*****
January 16, 2015
Dear Zachary,
Tonight was the first dinner that your family and our family
shared since the night of January 24, 2014, which was the eve of your funeral.
That night, we finalized a 4 minute and 39 second video that encapsulated your
14-day life, which was set to a song entitled "Amazing" - as that is
exactly how your parents described you. Tonight, we helped your mommy, daddy,
and big brother light memorial luminaries, one for each day of your life, and
position them along the front path, leading to the front door of the house that
you should be calling home. We have to believe that you can see the flickering
candle flames from your look-out post up above, but it is difficult for that
belief to provide us with enough comfort, considering the circumstances...
...Just as your family began to settle into their new NICU
routine, you somehow managed to acquire an infection in the hospital. The day before
your infection was confirmed, your mommy knew that something was amiss - you
were inconsolable and she felt so helpless when the medical team ignored your symptoms and her
motherly instincts. For 48 hours, your parents kept a vigil over you and there
were several times, during your critical state, where they feared that they
were going to lose another son. When it seemed like your amazing resiliency had
pulled you though the near-deadly infection, your worn-down parents regained
much-needed hope. Hours later, their weary hearts were ripped from their chests
when it was discovered that you had acquired, as a result of the infection, a massive
grade 4 brain bleed with a midline shift.
The news caught me completely off guard. I refused to believe what I
was hearing. Your incredibly wonderful family did not deserve to lose another
son. How would they make it
through another tragedy, especially when they fully believed that they would
have the chance to bring you home?
That day was the first that I laid eyes on precious little you. I will
never forget being taken aback by your perfect features. You had the most
adorable hands and feet, fingers and toes, nose, and wild wisps of dark hair.
To see you lying in your isolette, in a state of medical paralysis, was
gut-wrenching. You were so pure and so innocent and it maddened me to think
about how much pain and suffering you had endured and how much your parents helplessly
watched unfold in your hospital room. The life that you so deserved to live was
about to be stripped from you. Your parents were shells of their former selves,
moving about like the walking dead. It was true that their lives had been
stripped from them as well. Their eyes were hollowed and it seemed their
souls were equally so. Their physical brokenness could be felt on the receiving
end of each embrace. The following evening, they were faced with yet another
unbearable task - telling C.T. that you (the new baby brother he was so
proud to call his own - the living sibling who had finally entered his life) were
going to die.
Hours before you passed away, I walked into your hospital room with so
much rage churning inside. I remember being caught off guard at the peaceful
scene unfolding in that very room. A mother and father doting over their
beautiful baby boy. A big brother smothering his little brother with kisses. A
family trying to make the most of their son's remaining time on earth. A
peaceful send off for a boy who had lived through much more in his 14 days of
life than most people will experience in a lifetime. In retrospect, I guess
that scene shouldn't have been as surprising to me as it was. The family that I
so hoped would one day expand - the one that had so much love to give - was
doing just that.
Over this past year, I have been amazed by your mommy's, daddy's, and
brother's ability to continue on, two urns now decorating their bedroom
dresser. The journey
has been far from easy, as they push a double stroller of grief up a proverbial
Mount Everest, at times gasping for air along the way. Their comfort zone,
which they worked so hard to expand over the years since B.W.'s passing, has
now shrunk down to what can be contained within the walls of their own home,
understandably so. They feel alone in their house of grief, unable to relate to
others. Your mommy is a wreck over the permanent absence of her son. Your daddy
muddles his way through the work day, before returning to his house of grief.
Your big brother, who was proud to share the news of your arrival with his
classmates, understands that not many of his buddies are willing to discuss you
now that you are dead.
Zachary, your family has worked hard over the past several weeks to
honor your memory in so many beautiful ways, but,
as your mommy said tonight, "It will never be enough." The only thing
that would be fulfilling to them would be to have you back in their arms. To smell
your beautiful baby scent. To feel your beautifully soft skin. To run their
fingers over your silky hair. To feel your warm breath on their necks, as they
comfort you just so. To beam with pride, as you take your first steps. To send
you off to kindergarten, garden-picked flowers in hand. To see you walk across
the stage on your graduation day. To watch you find your way in the world, as
your story continues to unfold. To feel the unconditional love, that they
shower you with daily, reciprocated back.
Zachary, on this day and every day, you are so very missed. I am so
very sorry that your life was cut tragically short. I believe that you were
destined for much more.
Love, Megan
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