As "that day" progressed, many people came in and out of my hospital room. Nurses tried to keep me comfortable, friends from church came to help keep my mind busy, and my mom and cousin were there trying to do what they could to help me get through the most terrifying time of my life. After awhile, it was apparent that no matter what drugs were given to me, I wasn't going to get much relief from the physical pain that I was in- the pain of childbirth. An epidural has never worked for me; it numbs only one side of my body. So every half hour or so I would beg for the nurse to try something else. She would call the anesthesiologist up and he tried two or three different medications but none of them would work for very long. It was at this point that I started having more problems. My catheter had been inserted wrong, and if you've ever had one of those inserted wrong you know that you pretty much feel like certain areas are on fire. No sooner had the nurse fixed that problem then the nausea set in. I think I must have mumbled something about having to throw up because the next thing I knew my mom was holding a tray under me as I began violently up-chucking into it.
When that was over with, "the shakes" began. Those of you who have given birth know exactly what I'm talking about when I say, "the shakes". You just CANNOT.GET.WARM...no matter how many of those warm blankets that come straight-from-the-heater they give you. I was completely miserable and all of a sudden I only wanted one person. My Daddy. I told my mother to send everybody out of my room and to go and get my Dad. As soon as he walked in and took my hand a feeling of relief came over me and I just knew that I could do it. I knew that I could keep enduring this pain as long as he was there to hold my hand. I don't remember how long he stood there holding my hand- it could've been an hour or maybe two. He didn't say much- he never does- but he was there, and from his presence I was able to find my strength. We buried baby Grant on Saturday morning, August 16th. This is my Dad standing by my side on that day-
My grandson was born of my daughter today
but alas he was taken so quickly away.
His name is Grant Thomas, such a fine little guy
The Lord took him home, to be with Him on high.
Some day we will join him in that heavenly place,
no more sickness, sorrow, or tears to erase.
But a grand re-union with those gone before,
to be with our Savior on that beautiful shore.
Though sad is our heart and tears fill our eyes,
Jesus will take all those sorrows and sighs,
lifting us up like eagles that soar
our heart aches and troubles, remembered no more!
My Dad has never written a poem in his life. He cannot carry a tune in a bucket. He has NO artistic skills whatsoever. UNTIL THIS. His HEART, written on paper. I think that many people pay so much attention to the parents during the loss of a baby that they forget that others in that family have lost that baby too. My dad lost his GRANDSON. And just to give you an indication of how much pain that caused him, I will share what he told me several days later. He said that after the burial it was all he could do to drive home. When he arrived home, he locked all the doors and closed all the blinds. He did not eat- just sat at the kitchen table for hours until God gave him the words to this poem.
I spend so much of my time trying to spread awareness that pregnancy and infant loss is REAL. It is such pure, indescribable anguish, that unless you go through it yourself, you will never understand it. When a baby dies, EVERYONE suffers. Everyone loses a relationship that they thought they were going to have with that child. My son was everything to all of us- son, brother, grandson, nephew, cousin, and friend. There is a quote that says, "There is no foot too small that it cannot have an imprint on this world." author unknown
Grant's feet were very tiny; but they have made a HUGE imprint on this world- in some ways that we know, and most likely in ways that we won't know for years to come.
