Our Jack-Chapter 1

When our Jack died, I was not familiar with obituaries. I did not know that to have what you would like printed for your loved one you must pay for it. We would have gladly done so but no one told us--not the newspaper, not the funeral director. So instead of the words that we had written for our boy, the newspaper's words were published. There was almost nothing there. It was an obituary for a person who had lived no life outside of the womb. No extracurricular activities. No church attendance. No place of employment. You wouldn't know by reading it that he was even a baby. There was only a date and his relatives listed.

He had no birthday really because he was dead before he was born. We just have the day that we held him in our arms for such a short time before they took him away. We have no birth certificate of "live birth". (I never noticed that it said "live" before Jack.) We have no death certificate because he was never alive to the State of Mississippi.

I haven't ever shared that day with you. I have written down forms of it in journals and on my computer before in attempts to find words to describe that day and all the feelings, emotions, and events it held. I feel inadequate when I write about it. I usually just quit trying because it hurts and is so hard. Before now, I didn't want to dwell on the details because it could be so easy to slip into "what might have been". In the days, months and years since it has happened, most of my time has been trying NOT to think of him constantly, lest my longing for him become unhealthy and harm me or those around me.

At this time, though, six years later, I find myself almost desperate to remember. I don't just want to generally look back. I want to almost relive it in my mind so that I can put down every detail. It sounds mad, I know. But those days are all I have of him. The mound of evidence that he even existed is so small. I cringe to think that if I don't summon up those thoughts and feelings and fine points that my memory of him might become as generic as that horrible obituary.

Some of you won't understand why I want to go through all of this here, on my blog, and that's ok. I'm thankful for your readership but if you check out for a while because of this I get it. Some of you will read because it is like looking at the scene of a car accident. You know you don't want to see but you can't stop looking. There are some of you that really want to know about this time in our lives because you love us and want to understand us more. It is my hope though, that this "therapy" for me will be helpful in some way to another that grieves. It may help those that mourn alongside them, not knowing what to do or say. If it gives some insight, I'll be thankful.

I don't know how I will do this or how many blogs it will take. I know his small life and his influence on me won't fit into one entry. I don't want this to be a project I start and quit like I have so many times before so I may formulate an outline of a sort but for now I think that to begin is the most important thing. "Well begun is half done" as Mary Poppins would say.

A shadow box that my sister, Rachel, made for me as we excitedly awaited his arrival.

February 19th, 2008. It was a Tuesday morning. I know that without looking it up. I can't remember most things like that. I would be hard pressed to tell you the day of the week any of my other children were born on. I guess I remember because it was empty of more pleasant things to dwell on. I can't fill my brain up with the happiness of the day so I fill it with details that don't matter to me as much with my other LIVE children.

Eric and I had decided that he would stay at work and I would go alone for this visit to the OB. Because Dr. Jack induced me early with my deliveries, we knew that we would have an induction on Thursday morning if I didn't go into labor before then. Since Eric would have to be out of school for those days, we wanted him to not miss for such a routine visit.

I drove to Tupelo like I had many times those past 9 months. I always laughed about driving an hour there and an hour back to see the doctor for 15 minutes in between. I loved Dr. Jack though and would have driven further for him to deliver my babies. As I passed the McCullough boulevard exit, I remember talking with my sister-in-law, Amber, on my cell phone. She had called to check on me. She worked as a nurse at the women's center and she half-jokingly warned me not to go into labor that day because they were full and women were having to labor in the hallways. I laughed with her and said that I would wait.

I arrived at the doctor's office, signed in and waited for my name to be called. When it was, I went back, cringed as they weighed me and let them check my blood pressure. My heart rate was high that morning--over 100 beats per minute. The nurse commented on it. I went to the patient room assigned to me and waited for Dr. Jack. He came in after a few moments and had me lay back so that he could use the doppler to hear the our Jack's heartbeat.

After a full minute of searching, I knew. All we could hear was a distant whoosh that was pretty fast and regular but not nearly as fast as the baby's heart beat should be. He said that was probably it. That he was just laying differently. I relayed that my heart rate had been over 100 when they checked my vital signs.  He frowned. He said that he wanted me to go to the ultrasound room so they could check. He didn't think there was a problem. That they would just look and make sure. I was silent and felt my world begin to spin.

The nurse asked me if there was anyone that we could call. Rachel, my sister, worked nearby in Tupelo. I called her on my cell phone to tell her they could not find his heartbeat and that we were about to do an ultrasound. I walked back to the ultrasound room knowing that everything was not ok.

The sonographer began and a beautiful profile of our baby appeared on the television screen. A beautiful, perfect picture that was perfectly still. I heard someone sobbing and groaning loudly. After a few moments, I realized it was me. She knew and I knew. She got up to go get the doctor. Dr. Eric Webb was the physician that came and sat in the chair beside me. Dr. Webb introduced himself apologized that Dr. Jack wasn't there. Dr. Jack had to go to the hospital to check on a patient. And then he relayed to me in words as gently as he could what I already knew in my heart and head.

Jack was "gone". His body was right where it should be, but his spirit had left us.