I couldn't wait to get back to Claire and I sure didn't want to miss a thing.   A song that unbeknownst to me, was foreshadowing what was soon to come, the theme song to Armageddon.


A mere 8 days later, it happened.  Death, like a thief in the night, had stolen our beautiful baby girl away from us.  Our world ended.

Armageddon.

However, 9 years later, I am here to say that we have survived.  We lived through the trauma, crawled through the rubble, hid in the trenches and sought refuge with fellow survivors.

Though not nearly as stoic, triumphant or glamorous as Hollywood blockbusters with end of the world themes,  We Have Survived.  

Starting from scratch, we began to rebuild our world amidst the fallout.  We slowly regained hope and kept our family huddled close.  There were countless dark days before we ever felt the warmth of the sun on our faces.

Yes, I still long for the world that once was; the innocence, simplicity and luxury of naivety that we once lived, but that world is gone forever.  We live in a new world now.  We've found a 'new normal', and for all of the negatives that we have come through, it's not without positives.  We love deeper, cherish stronger, prioritize better, and appreciate everyday together more sincerely than we ever have before.

Tomorrow, I will bake cupcakes and buy balloons.  All of the Weasels will pile into the minivan and we will head to the cemetery for a somber birthday celebration, as we hold tight the gifts that Claire left behind for us.  Gifts that were tools that carried us through the worst of times; Love, Hope and Joy.

Published!

I have never claimed to be anything other than a talentless hack a talented writer, but even a stopped clock is right on the money twice a day.

In that vein, I want to share with you that someone has thrown this squirrel a nut and that's way better than throwing a squirrel at this nut that a post that I wrote back in August has been published in the SIDS of Illinois news letter.  It's not the only time that this has happened, but seeing that I can't come up with anything to actually write today it is a rare occasion that I publish a piece of actual quality reading, I am linking you up to the post that now lives on in hard copy print.

I think it's worth the click through, but you be the judge.

In My Arms

.....and by the way, today is National De-lurking Day!  That means that all you who secretly read World of Weasels as your guilty little pleasure in life get to step out from the shadows and into the spotlight by leaving a comment and showing yourself and saying, Hi!  After all, I'm glad that you are here!
 

Under Pressure

With the Christmas season in full swing around us, as we creep closer and closer to the big day as it draws nearer, there is a lot of pressure for all of us to make with the merry.  We hustle and bustle, wrap and bake, shop and visit all under the glitter of shimmering decorations and a mandate to be happy.

Unfortunately, there is much suffering that happens in this world and not everyone is feeling all holly jolly about the festivities.  Their are many all around us, friends, neighbors or family, who are grieving.  Grieving their financial situations or the loss of a job.  Grieving the death of a loved one or grieving life as they knew it as they face fearful and uncertain futures thanks to a recent medical diagnosis.

As I sit happy and content under the sparkle of my the Christmas Tree and the warmth of my home, I can't forget these people and I hope that you won't either, for I have been these people in Christmas' past.  All by the ripe old age of 38, I have buried my father, gave the legal consent to stop life support for my mother, buried a sister, a nephew and the most painful of all, a daughter.  I understand the pain that the holiday season can bring to those who suffer and how inescapable the holidays are.

In that vein, I'd like to offer some tips for holiday survival that may be of use to all of us, grieving or not;

Shop Online ~ If you have to shop because of children in your home, shopping online at your own pace can help you to avoid the crowds, decorations, music and glitz that you may not be up to dealing with.

Don't Deck the Halls ~ You can simply not bother with decorating your home inside or out.  If you feel the need to decorate for the kids or any other reason, you can keep it minimalist.  Take the pressure off of yourself and only do what you are up for.

Keep Your Plans Flexible ~ What may sound like a good idea today, may become a daunting obligation that you are not in the mood for next week. 

Communicate ~ Let your family and friends know that what you need right now is patience and understanding.  Let them know to keep their expectations low and that you will participate when you are up for it and that you don't have to when you're not.

Cut Yourself a Break ~ If you don't send out Christmas cards, diligently shop or complete all of the tasks that you had hoped to, don't sweat it.  It's okay.  If you won't cut yourself some slack, who will?

Don't Despair ~ Do what you have to to get through today.  If you can survive today, you can deal with tomorrow when it comes.  Keep life simple, take it as it comes and remember to breath.

Two Words ~ Ron Bacardi.  Ron gets along well with many of my closest friends including egg nog, cola and lime.

For the rest of us who are busy enjoying the holidays to the fullest, don't forget the people who are not.  Offer patience, kind words and gentle understanding for their lack of merriment without forcing festivities upon them.

Wishing you all Peace, Joy and Hope in your lives.

In My Arms

In the hours and days after our Claire died I was in a fog of numb denial.  I was honestly expecting to wake up from this horrid nightmare at any moment.  In my mind, none of what had happened could actually be true.  It was far too awful to really be true.  Yet, it was.  My mind just needed to protect myself from the reality in order to preserve any amount of sanity.

Anything that could go wrong that day did and I lived in what I could only describe as a walking coma in those first days.  I was fully functional and at the same time completely nonfunctional.  Life was just motion.  There was no food needed for fuel or sleep to end weariness.  There were only to-do lists carried out in a mechanical fashion.  There was only the natural anesthetic of denial.

On the day of Claire's wake, my sister took me to accomplish the to-dos of the day.  I needed to go buy a dress.  There was nothing in my closet that would fit.  I bought a red one.  I couldn't wear black, there was no need to.  After all, this really couldn't have happened.  Black would make it real.  There would be no black.

Next we had to go pick some flower bouquets on a slim budget.  Our local grocery store had a nice floral department and we walked in to the aroma and beauty of nature's bright colors.  "Ooh, these are pretty!  Oh, what do you think about these?  These would look nice with those!" and suddenly reality began to peek through my psyche like the first rays of sunlight on the dawn.  I froze as grief flooded in and shook my body in heaving sobs.  What was I doing here?  Why was I buying flowers for her funeral.  It felt as unnatural and immoral an act as committing a violent crime.  I had to leave.

My sister and I returned home to a flutter of activity of friends and family members helping to dress and ready the other kids for Claire's wake.  I sat, still unshowered, on the back porch and painted my nails.  Mr. W gently reminded me of the time as I continued to procrastinate.  Softly and kindly, friends tried to move me from the porch and upstairs to ready myself.  I just quietly sat, responding that 'I know', yet I did not move.  After an hour or two, Mr. Weasel came to me a little more firmly and with more urgency about our lack of time and told me that I had to get ready now.  I said "no" very matter of factly.  "I can't.  If I shower, then I will have to get dressed.  If I dress, then we will go to the funeral home.  If we go to the funeral home, then this will be real.  I can't let this be real.  I can't go.  I can't do this".  He then held me tight as I shook and sobbed before guiding me upstairs to prepare.

We arrived at the funeral home with my heart racing in fear of the reality that I was about to face.  I trembled with dread and the knowledge that this was not a bad dream.  Family were already gathered in the common areas.  I could not look to them.  I could only look through them and past them.  I couldn't do this. 

The funeral director approached and took Mr. W and I privately into the viewing room, so that we may have a few moments alone and make sure that all was how we asked it be.  She then sat us down and performed the kindest act that anyone has ever done for us.  She picked up Claire's lifeless little body and placed her in my arms.  We sat and cried and held each other as we held Claire.

The thought of holding a corpse may sound morbid and creepy to some of you, but to us she was not a corpse, she was our little girl and we needed to hold her and to kiss her.  Tears ran down my cheeks and trickled onto the blanket she was swaddled in.  She would be buried with the tears of a mother's love.  A short while later, it was time to place her back in her miniature casket and to open the doors to the crowd that had now formed outside of them.

Holding my child gave me the strength to not only face that crowd, but to do the hardest thing that I have ever been tasked with in my life, say goodbye to her.

*I was inspired to write this post after having read a beautiful post by PJ Mullen about how when you hold your child, all is right with the world.  No doubt that the love we have for our children can carry us through the darkest of times.

Weird Dream Or Not?

I'm not sleeping. This is nothing all that out of the ordinary here in Weaselville. I am usually awake well before dawn, but I am also usually asleep earlier than most. It all evens out. Even if my sleep patterns are not the norm, I do manage to get by and still be pretty stinking functional for the most part on the few hours that I do get.

The past few days I am getting much less REM time than usual. Although I have gone to bed on time, I am waking up around 1 am to start my day. I am waking because of extremely odd and disturbing dreams about what would be considered mundane topics. To jolt awake in a cold sweat, bolting upright, over not getting hash browns with an extremely early morning fast food breakfast and finding that the wrapper had been filled with a very fatty, deep fried and delicious New York Strip steak in it's stead and that I didn't have the early bird coffee special, even though it was in my hand and I was drinking it as I came to this realization in my dream, caused me a huge level of anxiety. Enough to startle me awake to start my day and make me fearful of closing my eyes.

In reality, I have had deep fried New York Strips. They are spectacular and voted most likely to make your heart stop! That would be a bonus in any meal I were to be served. Why would it cause me such anxiety?

I have self analyzed this wacky dream and my insane reaction to something to so seemingly sublime. Here it goes.

I didn't get what I had expected. I went to a trusty source of consistency we all know exactly what's on the menu and what it will taste like at fast food joints placed my order and got something better than I had asked for. It did have it's extra fat to bite through, but the sweetness of the meat is well worth having to chew through it.

The coffee I had in my hand, it was sweet, creamy and special. I was drinking in it in and enjoying every sip. All of a sudden it was gone. I no longer had it to enjoy, even though it was mine. It was gone and I didn't understand how or why something so delicious was gone without explanation. Taken away from me in the blink of an eye.

This still won't make any sense to most of you, but bare with me if you can. It makes more sense in context. This coming Friday would be the 8th birthday of that sweet little Angel Weasel you see in my header. She was born with special needs, Down's Syndrome to be exact, (To us she was New York Strip). She passed away at home suddenly, in the middle of the night a few weeks later, while I slept. Her creamy skin and sweetness were in my arms, yet she was gone (anybody get the coffee connection?). She had been special and I didn't have her anymore, even as I held her.

I fear sleep when no one else is up and on watch over the nest. I wake early to take up vigil. I fault myself with having missed her last few hours of life because I wanted sleep. I wish I had drank more in.

Now that I have depressed the living daylights out of you, I want you to think of this the next time you are awake in the middle of the night with a crying baby, a sick toddler, changing the peed sheets of a bunk bed or lecturing an obstinate teenager and be grateful that you are.

You don't Want To Miss A Thing.

Virtual Hugs

Teens are a unique breed of human. Most anyone who has spent significant time raising them would agree. As much as they love Mom & Dad, they usually have a hard time showing it, let alone saying it. They much prefer to give an eye roll over a hug. When given a gentle kiss on the cheek from Mom, they recoil as if her lips are a branding iron. Eldest Weasel actually jokes "It buuurrrnnnsss". However, they do indeed love and show it when they choose to.

We are now into the Christmas Season. I used to love it all. The lights, colors and shimmering paper always filled my heart with joy and the spirit of Christmas. A few years ago, Christmas changed for me. I could not bear to see the lights, hear the carols or stand the sight of the decorations. I could not muster the energy to celebrate anything and begrudged the world around me that did. I went through the motions for the sake of my children so as not to spoil their enjoyment, but my heart wasn't in it.

Christmas Present, 7 years later, is bittersweet for me. I can celebrate and enjoy. I can decorate and admire. I can shop and be excited about the treasures that I have found, but it is now always tinged by a sadness and longing. I will laugh, but I will also cry.

The other day while baking some favorite holiday treats the Christmas tunes were playing, while the Weasels sang, danced and 'helped' me in the kitchen. I love times like this, for the memories we are making, but then something stopped me in my tracks. Out of the speakers came "All I Want for Christmas is You" sung by Mariah Carey. This is a great song that I always loved, but that now will bring me instant tears.

For the only thing that I really want (and don't have) for Christmas and always, I cannot have. The only thing missing from my life is the laughter and hugs, from a would have been, 7-year-old girl who I can only visit at the cemetery, whose name is etched in cold marble, planted in icy ground as the only statement to the world that she had ever existed or mattered.

As the song began, my sweetest, eye-rolling, smart-mouthed teen, Eldest Weasel, spotting the pain in my expression, hugged me tight and we began to dance. I held her with all of my might in gratitude for being able to, as tears streamed down my face in heartache and sorrow for her little sister whom I long to hold, but never will again, in this life anyway.

Her love and unspoken understanding of what I was feeling meant so much and gave me the ability to continue with the tasks at hand in the kitchen. It also reminded me of an organization made of up individuals who have had a child's death touch their lives, SIDS of Illinois. These are the people who carried us through that first Christmas, birthday, Mother's day and subsequent ones, with an understanding of our pain. They are the people who acted as a crutch when we were not able to walk this road on our own. This organization that not only works to support bereaved families, but fights to save babies lives, through education for parents, providing safe sleep material goods for families unable to afford them (such as cribs and sleep sacks), but also to train first responders on how to deal with newly bereft parents, while still performing their duties, in order to prevent living nightmares such as Mr. Weasel and I experienced.

In this season of giving, if you are so inclined to give me a hug, I asked that you do so virtually, by way of donation to SIDS of Illinois. It doesn't matter if it's $1, $5, or $500. Donate in memory of Claire Weasel (she is the featured remembrance baby of the month - go check out her beautiful picture) via phone ((1-800-432-SIDS (7437)) or Paypal directly on their site. You can also tweet, Digg, stumble or otherwise promote this post. Every dollar donated can mean another baby's life saved or a lifeline for a family who will need to survive their first Christmas without their child in their arms.

Don't forget to stop by Dad Blogs for some other interesting insights on all things Fatherhood and Parenthood related.

Don't Think I'm Nuts, Just Desperate.

These past few days I have been in an awful funk. What should have been a relaxing long weekend at home, turned into a daily struggle just to hold it together doing bare minimum requirements.

As many of you already know, Our daughter Claire died a little over 7 years ago. That was a dark, horrible time in our lives and a struggle to just keep moving as time continued to pass by. Much healing has happened since then and much joy has also been felt in our home, but there is not a day that passes that she is not the first thought in my head as I wake and the last thought I have before closing my eyes at night. This is all very common and to be expected until kingdom come.

Every once in while though, you hit a bump in the road and a small trigger rips opens old wounds and fresh grief washes over you. Catching you off guard, like a sucker punch that knocks the wind out you. Unknown is how long it will take to catch your breath again.

Days (and days) of this also take you by surprise, because you have convinced yourself that you are far removed from grief this raw in nature. You try to take comfort in knowledge from past experience, that this level of pain and darkness will pass in a matter of days, but that is like telling a non-runner "only 26 miles to go". That is where I have been since Thursday.

When I find myself in this place, I tend to beg ask Claire for something, anything. Any form of closeness or contact to show me that she is close and safe. I know in my heart that she is fine, it's me that's not always close and safe, but as a mother you long for your children. You long to hold them and to hug them and I can't tell you how hard it is to have that luxury taken away. To know that you will never hold them again in this life brings physical pain and arms that truly ache with that grief.

About 4 years ago I found myself in deep grief and longing. I had been asking for Claire to throw Mom a bone, so to speak, for quite a while. Early one morning while Mr. Weasel was in the kitchen and I sat drinking coffee and watching early morning news, one of the Weasel girls, wearing yellow, fleecy, footie PJ's (Weasel's love footies) left the bedroom of Middle Weasel and Monkey Weasel and made a bee line for Smallest Weasels bedroom. Smallest Weasel was still a baby and sleeping in her crib. I whisper - hollered (all of you parent types know what I mean) "Get out of there! You better not wake that baby!". Mr Weasel asked who was up and I told him, that I wasn't sure. One of the girls and they better not wake the baby.

I didn't see or hear anything else, so I let it go. They must have snuck back to bed. Again, about 10 minutes later, a little girl with light brown curls and yellow footie pajamas left the girls room and headed into Smallest Weasels nursery. Again I whisper hollered "get out of there and don't wake the baby!". Within seconds, Smallest Weasel was up and crying for me to come get her out of the crib. I headed upstairs to her room, ready to strangle reprimand whoever had woken her. Only no one was in her room. I picked up Smallest and went into the girls room to see who the culprit was, only to find the girls (and all other Weasels) sound asleep in their beds and not wearing yellow, fleece or footies. It then dawned on me that none of the Weasels own any yellow PJ's of any kind.

I knew immediately who had woken the baby and as I relayed this information to Mr. Weasel (who overheard all of the exchanges, but wasn't in the room to see anything) I laughed with joy and observed "Well, she doesn't listen. She's one of them (a weasel) Why should expect any different?". This little incident brought me much joy and comfort. It was just the sign I had been begging hoping for.

So last night, after 3 days of feeling like I have been drowning in an abyss of grief, Mr. Weasel informed me that today when exiting the shower a young child passed through his peripheral vision running out of our bedroom (Weasels aren't allowed in our bedroom/bathroom without permission. Especially when we are taking showers.) He poked his head around the corner to see who it was, but there was no one. The door to our bedroom was still closed and all the Weasels were downstairs and otherwise engaged. It only took him a second to make the connection, but let it go as he was already running late to get out of the house to church.

He waited until dinner to mention it to me. He's not sure that he believes, but he also wants to bring me any form of comfort he can. I was comforted. And a little jealous. I long for connection and a visual, no matter how brief. I told Mr. Weasel if anything like this ever happens again, he is to tell her "Go see your mother!".

I don't look as this as a ghost story or these sightings to be ghost like. I believe that it's much more of a "Mom needs me and some comfort" and thus she gives us a brief visit from Heaven. It's not much, but it sure does help me to feel better.

In The Belief That Every Baby Should Live

Welcome to another addition of Fatherhood Friday, a Dad-Blogs spectacular! What, you still haven't joined dad-blogs? Get on the ball people, that place rocks. Would I be there if it wasn't cool?

No funnies here today, but if you read through this post you can reward yourself with this fantastically hysterical one.

By now, I'm sure most of you have read the news about Baby Maddie here. or here. or here. or here. Or at countless other blogs.

I don't know Maddie or her family. I only know of her, since her passing. I only know that she has obviously touched many people's hearts and that her family is in deep suffering right now. My heart aches for these people whom I don't know and for the long torturous road that they have just been thrust upon.

Mr. Weasel and I have walked that road. It's rough terrain, very hilly and rocky. It's full of potholes and landmines. There is no map to follow the road or any of it's twist and turns. There are not any paved patches or shortcuts. However, there are organizations that provide you with hiking boots and a walking stick. There are no band-aids for the unavoidable blisters, but these organizations and the people who run them will rub salve on the wounds and walk with you.

One such organization, that helped us through that dark wilderness, is Sudden Infant Death Services of Illinois. For 40 years, SIDS of IL, has been providing not only support for families who have buried their child (and I credit them for our own survival), but provided educational resources to parents about safe sleep practices (SIDS rates in IL have dropped 68% ((68% People!!!! That's a lot of babies saved!)) since the"back to sleep" campaign was implemented), has been helping to fund and support medical research in the hope of one day SIDS will be eradicated and has been offering professional training for first responders in an effort to educate and prevent situations such as Mr. Weasel and I encountered.

This organization saved our family and many others. Unfortunately, there is always another family in need of their help. Last night I was informed that SIDS of IL is yet another victim of our current economy. They only have enough funds to cover operating costs through the end of May.

There have been tight belts and close calls before and they have always found a way to keep the doors open and continue doing the important work that they do. This time, I would like to be a part of the solution.

If you can donate, please do. You can do it right here. Not all of us can donate, but you can tweet, link, stumble and spread the word. Somewhere there is an angel that can help.

So on this Good Friday, when we take time to remember that God gave his only Son to die, for us. Do your part to save another father and mother and family from this awful fate.

SIDS of Illinois ~ In the belief that every baby should live.

Nightmare

I haven't been sleeping well lately. I have had a tremendous brick wall of writers block. Sure, there are many stresses that are being juggled right now in Weaselville, but I know that they are not the root cause. I know what the cause is and I hate to look it in it's ugly face. Gnawing at my brain like a termite is a nightmare. The kind that you can't wake up from. Wreaking havoc in my head, preventing the flow of coherent thought and peaceful sleep, is what Mr. Weasel and I have come to refer to as the videotape.

I can't hit stop or pause. It just plays in a torturous unending loop and eats away at any attempt to live life as I used to know it. I am hoping that by writing about it and putting it out in front of myself that it will stop playing for the time being.

I have written about it some before, here and here, but never in complete detail. For some things are just too awful to say out loud. Today, I hope by acknowledging the gory, I can put them to rest for a while and find peace, at least for the short time.

The video that plays uncontrollably in my head is that of the night that our daughter Claire died (July 2nd, 2002).

Weaselville had been the happiest place on earth since we brought our newest baby girl home from the hospital. She brought joy to the entire family and was a very easy baby to care for. All of the Weasels loved their newest, best toy ever and helping to care for her. The Mr. and I were happy to have her home after a tumultuous first week of life that was spent in the hospital filled with worries about her health, that all turned out to right themselves, or so we thought. She was healthy, she was ours and she was home.

One week later, all the kids were tucked in their beds fast asleep. Mr. Weasel and I were in bed watching T.V. as I nursed Claire. When she was done, I was tired. Claire was wide eyed and wanting to cuddle and play (as much as a newborn can). Mr. Weasel took her to hold and love, so that I may get some sleep. He eventually fell asleep sitting up in bed with her tucked away in his arms.

At 3:23 am, I awoke abruptly to Mr. Weasel screaming in panic that she was not breathing. I assuming that he must be mistaken.  I calmly but quickly checked for myself. In that instant the world stopped turning. Mr. Weasel started CPR and told me to call 911. I froze in fear and disbelief. He told me to take over CPR and he called. I went into automatic. I couldn't think, I just had to do. I continued CPR as we waited for help. It wasn't working. I felt I must be doing it wrong. It was taking forever for help to get there. Mr. Weasel called 911 again to ask "WHERE THE F&$% ARE YOU?" It felt like hours. In reality it was less than 3 minutes. When the paramedics arrived they said they were taking her to the ambulance. All that ran through my head was "don't waste time telling me, just do it, Fast!".

They took her outside as we threw on some clothes. There were police, fireman and paramedics everywhere. Eldest had woken up, but we shooed her back to her room. For we did not know what to do or what was happening. Mr. Weasel went to calm her as I went outside to stand in the open doors behind the ambulance hoping for some hope. I was sure that this was not happening. I was sure that they would save her. Mr. W came out to join me and to hold me.

They closed the back doors and were heading for the ER. I would go to the hospital and Mr. Weasel would stay with the other children. The police told me to drive myself to the hospital. I was not fit in any way to be driving. There is no doubt that my guardian angel was doing that part. I called a friend on my way. She would rush to the house and stay with the kids so that he could come to the hospital.

Once at the ER, they put me in a claustrophobic little room with a couch to wait. All they would say is "we're working on her". I couldn't sit still and there was no room to walk. Every time I stood at the doorway a very large security guard was in front of me to make sure I didn't enter the curtain area. I was asked, "Is someone coming? Can we call someone?" every few minutes. I continually answered "Yes. My husband is coming. I don't know why he's not here yet.", as I grew angry and frustrated that he wasn't there and they wouldn't tell me what was happening with my baby. I cursed under my breath at my husband when he wasn't answering his phone and wasn't arriving at the hospital. Anger mounted inside of me. "This is no time to bother with the paperwork" was my only thought. He must be filling out paperwork. Why isn't he here instead? He should be here. Where the hell is he.

I asked for a priest. I needed to have my daughter baptised. They sent some greasy long haired, hippy freak of about 20 years old. I asked for a priest. Again and again I asked for a priest. I asked for an update on my daughter, "we're working on her". It was an endless circle. "where the hell is he???????"

"We're ready for you now" was all that was said as a nurse appeared briefly from behind the curtain. I hurried to see my baby girl. I pushed past the curtain prepared for wires and monitors and machines. I saw none of that. There was none of that. Just my baby girl, swaddled in blankets, laying on a gurney much to large for her little body. No beeps, no humming, no noise. Once again I froze. I had to ask the nurse "Is she breathing?". A simple "no" was muttered. I leaned my body over my baby girl like a blanket. The nurse sat me on a stool and placed her lifeless body in my arms saying "hold her", before exiting.

I sat and held her little self, rocking her gently, sure that she would start breathing again any second. This was not happening. It couldn't be. It all had to be a mistake. It. Had. To. Be. I prayed. Prayed like I had never prayed before. I was sure that she would breath again. She had to. I needed a miracle and I knew God would provide it. I cursed again that my husband wasn't here. Where are you. I need you. Where the F%$@ are you?. I sat and rocked and cried in disbelief. Eventually, a doctor walked in and sat beside me. I couldn't speak. All she said was "I'm sorry". I couldn't make eye contact. All I could do was rock my baby and cry. She left. I held my baby. I begged her to breath. I begged God that this be all a mistake.

Soon, a policeman came in. He would need me to come make a statement at the police station. "Is that where my husband is?" 'Yes" was replied. "Does he know?". "I think so" was all that was said. I needed to be with my husband. I didn't want to leave my baby girl. I made sure that they wouldn't move her until after we could come back together. I could be with him just as soon as I gave my statement. I asked if I could drive myself to the station and was told "you're in no condition to drive". I rode in the front seat of the cruiser. Everything seemed surreal. I sat in the squad room and the officer ran to go buy me a cup of coffee after apologizing that none was made. I answered some simple questions. All was in order and I asked to see my husband. I was brought to him. He had been locked in a cell. This is why he never came. This is why he couldn't answer his phone.

When our friend arrived at the house to care for the children, he went to the car so he could join me at the hospital. The senior officer asked him "where do you think you're going?". "To the hospital with my baby and my wife". At that point he was cuffed and stuffed into the back of a cruiser. He was arrested and locked in a cell. Without cause.

Once locked up and not understanding why or what was happening, he screamed and yelled for them to allow him to go to the hospital and was ignored. He continually hit the call button and was told to stop because he was being "annoying". He screamed that he needed to see his wife and daughter. The officer that had him arrested came to the door and stated coldly "Your daughter is dead" and then slammed the door shut again. It wasn't opened again until after he collapsed from a panic attack.

He was only released after I gave my statement.

We were driven back to the hospital together and for the first time to be together with our lifeless baby girl. A priest still not had been called. We baptized her ourselves in the little sink in the curtained room. We held her, but also knew that we must soon go home. Our other children would be awake soon and would need us. We didn't want someone else telling them that their beloved baby sister was gone.

When we arrived home the police were still there. The kids had remained asleep, with the exception of Eldest who never went back to sleep. As the kids awoke, we told them all individually about the death of their sister. None of them believed us. They all had the same reaction. Each went immediately to her empty bassinet to look for her as our hearts broke again and again each time we had to crush our children, their reality and their feelings of safety and security.

I went to the back porch to sit. My best friend and her mother were sitting and waiting, just wanting to help. They poured me some coffee and asked what they could do. I sat like a zombie and told them that I was sure that any minute I was going to wake up. I was certain of it. This had to be a nightmare. It was a nightmare, for this was far worse than anything life could throw at us.

I never woke up. In fact, I never actually slept again. At least not how normal people expect to sleep.

Later that day, after not knowing what happened or why. After fretting and fearing about why our precious baby had died, we heard from the coroner. It was her heart. A congenital heart defect, that usually does not interfere with any aspect of life, blew wide open and her heart stopped pumping correctly. All of her blood flooding into her tiny lungs and it was over immediately. It was a one in a million thing and the only lottery we have ever held the ticket for.

Welcome to all of you arriving from Dad-Blogs Fatherhood Friday. Thanks for taking the time to read this. If you got this far, you might as well leave a comment.

"I Think We Should Mix it up a Bit"

~ to quote the Evil Scientist of Phineas and Feb fame, Dr. Doofenschmirtz.

I usually try to keep it light and amusing around here, but today will not be light. We will be back to regularly scheduled blogging with the next post.

Claire Elaine Weasel
June 18, 2002 - July 2, 2002

A blogging friend has had the son of a close friend pass away. There is nothing amusing about that. But that has prompted me to post something I have been thinking should be mass distributed for a long time now. "A what not to do or say to grief stricken parents guide for dummies".

Some of you may know and some of you may not That Mr. Weasel and I are the parents of 6. Our daughter Claire passed away 6 1/2 years ago. Being the parent of a child who has died and working closely with SIDS of Illinois (feel free to make an online donation) ever since. At first receiving support that we needed to survive and now to help other parents to survive this tragedy, I have come across some stories of things people have said and done while trying to offer comfort that in actuality only caused more pain. So here are some helpful guidelines for you to keep in mind for future contacts with the grieving.

The only thing to say is "I'm sorry". After that you risk putting your foot in your mouth. People often feel the need to say something. Or the pressure to say anything. They wish to comfort, not harm, but often harm is the product. There is no bright side or silver lining to this situation. Parents that fresh in grief can see no positives and no future, do not try to make some up.
Examples of this include(and these are actual quotes said either us or other parents we've known):

• "They are in a better place."~ Platitudes don't help. To a parent who has just lost a child there is no better place for that child than with the parents.

• "You are so strong" ~ No I'm not. I am not doing this because I want to. I have no options. If I had an option, I would be taking it. I have no control over this. I am not breathing by choice. I am breathing because it keeps happening.
  

• "God must have needed another Angel"~ Ummmm, no. If God needed an angel he would create one, not take mine.

• " God won't give you a more than you can bare" ~ Yeah, then why are mental wards full of people drooling all over themselves in rubber rooms. I feel like at any moment my mind could say enough, without my control or consent any more than breathing, and I would be in the next padded room in the ward. God didn't do this to me, but it happened and it may be more than my sanity can hold onto. Eventually he will carry me through this, but that is an eternity away from me right now. Once again, platitudes don't help.
  

• " At least you can have more children." ~ This was not a goldfish or a hamster. This child is not replaceable. Even if they have 10 more children, they will never stop missing and mourning this one.

• "At least you have other children" ~ I may, and I love them and need them close. That does not alleviate my grief for this one. It does not make me miss this one any less. And I have the added worry of trying to console them in their grief and explain things to them that I am not able to understand while I am unable to care for even myself.
  

• "It's all part of God's plan for you." ~ Even if this is true , to a parent that freshly soaked in pain and grief, no reason that God has could be a good enough to cause this much pain. From my experience with people it takes a few years minimum, if ever for parents to be able to think in those terms.

• "I know how you feel." ~ No you don't. You can't. Unless you have been through exactly this, and then you can only know in part because people are so individual and so are the circumstances that surround the death.

• "I know how you feel, my dog just died" ~ Oh no you didn't just compare your dog to my child. It does not matter how close you were to your dog. It was a DOG! Unless you have given birth to that dog, then I can just call you a ...........
  

• "At least she died young, before you got to love her." ~ If this needs explanation, just click away from this site right now.

• "Well, I'm sorry anyway." ~ (commenting about the death of a mentally disabled child) ~ Anyway? I can't even comment further on this.
  

Now that we have established some what to and not to say, here are some to do and what not to do.

• Do not force me to try and eat. ~ I have no energy and no appetite. I don't want to eat. I want to die. Making me a sandwich will only make me angry or make me feel guilty when I don't eat it after you made it.
  

• Do go out and buy or make a fruit tray. ~ Just put it on the table and open it. As I sit or walk past I will pick at it without even knowing and I will appreciate it.

• Do not offer to take my other children out for the day. ~ I do not feel safe with them out of my sight.
  

• Do hang around and care for the children and take them into the yard to play. ~ I need them near and to hold them, but have no energy to care for them.
  

• Do not ask me what you can do. ~ I simply do not know and have no answer.

• Do clean my house for guests .~ Do not ask me. I will say no. Just quietly do it. Only stop if I ask you to. I will appreciate it, but probably won't even know how it got done.

• Do not hug a nursing Mom. ~ With no baby to nurse I am engorged and in physical pain. Hugs hurt.

• Do rub my back or hug me carefully from behind. ~ I need to be held.

• Do not be afraid of my tears. ~ For weeks and months and more after the fact I will cry. This is not a bad thing. Do not change the subject. Just let me cry and be there to listen if I want to talk.

• Do not avoid me when you see me in public. ~ Our first instinct as parents is to run. We do not know what to say or do. This only causes extreme pain to the grieving parents. We know we are your worst nightmare. We feel guilty for our child's death. Even when we could not have done anything differently or to change things. You avoiding us just convicts us. Trust me, we see when you turned in the other direction.
  

• Do not expect me to forget about this and get on with my life. ~ This is something that will never leave me and it will be a long and slow process to get back into the swing of things.

• Do have patience. ~ I will need your love and support to get through these next couple of years. Most support ends after a month or two. I need it for much longer. The pain does not dissipate as quickly as the support does.

• Do not ask "When are they going to get over this" ~ They will never get over this. They will eventually learn to how to live life again, but it will be a new normal that they find. It will take a long journey to get there. The pain never goes away, you just learn how to live with it and continue on. The first few years are extremely hard.

• Do remember birthdays and death anniversaries(and commemorate them). ~ The parents do. Send a card or make a phone call. Even if I don't answer, it's nice to know that someone else remembered and that you are not so alone. To know that your child meant something to someone other than yourselves and is remembered means the world.

• Do not be afraid to say my child's name. ~ Many fear that I am doing okay today and do not want to ruin that. But the truth is that I am always remembering no matter what else is going on and it's nice to have others acknowledge my child by name. It helps to honor them.

• Do make a charitable donation in my child's name. ~ The charity sends the parents a letter and let's them know. It means the world to know that someone else cared about my child also and cares enough to give something in hopes that other parents will not have to suffer this nightmare through the hope of research, and to support through bereavement services people like I who have been through this trauma.

• Do Pray for me ~ This is probably the kindest and most helpful thing you can do for me, whether I know it or not at the time.
  

I hope that you all bookmark this and save it for future reference. I do not expect a lot of comments. I am well aware of how this situation creeps people out and they avoid the topic like the plague, mostly because it is something they want to crawl away from as quickly as possible.
But sooner or later this won't be something that happens 'over there' to other people and will hit closer to home. At least now you will have some tools to use.