This morning my Mom and I scrubbed in at the NICU to carry my four-year-old niece, Ingrid, into a room for the one and only family photo my sister will ever get. Of course, she had to go potty just as the staff was gathering the photographer and the babies. I sat in a bathroom with her. Her fancy picture dress spilled out around the toilet. She was wearing pink Converse and her hair was messy. She wouldn't let us brush it. We played "I Spy" and talked about her stuffed cat, Millie. I remember looking into the mirror and thinking, "This is it. It's Enzo's last minutes and I am playing word games in a bathroom with a stuffed cat."
They instructed us to put Ingrid in a gown and a mask. She's four and normally defiant when told that she has to do anything. She must have understood it was a a big deal today. Her mom and dad had already explained that one baby was so sick he would never come home. She did whatever we asked. In the NICU, we used box of copy paper to act as a stool. She scrubbed in at the big foot pedaled sink. She had her own soap pack and soaped up to her elbows just like the grownups.
We all met in a special room where a photographer took pictures of the family and the babies. Ares was healthy enough to spend a few minutes in the room. He was such a contrast to Enzo. Ares was pink, almost red in color. He cried and cried but was quiet while his mama held him. He moved. He was feisty.
Sick Enzo was larger than healthy Ares. I kept forgetting that Enzo was baby A, born first and a few ounces larger. Enzo had been sedated. His mask had pressed his lip crooked. His head had a flat back. He was bloated with the fluid and waste his body couldn't excrete. He was pale and yellowish. He looked soft, like skin that has gone pruney in a long bath. He was still beautiful to look at - tiny and perfectly formed.
My sister got to hold her first born son just once while he was alive. He took a few loud breaths in that room and that left me sobbing even more. Mom and I were useless for a few hours. We stood in the corner, flowing with tears and boogers.
Ingrid, Grandma Katherine (mom)and I left the room to spent some time with the children's grief counselor as Amanda and Carmelo held dying Enzo. The counselor gave Ingrid a book about expecting a new baby and getting an angel instead. Mom (Grandma) read it to her. She drew pictures and colored. She talked to the counselor and begged for McDonalds. She giggled and expressed interest in the baby angel in the book. We talked about Enzo watching over her.
Later, after he was pronounced dead, I held his body and he was so incredibly beautiful. The wonderful NICU nurses pulled three rocking chairs around his bed. Amanda, my mom and I rocked him and passed his tiny body around. He was only three pounds but he was soft, warm and so perfect to look at. He had so much dark hair. Just like Ingrid did at birth, he had furry patches on his face. His fingers were puffed up, but they were tiny and looked just right. I held his hand. I sang to him.
My sister got to hold her first born son just once while he was alive. He took a few loud breaths in that room and that left me sobbing even more. Mom and I were useless for a few hours. We stood in the corner, flowing with tears and boogers.
Ingrid, Grandma Katherine (mom)and I left the room to spent some time with the children's grief counselor as Amanda and Carmelo held dying Enzo. The counselor gave Ingrid a book about expecting a new baby and getting an angel instead. Mom (Grandma) read it to her. She drew pictures and colored. She talked to the counselor and begged for McDonalds. She giggled and expressed interest in the baby angel in the book. We talked about Enzo watching over her.
Later, after he was pronounced dead, I held his body and he was so incredibly beautiful. The wonderful NICU nurses pulled three rocking chairs around his bed. Amanda, my mom and I rocked him and passed his tiny body around. He was only three pounds but he was soft, warm and so perfect to look at. He had so much dark hair. Just like Ingrid did at birth, he had furry patches on his face. His fingers were puffed up, but they were tiny and looked just right. I held his hand. I sang to him.
Later, after his body was taken away, we stood around Ares' bed and talked. I am so sad but hopeful for little survivor Ares Enzo (who was given his brother's name for a middle name) who is eating, pooping and breathing on his own at just over 3lbs.
I have never felt such raw pain, not even close. I would give anything to change this and my heart weeps for my baby sister whose pain I cannot imagine.
I have never felt such raw pain, not even close. I would give anything to change this and my heart weeps for my baby sister whose pain I cannot imagine.
