Raising Boys

Week of sorrow June 19, 2005

I was sad the whole time last week. In the course of my research for an online course, I came across a name that reminded me of one other son. He died at the hospital when he was two days old. He would have been four years old this September.

My husband and I don’t talk about him. It is much too painful and we want to avoid reminding Dylan about his brother. He used to ask me why his brother died, a question that even the doctors did not know how to answer when they told me there was a problem with the baby.

They do not know why or how, only that my son had lost all amniotic fluid when he was seven months in my womb and had to be taken out by C-section because his chance of surviving was better outside.

The doctors explained that they don’t know why this happens, only that they come across cases like this one once or twice a year.

They did another ultrasound before that operation to save his life and the doctor said there was very little chance he would survive but we should do it anyway.

Seeing all those children sleeping on the streets, surviving on almost nothing, I used to ask why they were spared and this one taken. I would have given him a better life than those children.

I used to think it was my fault, that something I did when I was pregnant with him caused the problem. No. I think this still. When I do, I go into the deep end of grief. I go about with a heavy heart, a lump in my throat, and tears at the back of my eyes. But I look at my two other sons and realize I’m so blessed and the pain eases a little.

I never saw my son. I guess my husband believed it was better that way. So they buried him while I was at the hospital. But Max told me he was a beautiful baby. His name was Linus.