12:44 am, 20 months later.

In one hour it will be 20 months since I gave birth to our still born baby boy, Kai. I still wonder how a perfectly healthy, strong baby can suddenly die two weeks before his due date. I do understand that he suffocated and his heart stopped beating because the umbilical cord "broke" off from the placenta. His life line "broke". But no one can tell me why or what might have caused the cord to detach from the placenta. No clots (that might have explained the withered look of the cord where it was supposed to be attached to the placenta). Nothing abnormal. He was a healthy 7 pounds when he was still born. When he was born his colouring was purpl-ish. His lips were a bright deep red. In my mind I see him all pink-ish with rosebud pink lips. The black and white photos I have of him that were taken by a NILMDTS photographer barely hint at the fact that he was born without breath. He looks like a healthy baby in a timeless black and white baby photo.

How have 20 months gone by? When I gave birth to him I just wanted to die. I wished I could die. I couldn't imagine going past that moment. For days and says and weeks and weeks I wanted to die - unable to understand how I managed to still be physically alive each moment upon moment when all that was going through my mind was that I had somehow failed my baby and I deserved to die. Needed to die...
" My older daughter would be fine with her dad looking after her. Kai would be out there without a parent. I could be there with him. Did he even know how much we love him? Did he know that his death was so unbearable that sometimes I thought it wasn't true? Was he feeling abandoned? I definitely felt I was abandoning him when I had to leave the hospital without him - but what could I do? I needed to know that he knew we love him. I needed to take care of him; keep him warm, cuddle him, sing to him, love him."

Twenty months later I still sometimes have the urge to be with him, holding him out in the universe. All those moments have turned into almost two years. I still love him. The memory of Kai still hurts to my core, but it isn't as acute and desperate anymore. I don't think of the pain I feel when I remember him as a bad thing anymore either. As I explained to my daughter, "The pain you feel when you miss someone is a positive thing. It reminds you that you love that person and that you want to see them again - that you will take notice of their absence and look forward to being with them again."

We miss you and love you every day, Kai.

Black days

Oh how I hate these black days. My days are usually a grayish colour but I'm never too far from black. I haven't had colour or brightness in my life for a long time. I keep striving for it but I never seem to be able to do better than a mid to light gray. I have a cousin who is bi-polar. Sometimes I wish I was bi-polar so that I would at least know what it was like to feel really great, like I can do anything. I know that being bi-polar is not at all easy. In fact, it sucks as much as being chronically, clinically depressed.

With both my pregnancies I prayed to the "powers that be" to let my child live if anything should have to go wrong with my pregnancy. I figure that I've lived this long without really feeling like I'm part of this world so it would be better for me to die and give my babies a chance at a life that is full. Yeah, I know things don't work this way... I know I have no control over these things ... how could I, my second child died inside me a few weeks before he was due and I couldn't do a thing to stop it. He wasn't sick. I wasn't sick. One day he was fine and kicking and the next day his lifeline detached from the placenta and he died. The doctors have no idea why this happened. Of course, I have my own dark, paranoid theories as to why this happened but I'm told that my thoughts are not logical or possible. Would these theories of mine be more logical if I was religious? In Sunday School I was taught that if you weren't a good person you would not be rewarded by Him. You might even be punished. Am I being punished ... because I'm still here?... because I wasn't supposed to be here past the age of thirty (I always believed I would never live to see thirty because the pain of depression was so unbearable)?

I know what I wrote won't make sense. Most of the time my life doesn't make sense to me. I've waded through my confusion for forty years and it gets more difficult with time and life experiences.

Baby boy, I wanted ... and still want you SO much. I'm sorry if anything I did or didn't do took away your life. Please know that I love you and miss you.

Wishing . . .

I've really been pre-occupied these days with wishing I had Kai to hold in my arms. I feel a need to love and nurture him. . . but I can't because he's gone. I've given up on my gardening. I usually love seeding and nurturing my little seedlings until they become flowers and veggies - now it just keeps reminding me of Kai. It hurts.

I don't understand how he could have died? We were both healthy! Isn't that supposed to mean something? The cause of his death was because the umbilical cord detached from the placenta. Apparently the cord was 'withered' where it attached. There was no reason the doctors could find as to why that happened. He was still born at the beginning of 38 weeks. He was chubby! He weighed 6 pounds 12 ounces! He was so perfect in every way except that he wasn't breathing and his heart had stopped beating the day before. Did the cord develop that way . . . did I do something to cause it to form improperly . .  . or did I do something that made the cord wither part way through my pregnancy? I hate not knowing - but would knowing be any better?

I hate this. I wish he were here!!!