Story...

For my english course I was to write a personal essay. I picked writing about Brennan because it was 'easy' to write/feel the emotions. Thought it would be good for marks...but also good for me to write for myself. A few details were changed for course purposes/effect but this pretty much tells the story...

The day I said hello and good bye
Jen vanTol

This is about the day I said hello and good bye to my son.
My husband and I had been happily married for almost 4 years, pregnant with our first child, and ready to start a family. The nursery was ready, the hospital bag was packed, and all we were waiting for was the baby to make its debut. We just weren’t quite prepared for when and how the baby would arrive.
I was counting down the last few weeks of pregnancy, 23 days to be exact, and was getting increasingly excited as the days ticked down. One evening I said to myself, “I haven’t felt the baby move for a while.” Slightly concerned I found a pregnancy book and read, “don’t worry if fetal movement decreases as the baby is running out of room and getting ready for birth.” Comforted by that I went to bed. The next day I again thought, “it’s been a while since the baby has moved.” Still not overly concerned, like the book told me not to be, I ran over to the hospital where I worked so I could hear the heartbeat and calm my mind.
Lying on the stretcher with my belly exposed and covered with blue jelly, the nurse moved the machine around listening for the heart beat. After a few minutes she went to get the Doctor. Still feeling mostly positive, thinking, “the baby must be lying funny,” I waited for the Doctor. He came in to the room, tried for a short minute to find the heartbeat, then looked at me and said, “this isn’t good, Jen.” Dark confusion clouded my mind. Maybe it was denial or maybe I didn’t quite process what he said, but I sat on the edge of the stretcher looking at him blankly. He said he would set up an emergency ultrasound in a bigger hospital then went to call my husband to come pick me up. I went to sit in our nurse’s conference room and slowly started to process the news that my baby may be dead. Feeling mostly stunned and mechanical I waited for my husband to arrive. When he did I promised my co-workers that I would let them know what happened, then climbed into our truck. He said to me, “what does this mean?”
“I don’t know” was all I said.
The 45 minute drive to the hospital was tense and silent. I poked and prodded at the baby hoping to wake it up and feel a kick. I felt nothing.
When we arrived at the hospital we were sent straight to the ultrasound room where they had me change into a blue hospital gown and then lay on the stretcher. The ultrasound technician squirted that cold blue jelly once again on my stomach then scanned my belly with the probe while looking at the screen. My eyes were glued to her face looking for and expression or a word. She squinted her eyes but was quiet. Silence – was this what they call “deadly silence,” I wondered.
She got up from her chair and mumbled something about getting the radiologist. My heart pounded as I lay there clutching my husband’s hand. Moments later, which felt like hours, the technician returned and said to us, “it isn’t good.” She said more but I didn’t hear her. My child was dead. My body was still holding it tightly in my womb.
After a long and hard night, the next morning we headed to yet another hospital that specialized in stillbirths. We arrived there at about noon, filled out our paperwork, and smiled politely at the “congratulations” and well wishes on our baby. We found our way up the prenatal unit where the nurse had me change into another hospital gown and we somewhat settled into our, thankfully private, room. The Doctor on call that day came to see us and explained the procedures that were to take place, then medically induced me. He explained that since my body was not yet ready to have a baby, I probably wouldn’t go into labor until the next day. He compassionately said he was sorry for our loss, and left us alone.
We chatted together for a bit as we held each other close. We chose the name for our little one and asked God for His strength, peace, and healing.
To the surprise of the nurses, I went into labor quite quickly and was taken to the labor and delivery room. Later that evening I gave birth to our beautiful four and a half pound son. After they had cleaned me up and the Doctor had inspected our baby boy they placed him into our arms. Instantly we fell in love. Other than a small cut on his right eye and his dark red lips he looked like a perfectly sleeping baby. He had my eyes and his daddy’s mouth and nose. His skin was soft and his dark hair was slightly wavy. The Doctor explained to us that his cord had been kinked off at his belly button and there was nothing we could have done to prevent that or save him. They cleaned up the room then left us alone to get to know our little boy. Throughout the evening our families arrived to see us and our son. Many beautiful and unforgettable moments were shared in that room.
We stayed overnight and after some paperwork, professional photographs, and lingering moments with our baby, we left the hospital. Leaving with empty arms was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Part of my heart stayed there with him in the bassinet. I will never forget that day.
Leaving the hospital I noticed that the world was still moving. “How can you go along with your lives when I just said goodbye to my precious baby?!” I yelled at them in
my head. I was mad at them.
We came home to an empty nursery. No sweet child to fill the crib. The tiny clothes sat lovingly folded but there was no baby to dress them in. Some family came to stay with us and other family and friends came to visit so at least the house wasn’t quiet.
The next few days we made funeral arrangements. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever fathom planning a funeral for my child. Nor is it something I ever wish to do again. Not even something I would wish onto my worst enemy.
The Saturday following his birth we laid him to rest in a little country cemetery surrounded by all our close friends and family. His white coffin was so little. The warm air felt so cold.
Days passed and family left. Slowly the cards and the sympathetic words dwindled. Sometimes feeling as though our son and our pain was forgotten. And now, as his little brother or sister is soon to enter the world, we think of him often and look at his pictures with pride. We are parents to a beautiful son who is sadly missed but we long for the day when we can see him again. We WILL see him again. Heaven is so much closer now.