Those long fingers wrapped tightly around mine, that soft as silk, sometimes spiky hair, those purely innocent eyes looking for me. God, he was amazing. I would give up anything and everything to have had six months with him.
My Zachary. He would be six months old today.
I cannot believe he was here, and healthy. So little intervention. And then he slipped right through our hands. I can't fathom how bits of microscopic bacteria infiltrated his being, ravaged his body, stealing his lungs, his ability to regulate his blood pressure, to coagulate, to urinate. I can't understand how he was "through the worst of it", having survived the first 48 hours of septic shock, finally urinating again, respiratory requirements dramatically improved, all of his blood counts back in reasonable ranges..., and yet it destroyed his otherwise perfectly functioning brain. Incredibly rare, we were told. I can't believe that B and I were forced to make end-of-life decisions for him, that we all watched him suffer and held him as he died. I will never understand how and why this happened to Zachary. I can't quite grasp his gone-ness. Don't want to accept what it implies for the rest of my own days.
What would we be doing with Zachary, if he were here right now?
I don't know sweetie. You'd probably be keeping him occupied on the floor while I make breakfast. Or maybe I'd have him with me in a sling, carrying him around.
Would he be able to have tiny pieces of a bagel yet?
He might not be quite ready for solid foods yet, at six months.
Please don't talk to me anymore. I'm sad.
Okay. I know. Me too.