Screwtape's Whispers

Owen is snoring in the bed.  I am on the floor.  The lights are off and the hotel is silent.  We were about to fly home to Nevada in just a few hours.

"You didn't even try.  You have faith more than anyone, and you didn't even try."

This voice keeps invading my mind.  Poison is filling my mind and heart.  My eyes are burning.  I can't break down.  I am so far from home.  I need Lucky.  I need Bart, and my Mom and Dad, and Angela...

"God always listens to your prayers.  If you would have just asked, he would have brought your son back.  Everyone would have seen a miracle.  Logan could have been a living testimony to your God, and you didn't even try.  You failed him.  You failed your husband.  You failed your friends.  You failed your family."

I'm chocking back tears.  My mind is racing, replaying my baby on the floor, the first responders, the police officer...  I didn't pray.  I didn't even try.  I didn't even try...  My lip is starting to bleed from me biting it.  I was trying so hard not to wake up Owen.  If I would have just prayed...

"God made you tenacious.  You never give up, but you gave up with this.  You didn't even try.  You husband doesn't have a namesake because you didn't try.  Your God didn't abandon you, you abandoned him."

I failed them.  I failed Logan.  I could be holding my sweet baby tomorrow...  How can I ever look at Lucky again?  How could he ever look at me?

I was spiraling further down into lies.  All these thoughts and accusations were digging deep, embedding into my innermost heart.  I failed.  My baby.  My sweet, sweet Logan.  I failed.

In that moment I was done.  I gave up.  Every little thing I did wrong came flying back in my face.  Maybe if I would have nursed longer?  Maybe if I would have used a different formula?  What about the cloth diapers... was he allergic to disposable like Cammy?  I killed him.  Every day, every mistake, I was killing him and I didn't even try to bring him back.  Jesus...

Be Still

Then there was silence.  But God, I didn't pray!

Be Still

nger?  Ma

Hope in the Air

I was standing at the gate, holding my ticket.  I was flying to get Owen.  I hadn't spoken to him since before Logan passed.  I hurt, worried that he felt neglected.  People were rushing, I was rushing.  I watched as people filed in.  There were babies everywhere.  I was looking for the sharp pain.  I was looking for the expected hurt of seeing chubby hands, instead I found joy.  I was thankful for the rolls and coos that are so sweet with a baby... But the other part of me felt like a creep.  I couldn't quit watching them.  I wanted to beg their parents to get a SIDS monitor.  How creepy would that be?  "Hey, your baby is so sweet.  You should get a SIDs monitor... I would know."  I guess I shouldn't...  I'll just pray for whoever is sitting next to me and think about how great it will feel to hold Owen.  My first born and first love.

I ended up sitting next to an older lady, which is what I prefer on flights.  They usually smell nice and you can learn a lot.  Boy, I got what I was hoping for.  We exchanged pleasantries and small talk.  She asked where I was flying and why.  I told her I was picking up my son and would be flying back to Nevada the next day (Sunday).  "I bet you have so much fun stuff planned for as soon as he gets back!" she gleamed.  I sucked in my breath.  No, nothing fun.  I get to tell him his little brother is dead.  I get to tell him his best buddy, the one he had so many hopes and dreams for, was gone forever on Earth.  No, there is no fun. I smiled and said we had family in town and a few things to do, but mostly we were planning on staying at home.  The look in her eyes looked familiar, and she asked what our plans were for Monday...

How do you answer that?  People take death in so many ways...  "We have our baby's memorial service on Monday."  She nodded.  She asked if my son knew, I said we were waiting until we got home.  She nodded again.  After a long silence she turned to me and said, "I lost a baby also.  She was six weeks old.  I do not know your pain, but I know my pain.  It will grow into something beautiful if you let it.  I have also buried my daughter when she was 12 years old, and my son when he was in the service. I now only have four out of my seven children.  Let the pain grow into something beautiful.  Don't ever stop talking about them.  Don't ever be ashamed.  They live on through your love.  Do you have any pictures of your little one?"

Three of seven?  How can I imagine.  I sat there stunned, but my heart was filled.  Another person, a stranger, had humbled herself to share her grief with me, then to help grow my joy by sharing stories of Logan.  I showed her pictured and told stores of Logan, and my other two, and she did the same.  By the time the plane was descending we were laughing.  I thanked her for her wisdom, and letting me talk.  She thanked me for reminding her of the joys and stress of little ones.  We laughed and parted ways.   I knew then what the look was in her eyes and I wondered if there were women who saw it in mine.

After two more flights, I landed in Maryland.  I was nervous because my ex-husband had offered to pick me up and give me a ride to my hotel.  We have gotten better in recent years, we laugh and talk when either of us are picking up Owen, but I can't honestly say we are friends again, but we are close (I hope).  When he heard the news of Logan's death, he reached out to us.  I would much rather have Logan, but I am happy that maybe he helped build a bridge for a better relationship, in turn helping Owen.

The car ride was a bit awkward, but not in the ex-spouse kind of way.  He was concerned for us and Owen.  He had questions, but we had both agreed that Owen should hear it when he got home.  He would start to say something and catch himself then get quiet.  It was a short drive and as soon as he parked the car, he handed a game to Owen and asked him to wait in the car so we could talk.  He asked how we were doing and what he could do.  We talked and laughed a little. It was good.  Please bless him also, God.

Mirror Ghosts

"We are like ghosts, like mirror ghosts really.  Instead of spirits without bodies, we are bodies without spirits.  Empty shells with the wrong person trapped inside or with no one inside at all.  Mirror Ghosts.  Half a million, half a billion, geese, half a world, probably, of mirror ghosts.  Just Bodies taking up space... Walking around empty."
~Murphy's Boy, Torey Hayden

"Where is your silverware drawer, Nina?"  The numbing buzzing in my head was broken.  How long had I been sitting at the computer?  Was I even doing something?  Nina... My Mom's pet name for me.  Mom.  Oh, Thank God. Mom...  But the silverware drawer...  A silverware drawer...  Did we have one?  We must... but where is it?  Where... Bart must have seen the confusion on my face.  He gave me a knowing glance and pointed Mom in the right direction.  He looked at me again for a moment, he must have known, and went back to moving baby stuff.

Mom had gotten in late Tuesday night.  A bunch of incredible people moved mountains to get her here.  Dad would be here Friday.  Mom, thank God, had taken over.  Between her and Bart, the baby stuff around the house was being discreetly packed away for when I wanted to deal with it.  I don't know where I was, but by the time I "woke up" for a rare moment of regular consciousness, the house was quietly in order.

I won't sound the least bit humble when I say I have always taken pride in my strength and my wit.  I am logical more than emotional, which has earned me the title "Ice Queen", on quite a few occasions.  It never bothered me.  I felt good being stone cold strength and logic... but now my castle was melting and my mind was falling into disrepair...  Where is my silverware drawer?   Where was I?  Who am I now?

It was humbling to be on the opposite side of the spectrum.  To find out how truly weak you are.  To not have an answer.  There were so many questions.  Everyone's phones were ringing.  I was thankful that my family had jumped into action, and were helping alleviate some of the pressure... but so many questions.  I was wanting to scream again.  Just turn the damn phones off!!!  Let me mourn my baby in peace!  How do I know where the flowers should go?  What do flowers matter?  Bring me back my son!

I was thankful, and truly blessed that so many people reached out to us, in so many ways to help and give peace.  Honestly, I do not mean to down play any gift, or comment, or hug.  I took comfort in so many peoples love, but I was broken.  I am 26, what do I know about planning a funeral?  I should have at least 60 years before I have to think of burying a loved one.  I'm still just a girl, and though I didn't say or show it, I was clinging desperately to my Mom.  My Mom...  Who instead of ever being able to hold her grandson, was helping plan his funeral.  My heart ached for my parents.

My Aunt had set up a "Go Fund Me" page for Logan.  We didn't have life insurance or any savings.  The thought of funeral costs and whatever other bills you get was simply overwhelming.  She called me and asked if I had looked at the page.  No, I hadn't.  I was ashamed of getting hand outs.  We should have been better prepared, not asking for the welfare of strangers.  I pulled up the page and saw that the goal was $10,000.  It felt like a punch to the stomach.  Ten Thousand,  Ten!  "My God...  Is this how much it costs to die these days?", I asked her.  I wanted to be sick.  How in the world would we come up with the funds?  Then I saw something incredible.

Donations were poring in.  I was shocked.  Bart and Lucky came running in.  "Did you see the site?"  Angela was texting me.Everyone was in awe.  Donations, anywhere from five dollars to a couple hundred, kept popping up.  How?  Why?  Who?  It was again a humbling moment.  Someone said something about how there is still good in the world.  It wasn't about the money to us (Although thank you so much) it was about the heart.  Someone, maybe one of you, took a moment to try and do something positive.  To shine a light in the darkness.  I was on my knees, later, thanking God for showing us such blessings.
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We were sitting in the funeral home.  I'm looking at the man talking.  I can see his moth moving.  I'm sure he is saying words.  I just feel numb and hear that buzzing and flat line noise.  I can smell my Mom's perfume.  She is talking to him.  Lucky, oh Lucky, you look so tired.  Bart?  You look like you are fighting this also.  Humming.  Buzzing.  Flat line.
"Nina?"  Mom looks worried for a minute.
"Yeah, uh, the simple ones."  I think they are talking about the cards for his service.  I don't know any more.  I don't know what is going on.  Urns.  We are looking at urns now.  My baby is on a table and I am picking out a box for him.  How big of a box?  Why a box?  I know I was glaring at them.  None looked decent enough for my baby.  A box...  All they were were boxes and poorly shaped vases that someone stuck a lid on.  I tried to hide my disgust.
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"I need you to make love to me." I whispered.  It was dark.  Most everyone in the house was asleep.  I was terrified that I had said it, but it was true.  I could feel myself shutting down.  Falling deeper into a hole that I knew I would never get out of.  I needed his love.  I needed to feel alive and human again.  I just needed to feel.
"Okay, come here."
"No.  I can't.  I can't do it.  I need you to make love to me.  I just can't do it right now."
"Whitney, I can't force you."
How do I explain this?  How do I tell you that I need your touch.  I need you, but I am just so broken and removed that I can't reach out.  It hurts.  It hurts so bad to touch you.  To think of being intimate and to love.  I don't want to hurt...  I can't lose you...
"You wouldn't be forcing me, but I need you to do this.  The longer we go without touching the chances are that it will never happen.  I don't want to lose you."
I could feel his hesitation.  I knew he didn't understand.  I didn't understand.  I couldn't explain, but I needed him.  I needed the man that God gave me.

So he did.  He kissed where my tears should have been.  He offered quiet words and he gave himself to me... but I couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of the end.

Every Lament is a Love Song

Monday, Monday

The second morning without Logan.  I woke up wondering where my morning song was, and jumped up to check on him, then remembered...  How many mornings will I wake up like this?  How many mornings will my body ache?

Vanessa was sweet enough to wait for me to pay her, so I asked her if I could come in and finish my other eyebrow.  I won't lie, I didn't want to go.  I didn't want to step foot in the Salon.  I didn't want to re-see and re-smell everything I had when I got the call.  I pathetically asked Lucky and Bart to go with me, and even though I didn't explain myself, they graciously said yes.  The three of us were clinging to each other, desperately holding on.

After we were done, we went to Walmart to pick up green bandannas and the cards we had made for the first responders.  It has a picture of Logan, and underneath, thanked them for being incredible and so gracious with us.  We said we were sorry they had to see him the way that they did, but we wanted them to remember him like the picture, happy and full of life.  We were blessed to have the first responders that we did.  They were incredible, and we saw how deeply Logan's death had touched them.  We wanted to give them peace.

I couldn't help but wonder, as we were walking through the store, if people knew.  Fernley is a small town and it was all over Facebook, on Fernley pages, before we had told half our family.  Did they know?  Did they know I had lost my baby.  Could they see my grief?  Could they taste my sorrow?  Did I look like a ghost as I floated through?  Why couldn't time fucking stop!?!?  I wanted to stand in the middle of the store and scream that he was here.  He lived!  He breathed!  He was my love and he took my heart with him... But I haven't broken yet. I haven't hardly cried. Not here. Not now. 

We took the cards to the Sheriff's office and the Fire Department. All we said was that there was an incident Saturday, and the office staff immediately knew who we were. They gently took the cards and fought to keep composure. What do you say to the family of a dead child? What could we say in return? 

Off to Reno. We weren't really keeping funeral clothes on hand. What do you wear to your babies funeral? Lucky and Bart picked a shirt, we found something for the kids... But I couldn't find anything. What do you wear to your babies funeral? I wanted to look beautiful and strong for my little guy.  He would giggle and coo when I got dressed, in his own way, telling me he thought I was beautiful.  I wanted to be beautiful for him.  She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. Proverbs 31:25 I wanted to be that woman...  For my God and for my son, the one who loved to laugh.

We went to store after store. I am not much of a shopper, but I was frustrated that everything seemed over the top cheery. No one carries mourning clothes any more. Lucky and Bart (bless them) followed me around without complaining. They seemed as frustrated with neon as I was. 

I texted Angela before walking into the last store. "I'm too young for this." 

I think, as women, we see the toll that having babies take on us. After Logan, I felt deflated and worn out. I had three babies in six and a half years. But now... But now I looked in the mirror, wearing a Grey dress, and I saw a hurt, scared, little girl. I am so young, so very, very young. 

I stepped out of the room to show Lucky and Bart. The dress was too big, but three women stopped me, on the way to guys, to tell me how fantastic I looked. I wanted to say, Thank you, it's for my babies funeral, but I smiled and thanked them graciously instead. 

The nod and the look on Lucky and Bart's face confirmed that it was the one. Lucky went to see if they had it in small. Small. I am small. So tiny and insignificant. I am nothing. A tiny girl, in a dress too big. I am nothing, but his loss, oh God hear me, this loss is huge. This loss, in the heart of an insignificant girl, could rock the heavens.

I may have peace...  But I still have sorrow.  I do not mourn his death, I mourn my loss.

And Then There Were Two

"I want a baby brother.", Owen demanded of us.  It was hard to explain that we couldn't pick to an almost four year old.  "We are going to name him Wolverine-"  "We can't name him Wolverine."  "Fine, we will call him Logan, but his name will secretly be Wolverine.  I am going to teach him how to play, and build legos, and be a super hero, and we are going to be best friends.  I love him already."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I woke up Sunday in a panic.  Why wasn't Logan crying.  Oh, God, please don't let him be- dead.  He is dead. My body ached in ways I didn't know it could.  My breasts started aching like it was time to nurse, but there was no milk, and no longer a baby.  My emotional numbness was being physically over compensated.  My body had the familiar ache of just giving birth.  Even physically, I wanted him.  I got up and was again blessed to have our closest friends here.  Easter Sunday... Jesus came back... Logan won't.  

Cammy was a mess.  She knew something was going on, but didn't understand what.  Owen was in Maryland with his dad, clueless that our world had just crumbled.  I asked Megan to take Cammy down to Hawthorne with her.  I just couldn't care enough to be of any use to anyone.  It wasn't fair to her to have an absent Mom.  For the first time, Cammy begged not to go with her Aunt Maymay.  She wanted to be with me but I sent her away anyways.  I couldn't do it.  I just couldn't be a Mom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The jelly was cold and slimy.  I hated ultrasounds, but I couldn't wait for Lucky to see we were having a boy.  I told him the night before that God gives us the desire of our hearts, and I knew that I was giving him a son.  The tech asked if we wanted to know the gender, and I shot Lucky a knowing look as I said yes... And then there was Logan.  He was perfect and beautiful on the screen.  "It's a boy.", she said happily.  Lucky glared at her.  "You don't believe me?  Here are the testes and here is the penis.  It. Is. A. Boy.", she laughed at Lucky.  He didn't look convinced, but he did look hopeful.
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Bart, Ian, Lucky and I sat quietly.  What do you say when a light goes out?  What do you do when there is no way to turn it back on?  Justin messaged Bart (Trying to be respectful of Lucky and me) saying that he couldn't just sit there any more.  He had to come down and be with his brother and his family.  Those are the kind of people God has given us.  We don't have friends, we don't have blood, we have a bond that far exceeds anything I have known before.  We are blessed.

Justin and Kari showed up with forty cheeseburgers and two cases of soda.  Ian had to work the next day... No rest for the broken, so Bart was going to take him home, pack a bag, and come back.  Ian would have stopped the world to do the same, but time stops for no one.  After the guys left, Justin and Kari sat with us watching Youtube.  We laughed and marveled at how freakishly creepy some animals could be, but we laughed.  A Sunday spent in silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lucky was laughing at me as I lay on my side, straddling a giant peanut shaped ball.  They were having me rock against it to try and switch Logan's position.  Every contraction was like a high for me.  Every one meant the little guy I had prayed for was about to make his debut.  I knew my Tiny Titan was going to change the world.  Lucky asked if I thought he had time to go smoke before Logan came.  I told him to go for it.  No sooner had Lucky made it out side, Logan decided it was time.  Lucky rushed back up, and in just a couple quick minutes, he was here.  It was such a humbling and intimate experience.  He was perfect and peaceful.  Lucky climbed into the bed with me and we spent the rest of the day and night, holding each other, and Logan, and marveling at how there was something different- special about him.  Yes, my Tiny Titan would change the world.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I Skyped home.  My family was having an Easter dinner, and damn it, I wanted to be there. I wanted my Uncle Alec to pick me up and hug me while teasing me about how tiny I am, I wanted to hear the way Uncle Jeremy says "Heya, Whit." , the peace that comes with sitting next to my Uncle Jim, and the gruff but loving hug that only Uncle John can give. Lucky and I sat side by side and talked to all my family as they crowded in my Aunt's dining room.  I caught a glimpse of us on the screen.  My eyes were glowing and we looked so young, so small, and so helpless.  I hate being helpless.  But we also looked united.  Lucky and I, no matter how young, how hurt, or how small, were put together by God.  We can take on the world... I just wish we didn't have to.

After Skype was done, we just laid in the middle of the living room.  I snuggled up to him, and we stared at the ceiling.  What do you say?  We lost the same child, but our hurt is so very different.  So we held each other in silence and waited for the day to end.  I mumbled something about being homesick, and Lucky told my parents that I needed to be with them, so Dad set up Skype and sat me in the corner of the room so I could watch.  It was comforting to pretend I was sitting with my Mom and Aunt Andi again.  They are my heroes and their strength was comforting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Why isn't Logan in my room?"  "Because Mommy has him in our room tonight.  He is a little congested."  "But he is my little brother.  It is my job to protect him."  "No, baby, it isn't.  Your job is to be the best big brother you can be, and you are.  He knows how much you love him." "But I have to protect him."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bart made it back.  The guys wanted a couple drinks...  I wanted a couple bottles of tequila to drown myself in... so I opted out.  Bart, being the care taker that he is, went to the store for us.  I didn't want to leave.  Hell, I didn't want to be breathing either, but at least we didn't have to go to the store. Right after he left, Austin showed up.  We opened the door, and there was Austin, all 6'6'' of him.  His arms were covered with bags of food, and he let out a sound of grief and scooped Lucky and I into what could be called a hug.  See?  More than friends.  A lumberjack of a man, humbled himself to show his grief to be shared with us.

Everyone we had there the first forty eight hours, EVERYONE of them, God bless them.  God bless Ian for the hugs he gave me in the first hours.  Making me realize that I did need human contact.  Oddly enough, Lucky and Ian were the only ones I felt OK with touching.  For Bart, despite his pain, nurturing us, holding our hand and taking care of every need and want before we could think of it.  For Rachel and her husband making us one of the best dinners I can remember, and Rachel sitting us down and forcing us to eat.  She knew we wouldn't have otherwise.  Bless her.  For Sean, despite school and long work hours, dropping everything just to sit that first night.  Sometimes silence is better than words. Bless that man. God bless Megan and Theora, for their love and comfort given to Cammy, when I was too weak and broken to.  God bless Justin and Kari, despite all their new life changes, showing us and putting up with hours of nonsensical videos.  For laughing with us.  And Austin, bless him for his beautiful heart, for grieving with us and talking into the night.

“Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, "It might have been.”

-Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

Bugs Trapped in Amber

Do you ever have a day where you wake up, get ready, and feel beautiful?  Like you could take on the world and nothing could stop you?  That was how my day started.  The sun was shining and birds were singing.  The day was beautiful, I was beautiful, life was beautiful.

We rushed through our morning and cleaned up the house.  Cammy and I rushed off to get her hair cut.  She got the princess treatment, the hair wash, the cape, and the blow dry.  I had just had my right eyebrow waxed when my phone started ringing and Cammy started singing, "It's Bart! It's Bart! It's Bart! It's Bart!", and that song told me everything was wrong.  There was no reason for him to be calling me.  He knew I was getting Cammy's hair cut, and we had only been gone for 20 minutes.

"You need to get home.  Something is wrong with Logan."
"OK, what?"
"I don't know, we called an ambulance.  Just come home."
"OK, bye."

I told Vanessa that Bart told me and asked if she would take a rain check. I rushed out the door, with only one eyebrow done.  I shot up a prayer for peace and started driving.  Right when I got to the round about, I saw the ambulance behind me, so I pulled off and took a back way home.  I tried calling my Mom, but she didn't answer, so I called my Dad.  I shot off that I was driving and to pray because something was wrong.  I was speeding through a neighborhood and someone yelled for me to slow down, and out of no where I heard myself yell something about my baby.

When I pulled up, there were two ambulances and maybe 3 or 4 police cars in front of my house.  I had to park in front of the neighbors.  Bart was there waiting for me and I don't know if I said anything, but he nodded and I ran out of the car.  Right when I got to the front of the house, Lucky burst out the door making a noise that probably does have a word, but one that does not define it, and dropped to his knees.  I tried picking him up, consoling him, telling him that the EMTs were there.  That everything was going to be OK.  He was crying that he was dead and begging my forgiveness. I left him there.  I tried to run in the house, but an officer stopped me.  I told him that I was his mother and gave my name.  I demanded to see him.  Another officer escorted me to the bedroom.

I said, "He is dead, isn't he?" and the officer started trying to console me. I told him to stop.  I needed him to be straight forward with me.  I wasn't going to break but I didn't need the bull shit.  He opened the door, and by the toy box, I could see my babies silhouette under Owen's monkey blanket.  His hands looked like they were trying to push it off.  I don't know if I made a noise, but I felt silent.  Everything was silent.  I pulled back the blanket and he laid there frozen like a bug trapped in amber.  He was cold, and frozen, and gone.

I felt a tear escape as I lifted him.  I just wanted to hold him, to feel his body against mine one. last. time.  Before I got him to me, the officer stopped me and told me it was a crime scene.  He took Logan, and gently laid him down and covered him and asked me to leave.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to fight.  I wanted to hold my baby, just once, just one last time.  Instead I meekly followed him to the living room.  He was saying something about grieving and something that was probably meant to be consoling, instead I was eyeing his gun, thinking I was faster than him and if I got it first and scared him, I could go lay down next to Logan.  I didn't want to hurt the officer, I just wanted my baby.

The house was taped off.  We waited out side.  It really was a beautiful day.  Cammy picked dandelions and blades of grass and gifted them joyfully to all of us and the officers.  Lucky was begging my forgiveness in between phone calls to the family.  I kept telling him it wasn't his fault and that I loved him.  There was a gentle breeze, a giggling toddler, and my baby cold and alone in the bedroom.  Lucky's family had arrived and a detective called me in for questioning.  He told me they were going to be hard but standard questions.

"How did your baby die."
"I don't know."
"Why did your husband kill him."
"He didn't and if I had the slightest thought that he did, you would be taking away two dead bodies."
"Has he fallen recently?"
I listed off every single insignificant stumble he might have had, but none that were any cause for alarm.
"Is there abuse in the house?"
"Never."
After what seemed an eternity in the living room, and Logan alone in his room, just feet away from me, the detective apologized for how hard the questions were.  He told me for the first time in years, he could go home knowing that there is nothing anyone did.  For the first time in years there was no one to blame.

They had Lucky re-enact how they found him with a dummy doll.  I was shocked and amazed by how my husband held it together, and how well he responded.  I had to sit in the hall way while he did this, and I looked up at the officer next to me and said, "We did this, didn't we.  We killed our baby?"  I saw the hurt flash across his eyes, and then he asked me, "Did you?  Did you kill your baby?".  "No, I mean, maybe?  I didn't mean to.  I tried to do everything right, but there is something else we could have done.  There has to be something else..."  He told me there was nothing we could have done.  That he has seen babies pass away with only the crib mattress on the sheet.  He said there was nothing obstructing his air, that we were good parents, and you could feel the love in our house.

More stuff happened and we were told we could say good bye.  They had gently and lovingly wrapped Logan in Owen's blanket.  He didn't look hurt, or scared, or in pain.  He looked asleep.  Completely at peace and asleep.  I asked if I cold finally hold him.  I just wanted to warm up his little hands and feet.  I just wanted to feel him against my breast again and maybe, just maybe share a hear beat with him.  They said no.  So I played with his hands and rubbed his belly.  I stroked his downy hair and kissed him.  I let myself shed a couple tears as I said goodbye, I knew I would never see him again.

Lucky's family left, expect Megan.  Sean came down and maybe Theora...  I don't remember much of that night, except feeling blessed that Ian and Bart were with Lucky when it happened, and that we had the kind of friends that we do have.  The word "friends" does not give justice to the love we share.  We talked into the night.  We laughed and some cried...

There was no "Why" to me.  I haven't asked.

“Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?" "Yes." Billy, in fact, had a paperweight in his office which was a blob of polished amber with three lady-bugs embedded in it. "Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.”

- Kurt Vonnegut