Goodbye Wyatt

We chose to spend some precious time alone with Wyatt to say our final goodbyes and prepare to let him go. At some point and time my husband had changed from his scrubs to regular clothes.  I was finally able to sit up in bed and hold Wyatt a little easier.  I believe we let him go in the early afternoon.  And then we were alone.

Wyatt was born on a Thursday and I left the hospital before noon on Saturday.  Leaving the hospital with empty arms was an indescribable experience, heartbreaking is the closest words can come.  The three flights of stairs up to our quiet apartment had never seemed so long.  Family was there but they didn't know what to say.

We had the funeral on Monday.  Of course, just enough time had elapsed for my breasts to be large swollen and extremely painful.  This was a cruel twist of fate that took my completely by surprise.  I had never given birth and my body simply did not know what happened to my child when he left it.  We went to the funeral home early and were able to spend some time alone with Wyatt.  He looked like a chubby little doll.  Beautiful and at peace.  Though I did not see him differently in life either.  He was dressed in a baby blue Winnie the Pooh onesie.  We wrapped him in a homemade blanket.  We held him for the last time.  I honestly don't remember the funeral much, I sobbed through most or all of it.  I rarely took my eyes off the tiny coffin made by my husband for our precious son.

My brother in law drove my husband, myself and Wyatt to the cemetery.  He rode between us.  To me, the worst day of my life was not the day we received Wyatt's diagnosis or even the day he died.  It was the day we buried him.  There would be no more opportunities to see, touch or hold him.  My thoughts of snuggling his warm little body were replaced by thoughts of him deep below ground, cold and alone.  I will never forget the memory of that little coffin being lowered into the grave.  I worried whether he was okay so often in the weeks and months to follow.  A mother's instinct I suppose.  At least when I carried him I knew he was okay inside of my womb, safe.  I knew he wasn't actually in the cemetery in the sense that he needed me, but I needed him.

My grandparents offered to have a lunch at their house afterwards.  I remember mostly two things, that my mother made my favorite strawberry pretzel dessert and the shock of looking at my ankles and seeing how extremely swollen they had become.  I'm pretty sure I cried myself to sleep for a long time afterwards.