Dec. 12 - The Day After

Song of the day: Broken by Seether (featuring Amy Lee)

"Broken" just about sums up how Chris and I feel this morning. Jonathan stayed over at Jean and Steve's last night (he was already asleep when they came to see us at the hospital, and we didn't get home until nearly midnight anyway), so Chris and I were able to have some time alone to begin dealing with our loss.

It's going to take a while before my mind really adjusts to the fact that Garrett isn't with us anymore. Leaving Saint Marys last night, it was strange to watch Chris pushing the stroller with only my purse and the diaper bag inside, instead of holding our little angel. Just the same, when we stepped off the elevator and my mind wandered briefly to think about loading up the van, it felt like we were missing something. I thought, "Wait, what about Garr ... oh." It'll be some time before my autopilot registers that he's no longer here.

That was evident this morning, too, as I washed my hair and thought about what I would wear today -- wondering whether any of my nursing bras were still clean and which tank top I'd wear with which T-shirt. For the last month, I'd chosen my outfits based on what was easy to nurse or pump in. My heart sank again as I remembered why it doesn't matter now.

The space on the kitchen counter I dedicated to Garrett's things (a container for his pacifiers; the notebook to track his feedings; an organized bin for his medicine, pill cutter, droppers, etc.) isn't needed anymore either. I guess I'll need to find a home for these things or toss them.

I wonder if there's a term for the opposite of nesting. As Garrett's arrival was approaching, I was eager to get his crib set up, his clothes out, his car seat installed ... Now that he's gone, I want to put everything away so the reminders don't evoke a fresh stab of pain.

So I put the newborn onesies and sleepers in the wash ... cried a little. Unpacked Garrett's bag and put the tiny diapers back in the package. Dumped out the expressed milk we brought to the hospital and wondered what to do with the formula he won't need now. Sobbed a little more. We still need to take his crib down, put the pack'n'play away, take the car seat bases out of the van and car, and find a place to store the double stroller we never used.

Maybe it's better that I hadn't gotten a chance to put a birth announcement together. I was hoping to send out Christmas cards this year, but that just doesn't seem right anymore. Our home isn't very big, but it's surprising how empty it can suddenly feel.

Before Surgery

Garrett was such a cuddler. He seemed to enjoy being hugged against my chest just as much as I enjoyed hugging him, and as I would carefully draw his head near, he usually turned it to nestle into my neck. In the last couple of days, he'd even hold his head up sometimes and begin to root toward my cheek. I told Chris it was almost like he was giving me little kisses.

Garrett usually wasn't really awake until late morning. Looking back, I feel pretty lucky that he was up so early (just after 6 a.m.) as we waited to be called for his surgery.

After Surgery

After hours of trying to save Garrett, the doctors conceded that there was really no hope of getting him back. He was given a final dose of fentanyl for pain and disconnected from all the medical devices. We held him as his heartbeat grew more faint and he slowly slipped away.

Looking down at him, I once more studied his little face and body -- seeing my own hairline, my nose, my chin, my wrists and hands, my fingers ... all in miniature. He had looked and acted so healthy before the surgery. It didn't seem possible he could really be breathing his last breaths now.

That morning, I had commented to Chris that the color of Garrett's eyes seemed a little lighter. Maybe they would turn blue after all. Now we'll never know.