Tonight

Two years ago, I carried my baby through the doors of the ER looking for a miracle. The apnea spells were increasing and his cold seemed to have settled in his chest. I don't know what made me decide it was time to go. Nothing alarming had happened. I just had a feeling. Little did I know then, what that feeling was trying to tell me. I look back and at the time, I just couldn't see it. I did not want to see his declining health. Looking at his last picture, I can see it in his face.

Earlier in the day, M and I had run a few errands. I remember standing in line at the store and I told him I was scared for Noah. Did I know? We shrugged it off and resumed our "everything will be okay" attitude. We had trained ourselves to push the fear aside so that we could take in every moment of Noah's life. Fear is crippling and there was not time between feedings, meds, and chirping alarms for fear.

When we got to the ER, the doctor told us we had done a good job with him. Was he trying to tell me that this was it? He never actually said that there was nothing else to do. The nurses began running test for RSV and Influenza. They never could get an IV started. Noah was so dehydrated that they couldn't find a vein. The nurse from pediatrics came down to try to put an IV in his head. She couldn't get it. They just told us they would get it later.

It took hours before we were taken upstairs to pediatrics. During that time, he had several apnea spells and remembering thinking that the nurses weren't rushing to help. I was still holding him, stimulating him to breath. I remember changing his diaper and he had just a small amount of diarrhea. I now know that his body was shutting down. They did a chest x-ray and it confirmed that he had pneumonia.

I was scared while in the ER, but defiant that my child was dying. Apparently, they did not want to break that news to us, so they let us believe that he would be okay. I had packed for the hospital like we would stay for awhile. I brought extra clothes and blankets. I had packed formula and all his meds. I was prepared to fight for the long haul. Noah was trying to tell me and I just couldn't give up.

Upon our arrival to the pediatric floor, the apnea continued. I don't know how long it was, maybe 30 minutes to an hour, and they couldn't revive him. I remember standing next to the crib, watching the respiratory therapist bag him. The nurses asked if we wanted to call our family. I was in shock. It wasn't really happening. I honestly for a brief moment did not understand that I was losing my sweet boy. Someone called our families and our pediatrician. They continued to bag Noah and I can still feel how hard his belly became from the air. I remember watching, knowing they should stop, but I just couldn't bring myself to say the words. Our pediatrician arrived and very gently told us it was time. They stopped bagging, removed the NG tube that had supplied his nutrition his whole life, and handed him to me. I sat in the rocking chair and just held him. M and I huddled over him, never taking our eyes from him. I was so afraid to miss a moment. I remember feeling like my insides were being ripped from me as he went away. His perfect bow lips became dark and his body cold. I kept wrapping him in his favorite blanket as if I could warm his body.

At 3:22 A.M. Noah lost his fight. I don't remember how long I held him. Eventually, everyone took a turn holding him and saying goodbye. Everyone, but Monkey. Monkey was not there when Noah died. He was home in bed. I wonder if he knew his life would change forever that night. We bathed Noah and dressed him in green striped pajamas with a giraffe on them. I swaddled him in his blue, star blanket and said goodbye.

I don't remember many details after that. Maybe is was from being tired or just the shock of it all. A piece of me died that night with Noah. The void in my heart is gaping and nothing can possibly fill it in. My whole world and everything I believed in came crashing down with his last breath. Here I am two years later, still standing in disbelief that my baby is gone. I continue to live to honor him, but it is no less painful and I am still searching for a reason. I have to believe that Noah is whole and healthy dancing in heaven or wherever we will meet again. We will meet again. One day, I will hold my son in my arms and do all of the things that were never possible for us.

Noah, I love you and miss you. You are always in my heart because you are apart of me.

Noah Michael

9/18/06 - 12/17/06