Cruel Reminders

So I called our insurance company yesterday to find out about Monkey's suction machine. Once again, the stupid idiot I was talking to asked for which child. How hard is it to make a note? He is no longer with us. He doesn't need your fucking insurance anymore. Can you get that??



The nurse from above mentioned insurance company calls today to check on us. She asked about Monkey and then asks how our other son is doing. All I said was "He is dead". I let her marinate on that one for awhile. After a minute of awkward silence and sputtering, she said sorry and asked if we needed to see a counselor. Fuck you. What I need is for your large, ass of a company to stop asking me if Noah needs to see a doctor or mailing me Certificates of Coverage so I can get him insurance elsewhere. Make a fucking note and stop asking me.



The delivery man for our medical goods company brought Monkey's suction machine. He looked at me like he knew me and then figured it out. He had delivered oxygen to us once a week for two months while Noah was alive. I miss the gurgle of the humidifier on the oxygen tank. The first night without Noah, I turned it on because I missed the noise.



The new nurse at my pediatrician's office used to work at the local hospital. She was there when the boys were born, when Noah returned from Children's Mercy, and when Noah died. She made the comment that she thought it was neat that she has been there for all of our biggest events. Neat?? I know what she meant, but pick a different word. She means well.



Sometimes, I welcome the reminders. Other times, I hate them. It depends who is the person bringing it up. I miss him. I would give my life so he could have lived his. The reminders just reinforce how unfair and wrong it is to lose a child.