Until now, I have referred to Rolland as Baby R. His mom is Danielle, aka D. D and I went to high school together, but we only knew each other casually. Yes, it's a small world, and read on; it's about to get smaller.
Enter Facebook and our subsequent parallel journeys. Through Facebook, I learned that we were both on bed rest and due around the same time. One day, while lying in my hospital bed, I saw that D had "checked in" at St. Joseph's Hospital, and I just about fell out of my bed (that would not have been good for Weston or me). I sent her a message and let her know I was there too, and did she want a visit? Rolland was born very soon after that, so I didn't hear from her for a while.
D posted several photos and videos of Rolland that I saw before Weston was born. He was a perfect, precious little baby. There was a video of Steven, her husband, changing his diaper: just normal parenting things. Seeing those photos and videos took away so much fear of the unknown NICU.
I first saw D, and met Steven in the NICU a few days after Weston was born. Rolland was in the pod adjacent to Weston's, so we were within each other's sight. Over the next few weeks, we formed a bond unique to those having stressful experiences together.
D had, and has, an inspiring confidence about her. When she brought me over to meet Rolland, he was having a brady episode (precipitous drop in heart rate). While I might have hung back and let the nurses work their magic, D flung open the armholes to Rolland's incubator and dove right in.
Rolland was born 11 days before Weston, also within days after the critical 24-week mark. They both had relatively long "honeymoon periods," with serious problems not cropping up for about two weeks. So, because Rolland was a little older, his challenges began earlier than Weston's. They even had similar lung problems.
Weston's two-week birthday was a particularly hard day for us, and I will never forget D's kindness and selflessness that day. That was the day we got the diagnosis of the chronic lung disease and pulmonary interstitial emphysema (PIE), which Rolland also experienced. I spent most of the day crying and pacing in the NICU. I noticed that there was a lot of activity around Rolland's incubator as well. Lots of activity around a baby is almost never a good thing, so I surmised that things were not going well over there either.
NICU parents cannot freely visit other babies/families. No more than two people at a time may visit a baby, with the exception of parents bringing in a sibling, and visitors must always be accompanied by one of the parents. So I couldn't just walk over and see what was going on with Rolland, and vice versa.
The four of us left at the same time that evening because the NICU closed down for a procedure for Rolland, so I knew things were very serious with him. D was upset and stressed, so I just gave her a silent half hug (words are often superfluous at such times, I have learned), and we all parted ways. A couple hours later, D texted me wanting to know how I was doing. I was shocked, and very touched, that she was even able to think about someone else when she was having such a hard time.
Death is a very hard thing to face while your baby is in the NICU. Parents of NICU babies have to hold onto hope; it's one of the few things that keeps us going. You always know in the back of your head that death is a possible outcome, but you just cannot think about it. Witnessing another death in the NICU just hits too close to home. So, it was no small thing that D came to see Weston after he had passed away. I will never forget her strength and kind words on the worst day of my life. I believe that Rolland paved the way for our babies' entire lives, except in death, when Weston went first.
So, back to Rolland's memorial service. It was such a beautiful and uplifting celebration of life, starting with the attire. Instead of the traditional black, D wore a light blue dress and and matching Jackie O-type hat with flowers (she looked beautiful). The service was highly personal with lots of laughter and tears. D and Steven both spoke (D is a gifted writer, by the way), with beautiful words to their beloved son, God, and family and friends. Continuing with their selflessness, they mentioned our family and Weston. D even kept asking if I was OK! The service concluded with a balloon release to honor Rolland. The service was held at the hospital chapel, so many folks from the NICU staff attended (great idea).
Rolland taught his family, and everyone who knew of him, about love. We heard story after story from individuals whom Rolland touched. Rolland reminded me that, above all, he and Weston taught people to love and be loved. The often-quoted verse comes to mind: "And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love." While there was so much faith and hope wrapped up in these precious boys as they fought for their lives in the NICU, love is what will carry us through as we wait to be reunited with our babies someday.
Rolland also reminded me that love overcomes fear. I have experienced enough fear for a lifetime over these past several months, and certain fears continue even now. But if I think about all the love that exists for my son, the fear just goes away.
Finally, Rolland and his family taught me that people need each other. Rugged individualism is the American way, but when parents experience the unthinkable, as the four of us have, we desperately need each other to laugh, cry, and remember with.
D's mother, Colleen, read a beautiful quote at the service that I just have to share:
I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge; myth is more potent than history; dreams are more powerful than facts; hope always triumphs over experience; laughter is the cure for grief; love is stronger than death.
Beloved baby boys, help us always to live by these words! Rolland, thank you for opening up my world and reminding me of the power of love and the importance of friendship. I hope you and Weston are taking good care of each other up there, while we parents take care of each other down here.
   ” |
I probably shouldn't be reading your blog today at work when I'm already feeling down - this post literally has tears streaming down my face. The parallels that you and D shared were incredible and I had a hard time believing it myself when I first saw you two were in the same hospital. I'm so glad that you both were able to reconnect, but moreso that you were both able to help each other, and still continue to do so. It's so hard to go through some things alone, and sometimes it's even harder to not be alone but have those with you not truly understand what you're going through. As hard as it is and has been for both of you, I do believe that it is a true blessing that you have each other to lean on if you need it. You each truly understand.
ReplyDeleteSending you both tremendous amounts of love and healing prayers...
I don't know what to say that we haven't said to each other. For some reason I have the gift to be strong, no matter what, when someone needs me. Problem is, now I'm going to work, I'm home with my family, and no one does. All I have is my grief and our visits. Sometimes the grief is a physical pain, it starts eating up my nerve endings like a painful virus until in engulfs my lungs and I can't breathe, can't think, and can't possibly call for help. Even when it's just the normal feeling - that dead thing you carry inside, I can't ask for help. I can't expect anyone else to know how I feel except you. And you don't want anything from me; you don't care if I'm strong or if I fail or if I can or can't tell you exactly how I'm feeling. Shauna I'm so blessed to have you, and you are my strength when I have none. Thank you for this.
ReplyDelete