Wednesday, July 9, 2008
I wanted to pause between entries of esoteric nonsense to write about something personal. It was two years ago today that I lost the bravest person I’ve ever known, my son Andrew. Andrew was born on May 5th, 2006. He was 13 weeks premature and barely weighed 1 lb, 8 oz. Throughout his 65 days of life, I was always hopeful, even on the last day. It was two months of extreme highs and lows for my wife, Jill, and me, as he seemed to progress, then get worse, then improve, and so on.
I said ‘bravest’ because this little guy was stuck a cruel uncountable amount for blood. His arms, legs and even his head were fair game for drawing blood or trying to put a line in. His tiny feet were little pincushions, scabbed over from all the needle sticks. He sometimes wailed in pain, but he didn’t make sounds, so it was a silent cry…the worst kind. Sometimes he just took it, because he was used to it.
It’s impossible for me even two years out to put words to the emotions of watching him being disconnected from machines and then the all too short time he had free of tubes and electronic buzzers, with Jill holding him as he slipped away. We then took lots of pictures with him, at the nurses’ suggestion, which is apparently meant to have therapeutic benefit. I found it surreal, and I still have trouble looking at them.
I didn’t write this entry for sympathy for me and Jill. I wanted those who didn’t know to hear about my first son, a cute little guy named Andrew.
We kept an online journal about Andrew during his life. It can be found here.