Getting old...

To start with, I've had a Mountain Dew and a Dr. Pepper after months of no caffeine and it's 1:00 in the morning...just a warning. In other words, I have a lot on my mind and I don't know quite yet where this post is going, so bear with me.

One thing I've noticed lately is that apparently, my son's story is getting old. He may be turning five in just a few short months, so I suppose I should be "over it" by now, according to those who by the way, could never even IMAGINE losing their children, once, at least pretended to care. Almost no one at all even knew my son existed until less than a year ago, and even those who have known for less than six months are literally already MAKING FUN OF ME for it. Literally. Busting my chops about my dead son, like it's some kind of quirk I have that they can poke fun at. My favorite was my sister's boyfriend telling me, "babies die; get over it." REALLY? Because last time I checked, old people are supposed to die and babies are supposed to live...correct? Sometimes I want to say, "Yeah, well then I hope it's YOUR kid some day." But I would never, because one: I would never wish this life upon anyone else, no matter what they did to me; and two: it's not going to get me anywhere. So I have bitten my tongue. Another excellent one was "Not today. I don't have the time or patience for your problems right now." Thanks a lot, best friend of mine...(with beautiful, breathing, healthy children, mind you.) About a month ago, I was with my brother, my sister and her boyfriend, and an episode of House, M.D. came on in which a premature baby boy is on a table being shocked back to life, and eventually, dies right there on screen. I asked nicely a few times, and then eventually not so nicely if they could PLEASE turn it off. They literally LAUGHED, turned it up, and then told me a I was a crazy b****. Yes, you read that correctly. Oh, and my sister's boyfriend, being the biggest **** of them all, said another cute thing to me on our recent cruise (in front of 20 people, by the way: "your son's lucky he's dead, because his mother's such crazy b*tch he would have killed himself by now anyway." I couldn't speak, and ran off crying through a crowd of witnesses. On my top ten of life's worst moments, let me tell you.

So...needless to say, having a birthday party for Trevor is now something that unfortunately is not comfortable for me to do, because my story is getting old, and annoying. I was so excited, too! But celebrating my son's life, is now something I feel ashamed about...AGAIN. I thought I had gotten past this? I thought my ex was the only a**hole person who could have no feeling for something so precious. Apparently, I'm the only one who does. Regardless, I will lose all of my friends and family before I let my son's memory fade AGAIN. I betrayed my little man for far too long, and I will forever make it up to him.

On that note, my story is not the only thing getting old around here. I'm turning twenty-four a week from today (Sept. 25th), but I feel one-hundred and twenty-four. I'm exhausted, worn out, overwhelmed and weakened, trying to keep my son's memory alive. I'm tired from the guilt and embarrassment I feel even speaking his name. THIS IS NOT RIGHT. It can't be. What is wrong with these people? Am I the crazy one? Is it me, or is everyone I know cold-hearted and cruel? I'm also tired from consciously holding back when I feel like mentioning him; or interjecting about the ups and not-so-obvious downs of my pregnancy along with the other mothers. They look at me like I don't belong in their conversation, because I have to step out as soon as it gets to the living baby in your arms part...that part didn't last so long for me. I'm not able to chime in with the cute little things Trev did as a baby. Or give advice on parenting to someone who's technically been a mother for less time that I have.

What I've figured out is that no one really cares about anyone else for an extended period of time. And that 24 sucks. Because everyone I know is either on the end of the scale where they're married with living children and a life, or on the other end, where stuff like that is unfathomable because after all, we're only 24, right? Either way, I've learned that the one thing that makes it impossible to fit in with anyone at all, is having a dead baby...and unfortunately, my son is not here with me; so I guess I'm one of those people who will never fit in.

...I guess I'm getting old.

"Tied together with a smile, but (I'm) coming undone"

It's been cold for the past few days = fall is coming; and I can't wait to jump off a bridge see the leaves turn red. I'm so distraught happy that Trevor's birthday is coming up! My birthday of course comes first (Sept. 25th), but there's no even thinking of that once it starts to feel like fall again. In 2004, I was only consciously pregnant from late August (like, this week) until November 22, when my Angel was born and went to be with God. Autumn weather has always been my favorite time of year, and it's bittersweet totally awesome. And it does NOT feel like it's been 5 years already! My baby boy should be heading to pre-school, if not kindergarten next week, and it's killing me very nostalgic!

Okay, time for brutal honesty: I wish I could just f****ng enjoy the fall like every other normal person!!!!!! Autumn used to be the happiest time of the year; my birthday, my best friend's birthday, apple picking, pumpkin patches, hayrides, haunted houses, costumes, cool, crisp air, fallen leaves, boots, sweaters, good food, honoring our Veterans, my son's birthday...oh wait, not planning my son's birthday party; planning his memorial ceremony. Not dressing him up like Spiderman or Batman or whoever the heck he wants to be. He's not turning 5, he's not unpredictable, and definitely not melting me more every day with his words. Oh, and he's not sooooo smart and he's not getting soooo big! I can't wait to not drop him off at pre-school; you know the day where mothers everywhere say they're "letting go" of their babies? You don't know the meaning!!!!!!

Don't worry though, I'm doing worse than I've ever been because it's the first year that everyone will know about Trevor's birthday and I have a memorial to plan just fine.

"Nicholas" and I on Trevor's 1st birthday, 11/22/05

Inspired

So it just hit me, for the nine-thousandth time, again...how amazing the unspoken bond between those who have lost a child, is. First of all, I have never felt my son's life so honored as it has been through my fellow Baby Lost blog Moms and Dads! I mean, some of you have done the simplest things that have touched my heart forever. You've written Trevor's name in the sand, you've made him Angel wings, you've shared his story all around the world! Then there are those of you I've met in person. You have taught me so much about my grief; how it is unpredictable and sometimes unbearable...but I know I'll always pull through, because you have.

On this note, I feel compelled to share this story: Last sunday was the third anniversary of when my Daddy passed away (July 26th). We all met as a family at the cemetery, and as I was walking towards my father's headstone, I saw a couple kneeling on the ground in front of a beautiful black and gold stone. I noticed there were quite a lot of little toys and fire truck trinkets and child-themed balloons. I realized then, that this was a couple mourning the loss of their precious son. I was afraid of being rude, but I had to say something. I walked over and apologized for interrupting, but I told them that I also had a precious baby boy who passed away, and that I was sorry for their loss. Their son lived only three weeks and went to be with the Angels just months before my Trevor was born. By the end of the conversation, his mother and I were hugging and crying. But it felt good, in a way. They agreed that they felt better, in a bittersweet way, having run into me. This encounter was a wonderful work of God, was the general outlook on the situation. And it was.

Samuel Shaun Beausoleil was born on July 20, 2004 and went to the Angels on August 18th of that same year. Please keep him and his wonderful, loving parents in your thoughts and prayers as they go through that "dreaded month" with birthdays/anniversaries that we all have to face every year.

Thank you to all who have honored my son's life and legacy. God bless you all and I pray every day for you and your precious Angels. It's the least I can do. Don't forget to pray for Samuel and the Beausoleils!

Quick Update & Random New Pic :-)

Me at the 311 concert

(the first one, LOL)

I don't have much time today, but I felt like I needed to blog a bit.    Subconsciously, I haven't been blogging on purpose, because my last post was the 22nd post I've written.  Every time I logged in, it would tell me, 22 posts.  I figured it was Trevor telling Mama he likes the new blog layout! ;-)

I guess you could say things are going a little better than my past few blogs.  Not that the pain or hurt or concern is gone; but maybe...just maybe...I'm learning to cope?  Maybe this is the point at which it gets easier?  (If, that is, that point exists at all.)  Then I feel guilty, though, for not being depressed all the time.  I feel guilty for going an hour without missing my son so much it hurts.  I feel guilty for not crying when I think that he's not here; for smiling when I realize he's in his own little mansion in Heaven.  I know that's what Trev would want me to do; smile.  But somehow I feel like I'm losing the bond I've had with him for so long now.  I feel like he's no longer the first thing I think about when I wake up; or the last thing before I fall asleep.  He should be!  Right?  I also haven't even thought about my recent miscarriage.  I did write to Austin, letting him know what happened because it's his right to know.  But I feel guilty for almost being "over it".  I mean, I'm certainly not okay with it, and there are days where I go "Okay, so today I should be 9 weeks pregnant, and instead I'm drinking margaritas," but it's not eating me alive like I think it should be.

Overall, I think it's just been so long since I was happy, or at least okay, that it doesn't feel right.  Maybe I'm just having a good week...and I'm sure there will be bad weeks to come.  But maybe my life really will turn around this time.  Maybe I will learn to remember my son and not cry all the time.  Maybe I will, in a way, "move on" (to the best of a Baby Lost Mama's ability, anyway).  I'm just not sure I want to, or that I'm ready to, yet.

With You In Your Dreams

First of all, I can't believe that Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcet and Michael Jackson have all passed away!  Within two days!  I know many of you don't believe in "signs" or anything like that; but this is, to me, an omen of sorts.  For one thing, I now can't stop thinking of "Nicholas" (Trevor's father)!  He is hands-down the biggest Michael Jackson fan I have ever known!  He must be devastated.  For those of you who may know him; or had known us together, you realize what a big deal this would have been right now.  Granted, my 4-and-a-half-year-old son should also have been here, and old enough to know that Daddy's idol is now in Heaven.  But I suppose Trevor is aware, now isn't he?  He gets to meet MJ before Daddy does! 

Speaking of Daddy (and I haven't told anyone this), I had a dream about Nicholas the other night:  He shows up at my apartment with a dozen of yellow (a.k.a. "I'm sorry") roses.  He is crying his eyes out, and says, "Can I talk to you?".  I am smitten enough, in this dream, to let him in and offer him a soda.  He says, "I want to visit our son's grave; and I can't...won't, do it without you."  (For those of you who don't know, I am still looking for the location, as I was on pain meds and completely paid no attention (on purpose) to where my son was buried, out of state)  Of course, I am thrilled, because I've been waiting so long for this!  He also says, "...and, I want to maybe work things out between us?"  Now, in real life, I'm thinking, are you crazy? after everything you've said and done, you *******!  you want me to be with you again?  But in my dream, I say, "'Nicholas', I've waited two years for you to ask me that."  Long story short, we go to visit Trevor; once a week, from there on in.  We stay together, get engaged and move into a home together.  We live the life I thought we'd have had; minus my precious Angel, of course.  But I feel sometimes like even with losing Trevor, we still could have had a good life together.  Those are the moments I question my decision to not have him in my life anymore.  But then I think, God didn't want Nicholas in my life; so I will trust that He has given me the strength to stay away.

On that note, I miss church!  (Five months ago, by the way, I never thought I'd be saying that.)  But one thing or another has prevented me from making it to church lately.  I've only been there once every other week or so for the past few weeks, and I don't like it!  As you can see from my last post, I have a lot of people to pray for!  Including, now...a very dear friend of mine.  I found out this week that one of my good friends is also a Baby Lost Mama!  I never knew.  She and her then-husband, J, had a little girl Born With Wings at 17 weeks.  Her name was Maribella Antonelli (beautiful, right?), and I'm sure she is wonderful and thriving in Heaven.  But her Mama isn't doing so well.  This is a person who has been there for me through thick and thin.  Someone who I should have known this about a long time ago!  Someone who is now married to someone else, now with living children; who has suffered in silence all these years.  For the first time, I'm on the other side.  There are quite similar situations between Trevor's and Bella's stories.  I'm hearing my dear friend pour her heart out; and I'm sad.  Because for once, I'm not the Mama who's grieving her baby.  I'm the shoulder to lean on.  I'm glad to be this.  I just wish I knew how to help my friend like so many others have helped me.  At the same time, it's so weird.  I feel like I'm listening to myself tell the story of my son.  But it's not Trevor, it's another precious little life lost.  I'm not the only one!  I've know I'm not alone, because of you other blog Moms, and friends I've met because of Trevor.  But now this is someone I've known all along; someone I didn't meet just because we had child loss in common.  This is someone who's already a friend, and is now joining me in grief; over the loss of her daughter.  So please, in case I don't find enough time to properly do so, pray for Maribella's Mama.

I guess that's all for tonight.  I hope everyone has a great weekend!  Hopefully the sun will shine around here some day.  :-)  God Bless!

Another Loss

So...in order to tell you what happened yesterday, first I'll have to tell you all what I've failed to tell you for the past few weeks.  I did the stupid, sinful, embarrasing thing in Tulsa and had unprotected sex with Austin (see my last post, "I HEART TULSA").  Five days later, I missed my period.  A week after that, I was nauseous and vomited for 5 days straight.  I felt the implantation pulling, "bungee cord" feeling.   Most of all my period NEVER came.  A few days ago, I started seeing brownish-pink spotting.  This is usually what is called "implantation bleeding".  It's also an early sign of miscarriage.  Yesterday would have been 4 weeks 4 days pregnant.

To be honest, I am so swallowed with the loss of my son that I was EXCITED to be pregnant!  I WANTED this baby.  Even if Austin wanted nothing to do with me, in my mind this was the best mistake I'd ever made.  Needless to say, yesterday morning I was certainly not pregnant anymore.  This may be graphic, but I've been getting blood clots the size of quarters, and I feel as if someone is trying to rip my insides out of me.  I was DEVASTATED.  I spent the day with my best friend, Kaleigh, balling my eyes out and screaming at the sky.  I was so lost.  Did I really just lose ANOTHER child?  Now, clearly a 4 week 4 day embryo the size of a pin head is nothing in comparison to losing my 1lb 6oz, living son.  But I was pregnant two days ago, nonetheless, and I'm not pregnant anymore.  And there isn't a baby, either.  So twice, I was pregnant, and now, TWICE I've lost a baby.

In spite of this, I am trying to remain strong.  If ever I've realized that God is in control, it's now.  I know that He will not harm me; only teach me lessons.  I have faith that one day I will have beautiful, healthy babies and a husband who loves me with all of his heart.  I've learned that I need to at least TRY to be patient with His plan; and until I see it, do my best to serve our Lord in my every day life.  If never before, I am praying every chance that I get.  I know that God will not give me a child until I love myself enough to be a good mother.  I know that all the things that have happened to me in my life, have all been part of His plan, in one way or another.  I know that I have learned something from my losses; and from the losses of others, too.  I know that now Trevor has a sibling to play with in his mansion in Heaven!  I don't know how something like a miscarriage has brought me CLOSER to God...but it has.  Maybe He's trying to show me that even though this has happened, He is never far from me.  If I can have faith now, I will never lose my faith again.

Might I add, I have never in my life been more grateful for my best friend.  I've been a terrible friend to her lately.  A jealous, spiteful BITCH, in plain English.  Yet, she hasn't left me for a moment.  She has been there through EVERYTHING I've been going through.  I only hope that someday I can be for her what she has been for me.  Kay, if you read this I love you, I'm sorry, and thank you.

Coming Clean

I did it!  I finally told my mother about Trevor.  It was honestly so much easier than all the pain I've put myself through over the years wondering how it would go.  I wasn't sure I was ready, but it just came out.  I was going up to my Mom's on friday night to pick up my brother for our usual friday night festivities.  I always practice how I would tell her on the drive up, but never expect that I'll have the courage to tell her.  I saw her, and I just couldn't take it anymore.  I shut her bedroom door and said "I've got to tell you a story."  I thought I could remain strong, but I started crying before I even spoke.  She looked concerned, and I said, "It's okay, I just have to tell you something.  When I was 19, me and 'Nicholas' had a baby, and he died."  Not the most eloquently worded thing in the world, but at least I got it out.

I think about it now and there's a million things I would have said differently, but such is life.  I told her we named him Trevor Michael; and that he was born alive but he was just too little to survive.  I told her that Trevor is what made me want to start going to church and finding God.  I told her that's why I am doing the March for Babies (which she then sponsored me for...I have reached my fundraising goal!)  I told her she can tell anyone she wants, and that I am just so tired of hiding him.  I showed her Trevor's Name In The Sand, and she thought it was beautiful.  She cried, and I'm sure she's grieving now, too.  But I am so relieved to be able to be honest with her.  She told me (though I already knew) that she also lost a baby, and she was only 19, too.  I never thought my own mother would be the one who could relate to me.  She's glad she has a grandson, and she's only sorry that I felt I couldn't tell her.  She said that she can't believe I've been going through this alone for so long.  Neither can I.  She also said if she ever sees "Nicholas" again, she's going to make him wish he'd never gotten out of bed that day.  I don't blame her.

I'm exhausted; and I've got a long day tomorrow.  But I had to share the news!  I am so relieved, and I want to thank everyone who has encouraged me to get this far.  I don't know what I would have done without your kind words and advice.  I'll update again soon!

Conflict and Progress

So, I almost told my Mom yesterday.  (If you're confused, read "My Story, My Son; How My Angel Earned His Wings" -----> to the right.)  It was Easter, and I practiced all the way up to my Mom's house.  What I would say, how I would help her understand.  I had it all figured out.  My brother would be upstairs playing video games, and she'd be in the kitchen, making Easter dinner.  We'd have some time alone and I could tell her all about the little light in my life I call Trevor.  I want her to love him like I do.  I want her to be able to know she has a little grandson up there with my Dad in Heaven; and that they're having the time of their (after-)lives.  I want her to know, that even though she had a stillborn daughter before even I was born, that she's not alone.

I got there, and chaos it was.  My mom's upstairs, yelling down, asking my brother what the hell he did with all her laundry.  Bro's in the living room, running back and forth with the dog like a crazy person.  My uncle is there, making some food in the kitchen, singing a tune.  It just didn't seem like a good time.  So I think, I'll tell my Mom and brother when we're visiting my Dad's grave.  We go to my Grandma's house, and on the way back, stop at the cemetery.  We were planting flowers, but the wind chill is like negative 40,000 degrees for some reason, and we're all too busy swearing at how cold it is, and trying to dig up dirt to plant tulips, that it's just not do-able (welcome to my family, by the way).  I never ended up telling Grandma about my little Angel.  There just wasn't a good time.  But I realized later, there never really is a "good time" to have a conversation like that.  I was thinking of writing her a letter about it, and just giving it to her and not being there when she reads it.  I know that's the chicken way of doing it; but I've been keeping it from her from so long I almost don't know if I want to tell her.  I remember reading on a blog (don't remember where), how sad this mother felt because her mother, Angel's grandmother, was also grieving for her child's loss.  I don't want my mother to even know I'm suffering like that.  I don't want her to see the pain in my eyes; and she will.  I know what it's like to see your child in pain, and not be able to help them.  I don't want her to have to grieve another person, her grandson; her only grandchild so far.  I  AM SO TIRED OF LYING!  I AM TIRED OF HIDING MY SON FROM THE WORLD!  But then again, if I tell my family, I have to go through it all over again.  For the third time.  I am making progress, and I feel like I'll end up taking a step back.  I am so conflicted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a sort of brighter note, I have made more progress.  Just a little thing, but I feel great about it.  My friend (who has two children) and I were in the drugstore on Saturday, and she was trying to get some last-minute things for her kids for Easter.  She looked at me, and knew I was upset because I have no little boy to buy an Easter present for.  She said something that changed my views completely.  She said, "You know, you do have a son.  He might not be here, but you do have him.  If you want to get him something for Easter, you should get him something for Easter."  So I did.  He would be four-and-almost-a-half right now.  I was thinking, he's a little old for stuffed bunnies, but I think these are cute.  I said, "A four-year-old boy would think this was stupid."  She said, "Not a sweet one."  Trevor would certainly be a "sweet one"!  So I got a baby blue stuffed bunny with a plastic container full of jelly beans, that says "Happy Easter".  

I wrote the date and occasion (in case some day it's not obvious what holiday the bunny was for, lol) on the back of the tag.  From now on, I am going to get Trev something for holidays.  I DO HAVE A SON.  I AM A MOTHER.  We just have a different kind of mother-son relationship than others.

In response to your help...

Thank you all for your help and concerns.

I don't know anything about them sending his placenta away.  I know Nicholas didn't even give them my real name.  They had no history on me, nothing.  In a way then, it is my fault, too.  But at the time I was 19, stupid, and not realizing how later on in life I would regret these things so much.  As much as I want to know the truth, I almost don't (does that make sense?)

Gestational diabetes is something I didn't even know could cause weight gain in a baby.  Three of my cousins went through that with almost all of their children, so it's possible.  This is the thing, I hate being uneducated on the topic, but I don't even know where to begin the research.  And I only recently started letting my son's memory into my mind, unfortunately...so even if he was born four years ago, it's all new to me.

The thing that made me so mad was seeing all these stories and videos of 22-weekers (and even one 21-weeker!), who survived.  The thing is, even if it was procedure not to save a baby at 22 weeks, wouldn't his bigger size warrant them at least a try?  1lb. 6oz. is a big boy for 22 weeks!  He might've been 9+lbs. at full term!

I don't know, but over all I am under the impression that no one even tried to save my son; and that, infuriates me.

What REALLY happened?

I feel the need to write tonight.  I don't know where to start or really what the exact topic is, but I have to get something out.  I've been thinking a lot about the night my son was born/died, and a lot doesn't make sense.  I'm starting to think that Trevor's father had ulterior motives, and maybe things could have been different.  I really was out of it on all kinds of medications that night; a lot of things are fuzzy.  Most of it, actually.  My ex was the one who told me a lot of what happened; and I'm beginning to wonder if he was totally truthful.  First of all, I know I did a lot of things to probably harm my son while I was pregnant:  I drank wine the night I found out, I drank a lot of coffee, I didn't go to doctor's appointments, for fear my Mom would find out, etc. He was a preemie, that's for sure; and that couldn't be Nicholas' doing.  But the only thing I'm sure the doctors told me was his weight, 1lb. 6oz.  Which, I'm coming to realize is almost too big to be a 22-weeker.

It was Nicholas who told me I was 22 weeks along.  Trevor could have been more developed than that; he could have lied.  Which means, my son may have been plenty big enough to put on breathing machines!  I've heard stories of 13oz. preemies who were put on breathing machines!  If that's the case, I almost wonder if Nicholas told them not to save our son?  I wonder if he thought it would be better for everyone?  I'm not saying he did it for malicious reasons (though he may have); he may have thought he was saving little man from suffering.  But in that case, even if I'm drugged, does the hospital have the right to do that without my permission?  My problem is, I wasn't coherent and before we got there we made the decision that we didn't want anyone to find out if Trev didn't make it.  So maybe Nicholas thought he was doing the right thing?  Or maybe, most likely...he didn't tell them not to save Trevor?

But judging from other stories I've heard, it makes NO SENSE for: a) a 1lb.6oz. baby to be only 22 weeks along, b) for a baby that size to have lungs not big enough to expand, or c) for the hospital not to take footprints/pictures, and give me no memory box?  It seems everyone else has those things!  I vaguely remember Nicholas saying "We don't want any evidence."  EVIDENCE?  That's what you call our son's footprints and belongings?  EVIDENCE!?!?!?!  Little things like that make me realize that maybe he didn't want our son at all.  What if he made the decision not to save my little Angel?  What if my son could have survived, even for a while longer?  What if Trevor could be here with me today?  

I know this all sounds crazy, but I don't know enough or remember enough to perceive what really went on that night.  I feel like a terrible mother for not knowing enough about my own son's premature condition to know what actually happened to him.  All I know is, I've recently lost trust that Nicholas is a good guy; and a lot of things about my son's death don't add up.  If you, readers, know anything like this about preemies and age/size/breathing machines, please let me know.  I would rather be hurt by the truth than not know what really happened to my son...

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.