Life anew

My husband handed me the baby and closed the car door. This little round face stared up at me. His light blue eyes were so blue that it made even the whites of his eyes have a blue tint. Just above each ear his dark black baby fine hair creped out from under his teddy bear hat. I kept looking at the dimple he had in his chin; it matched his father’s. I kept my hand on his chest to feel his little heart beating, and to feel his chest rise and fall with each breath he was taking. The smile on my face was only matched by the smile on my husband’s. I adjusted his pale blue blanket a few times to make sure he was warm. I couldn’t wait to get our newborn son home. It would be like restarting our lives over again.

Turning on to Turkey-Fork Road I could see the welcome home signs that my family had placed there for us. About every three feet was a sign saying, "Welcome home Missy and Chase." Red, yellow, and blue balloons soared from each sign. Instead of my heart being full of joy in seeing the signs, it only made me overcome with the memories of the last trip I made home from the hospital. My mind drifted back to three years earlier. It was a trip with no signs to be seen, no joy to be had, and no baby to hold.

It was the average Monday morning in February. I was cleaning up my house, when a gush of water hit the floor. My water broke. I was only twenty-six weeks into my pregnancy. It was to early for me to give birth to my son. I was rushed to the hospital. That’s when the doctor prepared me for the worst.

A twenty-six week old fetus would not have fully developed lungs; he wouldn’t be able to breathe without a ventilator. His eyes would still be fused together. There would be a ninety-eight percent chance he would be blind. His little body, estimating at weighting only one pound, wouldn’t have started to retain fat; his skin would be almost transparent.

As the doctor stood at the edge of my bed and descried this baby, I kept thinking this is my son and he will be beautiful no matter what. I had enough love in my heart for him; I knew that combine with my husband’s love we would be able to overcome anything.

For the night and some the next morning, the doctors managed to stop my contractions. At 11:00 a.m. my world fell apart, something started to go wrong. The baby’s heart rate dropped from a healthy 160 to a low 70. Doctors rushed in with startling news, the baby is caught in the umbilical cord. They couldn’t wait any longer; they had to take the baby right now. There were only minutes standing between the life of my son and his death. I was prepped for an emergency C-section.

As I lay on the operating table praying for my son’s life, my anesthesiologist held my hand. Although I still do not know her name, that one gesture brought me great confront. Brandon was born at 11:35 am. It had been nearly twenty-four hours after my water had broken. Doctors tired to save his life, as his tiny lifeless body lay helpless on the table.

But it was to no avail, not a single tear was shed, a single cry heard, or a single breath did he take. He was pronounced stillborn, and wrapped in a blue bunny blanket and handed to me.

My husband and family gathered around my bed to help me morn over my great loss. We only were able to spend an hour with our child that we loved so much. After that hour was up a nurse came in and asked to take him back. The morgue was waiting on him. I know that handing him to her was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I knew that was the last time I would ever hold my son in my arms.

Two days later I was released from the hospital. The thirty-minute ride home seemed like eternity. Not a word was spoken between my husband and me. The only break in the silence was the falling tears.

My husband, Brian helped me out of the car and as I walked toward the house. I looked down at my empty arms, where the baby I should be bring home should be lying. Once inside I had to go to the nursery. The rocking chair sat in the middle of the room.

This chair would become my place of morning. I would wake up in the middle of the night swearing that I’d heard the cry of a baby. My husband would find me sitting in the rocking chair, the moon casting the only light; I would be holding the blanket that warmed my son for such a short time. I would be rocking an empty blanket while clutching it to my heart as tears fell from my face. He would kneel down in front of me taking his gentle hand and wiping away the tears as he slid his arms around me. He would removed the blanket clutched in my hands and would carry me back to bed. He would hold me close to him for the remainder of the night. We would ask ourselves if our life would ever see happiness again.

"What’s wrong?" I heard my husband ask. As I realized we were sitting in the driveway.

"Nothing," I said, as I looked into Chase’s eyes, "Let’s take him inside before he gets cold." I looked down at the wonderful baby I held in my arms. This trip home was not made empty handed. My arms and heart were now full of love and joy. I carried Chase inside with tears of joy and sadness. I sat with him in the rocking chair where I had once shed so many tears. I kissed him on the forehead and whispered, "I love you." I sat there rocking Chase, while my husband stood over us with a prideful glee. This rocking chair would now begin new memories. Together the three of us would start a new life.

By Melissa Hankins

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