How My Angel Earned His Wings

This is my first post, so I guess I'll tell you my story:

I was eighteen years old, and in what I thought was love.   We'll call him "Nicholas". We had met almost two years earlier and it was infatuation at first sight.  His eyes were so green it took my breath away every time I looked at him.  He was starting his second year of college, and we had talked about how we wanted to wait until after graduation to get married or even consider having children.

It was late August, 2004, and I knew something was going on.  I guess I knew what that something was, but for a while I didn't want to admit it.  I finally braved it one night and made two of my girlfriends take a pregnancy test with me, so I would feel less frightened.  When I got a positive, I panicked.  I buried it in the trash can, said I had "missed" and took the extra one and ran it under the sink.  "Negative".  The whole point of them being there was that I knew they'd be there for me; but when it was real, I was so ashamed of myself that even my two best friends felt untrustworthy.

Being 18-years-intelligent, I then proceeded to drink the jug of wine my friend had gotten for that night's get-together.  Not because I wanted to harm the baby, even for a second; but because I was young, afraid, and didn't know what else to do.  (I still think it may have caused my precious son some damage.)  Then, Nicholas heads down to the party and when he gets there, I can't even speak to him.  He knows something is wrong, but I won't tell him what.  We end up fighting, and I take a nice barefoot, drunk walk up to the main road.  I was ridiculous.  To this day, I don't know what came over me.  It was pathetic; I mean, really.  Again, I just didn't know what else to do.

On the way home, we're not even speaking.  I turn to Nicholas and say, "You're going to be a Dad.  I don't care if you walk away, but I'm keeping our baby; with or without you."  He said nothing.  That nothing, has defined the rest of my life.  We get to my house, and as I'm getting out of the car, he yells "Baby, wait!"  He RUNS to me and grabs me tighter than ever before.  "It's gonna be okay.  I love you."  I suppose that's the best a 19-year-old boy can do.

Flash-forward a month.  I'm turning 19, and I'm 4 months pregnant.  At this point, I'm ecstatic; but terrified.  We have yet to muster the strength to tell anyone other than his sister; one of my best friends.  I am by no means a thin girl with a flat stomach, so it's easy to hide.  I went to only one doctor's appointment, for fear that my mother would somehow find out; but we know it's a boy, and last we knew, a healthy one.  We've decided to name him Trevor.  Nicholas is being really great about it all.  He's saving money and we're looking for apartments, figuring at least one of us would be kicked out of our parents' house.  But overall, we're doing great.  We love each other.

Then there was that day.  The weather was weird, I felt weird, Nicholas felt weird.  We didn't know why.  Something about that day was just so off.   November 22, 2004.  We decided to try and get out; so Nicholas, his sister "Elizabeth", and I went to dinner.  We're at Chili's, and I start feeling weird.  A little crampy, but nothing drastic.  But I feel really, really dizzy.  I thought I was going to pass out.  I got very nauseous, and went to the bathroom.  Then I knew.  There was blood; and a lot of it.  I won't go into details, but it was horrifying.  Here I am, in a Chili's bathroom, 19, pregnant, possibly losing my baby, and I can't even call my Mama.  Elizabeth came in to check on me after a few minutes.  I said, "I'm bleeding," and she flipped out.  She made a bigger scene than I would have liked, but she was just trying to help.

We drive to a hospital 45 minutes away, because we were stupid enough to let people we knew finding out be our biggest concern.  In and out of consciousness, I remember two things: praying (and I was NOT a religious person), and telling my son I was sorry.  We get to the hospital, and they pumped me with more drugs than I ever care to take in a lifetime.  I remember them telling me "You're gonna have to deliver now, sweetheart."  But I was not going for it.  I knew my son was too little; it was too early.  I don't remember much after that.

Trevor Michael was born at 11:22 (on 11/22), and it was determined I had been 22 weeks pregnant.  I had just delivered a 1lb. 60z. baby boy, and for now, he was alive.  They took him from me.  Whisked him away and didn't tell me anything.  Nicholas was crying.  I've never seen him so frightened.  They bring my son back to me and tell me there's nothing they can do.  His lungs aren't big enough to expand with breathing machines.  They thought they'd let me hold him through it all.  He couldn't quite cry; more like a whimper.  He was fighting so hard to breathe, but it just wasn't working.  I couldn't do anything to save my son.  Here he was, the little boy I had dreamed about for so long; and I couldn't help him.  I screamed so loud the whole hospital must have heard it.  "I WANT YOU TO HELP MY SON.  PLEASE HELP MY SON, HE CAN'T BREATHE."  But they couldn't.  So they took him from me, again.  He didn't even die peacefully in his mother's arms.

Time of death: 11:44PM (he was here on earth for 22 minutes).  They wrapped him up in a little blanket with a little blue knit cap and brought our son back to us.  Nicholas held him and told him we were sorry.  That we loved him and we'd never forget him.  Then I held my son's lifeless body in my arms and lost my mind.  I've never been the same.

Elizabeth arranged for Trevor to be buried in the next state over from us.  She, Nicholas and I were the only ones there.  I never publicly acknowledged my son's existence, and it kills me every day.  I didn't know what I was doing.  Please understand, I was still, after all, just a kid.  Elizabeth took one picture of Trevor, in his casket (seen above).  It may sound strange to you, but it's all I have.

I never told my parents.  He never told his.  We erased it.  We erased our son.  Nicholas and I broke up in January 2007.  We've never spoken since.  For various reasons (some pertaining to not talking about our son, some not), I can never forgive him.  I wish sometimes he was here to talk to about our son; but I know it's for the best.

Recently, I started opening up.  I told my best friend about Trevor.  I say his name out loud.  I celebrate his life.  What happened is, I repressed my emotions, and now, four years later I feel like I lost my son yesterday.  I've met some other parents who have lost children.  It's comforting to know I'm not alone, but it's still intolerable.  Thank God for my best friend.  She has helped me through this in ways I can never describe.  I think honestly, I might not be here if it wasn't for her.  Every day is a battle, but I guess that's life.  I started this blog, so that's a step in the right direction.

That's my story, I hope it can help someone.