Tonight, like almost every night when she is tired, our daughter Izzie was talking about her sister. "Sophie died?" she asked with the innocence only a three-year-old could have. "Yeah, Sweetie, she died," replied my wife. Normally Iz follows up with the toddler classic "Why?", but tonight she surprised both of us. "Jesus died, too?" Yeah, Jesus died, too. "God died?" My wife responded, "Well, no. God doesn't die. He created everything around us. He created you and me and Daddy, and Charlie (our dog) and the grass and everything. God sent Jesus here to die for us so that we could be with Him in Heaven one day. And you know what? Everything is perfect in Heaven and everyone we love will be there." Izzie got really excited, "I can play with Sophie and Jesus?" "You sure can!" "That would be so much fun!"
There is so much here I need to see and do, but I am looking forward to the day when everything is perfect and I can hold my daughter once again.
I miss you, sweetheart. Daddy loves you...
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Monday, August 26, 2013
Need to get back to where I was...
I had to go see my doctor today; I've got a pretty nasty case of poison ivy. The last time I was there was about a month or so before Sophie died. I started running and eating smarter in February of 2012. By May, I was down 40 pounds and dropped my cholesterol almost 18 points. I was very proud of myself and my doctor couldn't believe my transformation.
After she died, we were blessed by friends and family that brought us food. What else can you do when something so tragic happens? No card has the right words, no flowers smell good enough, they don't make balloons that say,"Sorry about your daughter." They brought food and we were grateful. We are giving in nature, so naturally, we shared the food with our nurses and anyone who wanted to sit and talk and cry with us.
I remember the first time I had eaten in what seemed like days (I still wasn't hungry, but scientifically I knew I had to get some nourishment). I took out my phone and started to record my food on the app I used and I thought to myself, "What's the point?" I stopped caring about diets and exercises and over time have put every last one of those pounds back on.
My doctor says to me today, "Don't be a stranger about those cholesterol tests, that's important." I know, Doc. After Sophie died, I stopped caring. "Yeah, tragedies like that tend to do that to us. You don't care because all you want to do is die yourself. But you don't die, you have to live. For her, for your wife, for your other daughter." I guess that means it's time for that change, time to get back at it and get healthy. As motivation for myself, I am planning absolutely no research into the fact I've convinced myself is true: If you are heavy, they can't use your organs in donation. When I die, I told my wife to give whatever is still usable. If my eyes can help a child see, if my liver can save another father, if my lungs can help someone take a breath of fresh air, make it so.
It's also the night of the first day of school. Today was a good day, I have great groups of kids and I feel like this year will be better than last. I still struggle with bouts of uncertainty and doubt. As I sit here and type, there are moments when I know exactly what I am doing tomorrow and for the rest of the week and moments where I am drawing a complete blank. This will be my biggest struggle this year.
After she died, we were blessed by friends and family that brought us food. What else can you do when something so tragic happens? No card has the right words, no flowers smell good enough, they don't make balloons that say,"Sorry about your daughter." They brought food and we were grateful. We are giving in nature, so naturally, we shared the food with our nurses and anyone who wanted to sit and talk and cry with us.
I remember the first time I had eaten in what seemed like days (I still wasn't hungry, but scientifically I knew I had to get some nourishment). I took out my phone and started to record my food on the app I used and I thought to myself, "What's the point?" I stopped caring about diets and exercises and over time have put every last one of those pounds back on.
My doctor says to me today, "Don't be a stranger about those cholesterol tests, that's important." I know, Doc. After Sophie died, I stopped caring. "Yeah, tragedies like that tend to do that to us. You don't care because all you want to do is die yourself. But you don't die, you have to live. For her, for your wife, for your other daughter." I guess that means it's time for that change, time to get back at it and get healthy. As motivation for myself, I am planning absolutely no research into the fact I've convinced myself is true: If you are heavy, they can't use your organs in donation. When I die, I told my wife to give whatever is still usable. If my eyes can help a child see, if my liver can save another father, if my lungs can help someone take a breath of fresh air, make it so.
It's also the night of the first day of school. Today was a good day, I have great groups of kids and I feel like this year will be better than last. I still struggle with bouts of uncertainty and doubt. As I sit here and type, there are moments when I know exactly what I am doing tomorrow and for the rest of the week and moments where I am drawing a complete blank. This will be my biggest struggle this year.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Riding with my angel
I ordered a custom decal for my bike. I have a 2011 Giant Talon 29-1, a white, black, and blue mountain bike. Recently, I put some slick tires on it to make the rides on road smoother. I've been wanting to get something on it so I could look down and see while riding that reminds me of her (same rationale for my wanting a tattoo, but more on that later). Thought I'd share a pic of what I got.
I miss her so much...
Sunday, July 7, 2013
A chat with Jimbo
A while back, a friend was doing some work for us and I was helping him install a new hot water tank. He says, "I ain't ready to go, I've still got some living to do, you know?" He was pretty surprised when I gave him my response; "Not me, I'm ready man." "Really?" "Oh, hell yeah. This world sucks. I can't wait to get there and hold my little girl again."
Missing my angel...
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Life still has to go on.
I've ridden my bike 144.5 miles so far this summer. I have a feeling I may have set my goal of 1000 miles a bit high. I thought that once I finished my professional development for school that I would have all this time to dedicate to riding.
When Sophia died, I had this strange sensation of losing time. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat. I had a watch on, and this was the only way I could tell what time it was. When I finally did fall asleep, it was usually during the daylight hours, and when I'd wake back up it would still be light out. The night we came home from the hospital, my wife's blood pressure spiked, so we had to call an ambulance and go back to the hospital. We arrived in the emergency room at about 12:45 or 1 in the morning. They re-admitted us and we got moved back to the eighth floor and when we stepped off the elevator, I had to shield my eyes because I had no idea the sun was up. Among all the other emotions we were experiencing, it was a very confusing time.
I got rid of that watch. Looking at it reminded me of those times I'd spend staring at it and hoping I would die. I also put away the green collared shirt I was wearing that day. I wore it the day our first daughter was born and thought it would be a nice picture to compare the two pregnancies. I still pull it out every now and then to see if it smells like Sophia. It doesn't.
So much of life has been a blur since last May 29th. I feel like it is impossible that more than 365 days have passed. I feel like she was here, in my arms, just yesterday. I reflect on my life over this past year and I can't believe what has happened. I have grown spiritually and closer to God. I changed school districts and now teach what I've wanted to do for the last five years. My wife has begun working on her Master's Degree in counselling, and we are beginning to lay the ground work for starting a non-profit organization promoting random acts of kindness.
I feel like the point of this entry has been lost. I had a direction I wanted to go here, but I lost it. Like many of the days I've had since Sophie died, sometimes I just blank out and the world-changing ideas I have flying through my head get lost among randomness and other ideas. Maybe a solution should be to update posts as I have them.
I miss you, my sweet angel. I can't wait to see you and hold you again. My eyes burn and my heart aches for you...
When Sophia died, I had this strange sensation of losing time. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat. I had a watch on, and this was the only way I could tell what time it was. When I finally did fall asleep, it was usually during the daylight hours, and when I'd wake back up it would still be light out. The night we came home from the hospital, my wife's blood pressure spiked, so we had to call an ambulance and go back to the hospital. We arrived in the emergency room at about 12:45 or 1 in the morning. They re-admitted us and we got moved back to the eighth floor and when we stepped off the elevator, I had to shield my eyes because I had no idea the sun was up. Among all the other emotions we were experiencing, it was a very confusing time.
I got rid of that watch. Looking at it reminded me of those times I'd spend staring at it and hoping I would die. I also put away the green collared shirt I was wearing that day. I wore it the day our first daughter was born and thought it would be a nice picture to compare the two pregnancies. I still pull it out every now and then to see if it smells like Sophia. It doesn't.
So much of life has been a blur since last May 29th. I feel like it is impossible that more than 365 days have passed. I feel like she was here, in my arms, just yesterday. I reflect on my life over this past year and I can't believe what has happened. I have grown spiritually and closer to God. I changed school districts and now teach what I've wanted to do for the last five years. My wife has begun working on her Master's Degree in counselling, and we are beginning to lay the ground work for starting a non-profit organization promoting random acts of kindness.
I feel like the point of this entry has been lost. I had a direction I wanted to go here, but I lost it. Like many of the days I've had since Sophie died, sometimes I just blank out and the world-changing ideas I have flying through my head get lost among randomness and other ideas. Maybe a solution should be to update posts as I have them.
I miss you, my sweet angel. I can't wait to see you and hold you again. My eyes burn and my heart aches for you...
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Time to change
I have changed the layout of this blog for a couple of reasons. Previously, my blog was black and grey, much like my outlook. The other day, we celebrated Sophie's 1st birthday with a balloon release with family and friends. My wife and I started the day by visiting our nurses from the 7th and 8th floors of St. Elizabeth's Hospital followed by visiting Lifebanc and taking a Thank You cake. We spent the rest of the day at a nearby park inflating balloons and prepping for the event.
I thought about writing a speech. There were things I wanted to say, thank yous to mention. I never got around to it and together, we spoke to everyone and Isabella, out 2 1/2 year old daughter got us started with the release. As we stood there watching the balloons rise, I felt my wife's hand on my shoulder. We held Izzie and cried. We agreed later that it was the perfect day for honoring our little girl.
My wife amazes me. She has resigned her position from teaching and is currently enrolled as a grad student pursuing her Master's degree in clinical counselling.
I am still teaching, but I wanted to get back to roots of what made me "me" so long ago; mountain biking. It may not sound like much to some, but it is to me. One of my fondest memories from my childhood was the day my dad took the training wheels off my old grey Huffy and I rode across the street like I was a pro. When I was 14, I applied to work at a local bike shop and did so every month or so until I was old enough to legally work there. I started working and quickly traded my paychecks for the newer, lighter, better looking part for my mountain bike. Later, I switched to road and triathlon riding, and then life happened and I got lazy.
I decided to get back in to riding. I set a goal of 1000 miles this summer for three reasons.
1-The obvious health benefits of exercise.
2-I want to reignite my passion for cycling.
3-I think that being out there, pedaling, listening to the sound of my breath and the world, I would feel closer to Sophie and to God.
I know this blog has seemed scattered...it's late, the night before the last day of school for the year, and the end of a tough week for my family. I'm tired, but I'm here.
Until next time...
I thought about writing a speech. There were things I wanted to say, thank yous to mention. I never got around to it and together, we spoke to everyone and Isabella, out 2 1/2 year old daughter got us started with the release. As we stood there watching the balloons rise, I felt my wife's hand on my shoulder. We held Izzie and cried. We agreed later that it was the perfect day for honoring our little girl.
My wife amazes me. She has resigned her position from teaching and is currently enrolled as a grad student pursuing her Master's degree in clinical counselling.
I am still teaching, but I wanted to get back to roots of what made me "me" so long ago; mountain biking. It may not sound like much to some, but it is to me. One of my fondest memories from my childhood was the day my dad took the training wheels off my old grey Huffy and I rode across the street like I was a pro. When I was 14, I applied to work at a local bike shop and did so every month or so until I was old enough to legally work there. I started working and quickly traded my paychecks for the newer, lighter, better looking part for my mountain bike. Later, I switched to road and triathlon riding, and then life happened and I got lazy.
I decided to get back in to riding. I set a goal of 1000 miles this summer for three reasons.
1-The obvious health benefits of exercise.
2-I want to reignite my passion for cycling.
3-I think that being out there, pedaling, listening to the sound of my breath and the world, I would feel closer to Sophie and to God.
I know this blog has seemed scattered...it's late, the night before the last day of school for the year, and the end of a tough week for my family. I'm tired, but I'm here.
Until next time...
Monday, April 29, 2013
Proof of God through signs from above...
I used to teach at a high school that was literally three minutes from my house. I now have a 25-30 minute drive to school each way. I accepted a position as a STEM teacher in another district in our county.
I remember before walking in for my second interview, I prayed. I asked God, "If this is where I need to be, help me find the right words and showcase my talents." I was told that I was not a good fit for the position I applied for; instantly, I was crushed. The next statement blew my mind, though. "But, we have this position that we haven't really advertised yet." Lego robotics. Computer applications. STEM and robotic team plans. "Is that something that might be of interest to you?" I walked out, knowing I nailed the interview and gave thanks to God. One week later, Sophia was stillborn.
What should have been a summer filled with planning and learning new ways to teach was spent crying and in this foggy, warped reality. I believe the extra driving time is a gift from God. Now, I use that time to pray, talk (and sometimes yell) at Him, cry, and talk with my daughter. Had I still been teaching close to home, I would not have this coping time.
Today, like every other day of school, I prayed during my drive to work. I asked God to watch over our family and I prayed that He would lead me to be a better man and teacher today. And just like any other day, once I put my car in park, I pulled out my little Guardian Angel coin, rubbed it between my fingers, and talked to my little girl. I told her how much I loved and missed her, and asked her to shine down on me; to share God's love with me. I silently prayed for just a little sign that she was there with me and that she was ok and went about my morning.
Halfway through the day, I ran into an old college friend who was visiting promoting his educational software to our administration team. We talked for a few minutes and I showed him some pictures of our family. He took out his phone and showed me a picture of his family, a boy and a girl. Evan, I believe was his name, and his little girl Sophia.
My heart nearly jumped out of my chest and my eyes welled up...there was my sign.
Thanks, Sweetheart. Daddy loves you and misses you so much.
I remember before walking in for my second interview, I prayed. I asked God, "If this is where I need to be, help me find the right words and showcase my talents." I was told that I was not a good fit for the position I applied for; instantly, I was crushed. The next statement blew my mind, though. "But, we have this position that we haven't really advertised yet." Lego robotics. Computer applications. STEM and robotic team plans. "Is that something that might be of interest to you?" I walked out, knowing I nailed the interview and gave thanks to God. One week later, Sophia was stillborn.
What should have been a summer filled with planning and learning new ways to teach was spent crying and in this foggy, warped reality. I believe the extra driving time is a gift from God. Now, I use that time to pray, talk (and sometimes yell) at Him, cry, and talk with my daughter. Had I still been teaching close to home, I would not have this coping time.
Today, like every other day of school, I prayed during my drive to work. I asked God to watch over our family and I prayed that He would lead me to be a better man and teacher today. And just like any other day, once I put my car in park, I pulled out my little Guardian Angel coin, rubbed it between my fingers, and talked to my little girl. I told her how much I loved and missed her, and asked her to shine down on me; to share God's love with me. I silently prayed for just a little sign that she was there with me and that she was ok and went about my morning.
Halfway through the day, I ran into an old college friend who was visiting promoting his educational software to our administration team. We talked for a few minutes and I showed him some pictures of our family. He took out his phone and showed me a picture of his family, a boy and a girl. Evan, I believe was his name, and his little girl Sophia.
My heart nearly jumped out of my chest and my eyes welled up...there was my sign.
Thanks, Sweetheart. Daddy loves you and misses you so much.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
A few things I wish I knew...
I wonder what color your eyes would be.
I wonder about how many bibs we'd have to go through each day.
I wonder what your cries would sound like.
I wonder how it would make your mommy and me feel to see you sleeping with your sister.
I wonder when your heart stopped beating.
I wonder if there is something that could have been done differently.
I wonder why it was you.
I wonder about all the lives you have changed.
I wonder how I can honor your legacy.
I wonder how it will be that day when my class of sixth graders comes in and you would be their age.
I wonder why Izzie can see and play with you, but we can't.
I wonder if Charlie would steal your toys.
I wonder how much fun bath time would be for my two girls.
I wonder if Izzie would crawl around with you from room to room.
I wonder if you would have her mannerisms.
I wonder what your giggle would sound like.
I wonder if you would enjoy tickles and wrestling with Izzie and me.
I wonder what foods you would like.
I wonder what I am supposed to learn from all this.
I wonder how I can use your legacy to make the world a better place.
I wonder what you'd feel like sleeping on my chest.
I wonder if this hurt will ever lessen.
I wonder if I will ever be able to concentrate again.
I wonder when I will be able to believe how lucky you are to not have to experience hurt and pain.
I wonder when I will not want to trade everything I have for just a few more minutes holding you.
I wonder if we'll ever find out why you died.
I wonder if you hear me when I cry out for you.
I wonder what it will be like when I do get to hold you again.
I wonder if I would have the same relationship with God if you hadn't died.
I wonder how much fun Christmas would have been with you opening presents.
I wonder what your first day of school would be like.
I wonder how beautiful you would look on your wedding day.
I wonder about the day you would choose to become saved.
I wonder what you'd be like today...
I wonder about how many bibs we'd have to go through each day.
I wonder what your cries would sound like.
I wonder how it would make your mommy and me feel to see you sleeping with your sister.
I wonder when your heart stopped beating.
I wonder if there is something that could have been done differently.
I wonder why it was you.
I wonder about all the lives you have changed.
I wonder how I can honor your legacy.
I wonder how it will be that day when my class of sixth graders comes in and you would be their age.
I wonder why Izzie can see and play with you, but we can't.
I wonder if Charlie would steal your toys.
I wonder how much fun bath time would be for my two girls.
I wonder if Izzie would crawl around with you from room to room.
I wonder if you would have her mannerisms.
I wonder what your giggle would sound like.
I wonder if you would enjoy tickles and wrestling with Izzie and me.
I wonder what foods you would like.
I wonder what I am supposed to learn from all this.
I wonder how I can use your legacy to make the world a better place.
I wonder what you'd feel like sleeping on my chest.
I wonder if this hurt will ever lessen.
I wonder if I will ever be able to concentrate again.
I wonder when I will be able to believe how lucky you are to not have to experience hurt and pain.
I wonder when I will not want to trade everything I have for just a few more minutes holding you.
I wonder if we'll ever find out why you died.
I wonder if you hear me when I cry out for you.
I wonder what it will be like when I do get to hold you again.
I wonder if I would have the same relationship with God if you hadn't died.
I wonder how much fun Christmas would have been with you opening presents.
I wonder what your first day of school would be like.
I wonder how beautiful you would look on your wedding day.
I wonder about the day you would choose to become saved.
I wonder what you'd be like today...
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Another sign from my angel...
This morning I was missing Sophia quite a bit. I missed seeing signs, namely the white butterflies we'd seen every day since she passed away. I tweeted out a message:
I made it to school early today. Normally, I get there with about ten minutes to spare before the first bell, but this morning I had about thirty minutes to prepare for the day. I guess I had anticipate the roads would be slicker than they actually were.
After I looked over some notes, I had to go an put my lunch in the refrigerator. I walk around the corner to head to the teacher's lounge and see a fellow teacher walking with his one year old daughter. She is well known among the staff, so when we walked in to put his lunch away, she just walked around in the hall. I could hear her saying, "Dad? Where Daddy?" and she put her hands up in a quizzical manner. We met eyes and she asked me the same question. She reaches out and takes me by the hand so I can help her look for her dad. He walks out of the lounge and I say, "Here he is!", and all is right in her world. I walked in to the dark lounge to put my lunch in the fridge, close the door, and begin to cry. While Sophie wouldn't be walking (she'd be about eight months old as of today), she would be crawling around. I wonder if she would be babbling what I would say is "da-da". I wonder what our lives would be like, how Izzie would treat her younger sister, how much she would help us with feeding her and at bath time. I wonder what my days would be like coming home to two beautiful little girls and see them napping together. I stand there, by the counter trying to compose myself when I happen to catch a glance at a ziploc bag full of plastic spoons and knives to my right. There is a single napkin folded in half in there, and printed on that white napkin above the fold in yellow, is a butterfly with it's wings outstretched. Instantly, this overwhelming sense of peace and sorrow filled me all at the same time. She still wasn't going to be there when I got home, but she was there with me at that moment, to let me know "It's ok, Da-Da. I'm here now."
I made it to school early today. Normally, I get there with about ten minutes to spare before the first bell, but this morning I had about thirty minutes to prepare for the day. I guess I had anticipate the roads would be slicker than they actually were.
After I looked over some notes, I had to go an put my lunch in the refrigerator. I walk around the corner to head to the teacher's lounge and see a fellow teacher walking with his one year old daughter. She is well known among the staff, so when we walked in to put his lunch away, she just walked around in the hall. I could hear her saying, "Dad? Where Daddy?" and she put her hands up in a quizzical manner. We met eyes and she asked me the same question. She reaches out and takes me by the hand so I can help her look for her dad. He walks out of the lounge and I say, "Here he is!", and all is right in her world. I walked in to the dark lounge to put my lunch in the fridge, close the door, and begin to cry. While Sophie wouldn't be walking (she'd be about eight months old as of today), she would be crawling around. I wonder if she would be babbling what I would say is "da-da". I wonder what our lives would be like, how Izzie would treat her younger sister, how much she would help us with feeding her and at bath time. I wonder what my days would be like coming home to two beautiful little girls and see them napping together. I stand there, by the counter trying to compose myself when I happen to catch a glance at a ziploc bag full of plastic spoons and knives to my right. There is a single napkin folded in half in there, and printed on that white napkin above the fold in yellow, is a butterfly with it's wings outstretched. Instantly, this overwhelming sense of peace and sorrow filled me all at the same time. She still wasn't going to be there when I got home, but she was there with me at that moment, to let me know "It's ok, Da-Da. I'm here now."
I miss you sweetheart, and I love you too...
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Signs from above
The other day, I went up to the cemetery to take down Sophie's Christmas tree and spend some time with her. I'd been having a really tough time with the holidays and with school, and the issues kept piling up faster than I could process them.
Afterwards, I came home and took down our Christmas lights. We'd recently had a nice stretch of unseasonably warm weather, so as I took the lights down. I had a chance to take my time and really spend some time talking with God and with Sophie. Soon, I felt calmer and less anxious, and I attributed it to getting some fresh air. I went back in the house, my wife was getting our daughter down for a nap, which meant I could plop down on the couch and relax for a bit. I turned on a random tv show and start vegging out when all of a sudden I notice a sign in the background of the show. Instantly, my heart was warmed and I felt Sophia all around me. I closed my eyes, thanked her, prayed for understanding and peace, and called my wife into the room to see it.
Afterwards, I came home and took down our Christmas lights. We'd recently had a nice stretch of unseasonably warm weather, so as I took the lights down. I had a chance to take my time and really spend some time talking with God and with Sophie. Soon, I felt calmer and less anxious, and I attributed it to getting some fresh air. I went back in the house, my wife was getting our daughter down for a nap, which meant I could plop down on the couch and relax for a bit. I turned on a random tv show and start vegging out when all of a sudden I notice a sign in the background of the show. Instantly, my heart was warmed and I felt Sophia all around me. I closed my eyes, thanked her, prayed for understanding and peace, and called my wife into the room to see it.
Thanks, sweetheart. Daddy loves you.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
My Timeline, part 1
The following is my account of what happened when Sophia was born.
Monday, May 21st - I had my second interview at LaBrae Schools with the superintendent. At this point, I was finishing my fifth year at Liberty High School (both in Trumbull County). I originally interviewed for a science position, but the superintendent had a technology position not yet posted that he thought I might be a good fit for.
Wednesday, May 23rd - I received a phone call and was officially offered the position of Technology Teacher at LaBrae. I was beyond elated. I was about to begin a new adventure in my field, my wife was 9 months pregnant with our second child. For both of our children, we declined to find out the sex and looked forward to the surprise. Our first daughter was born in September of 2010, and we were both really anxious to see if our prediction of a boy was correct or not.
Friday, May 25th - I called the superintendent at LaBrae back and accepted the position. This was also my last day of school (I had taken the last week of school off). My wife went to the doctor this day, everything looked normal, she heard the heartbeat, and we officially had a date: May 29th. My wife had had a Cesarean with our first daughter, and at the suggestion of her OB, she should have another to alleviate any risks of bleeding.
Saturday, May 26th - My wife, daughter, and I celebrate her 27th birthday with a cookout and some time with her family.
Monday, May 28th - Memorial Day. This was going to be Sophia's due date, but because of the holiday, we'd have to wait one more day to see our little baby. We both could hardly sleep. I remember lying in bed and placing my hand on my wife's stomach and being so excited to hold my baby.
Tuesday, May 29th
4:30 AM - We both wake up, shower and prepare to leave for the hospital. Her mom and dad came spent the night before at our house to watch our daughter and bring her up later in the day.
5:30 AM - Both showered, we stand in our living room taking pictures. We grab Charlie (our dog) and stand in the same positions, wearing the same clothes that morning we wore two years prior.
6:15 AM - We arrive at the hospital (slightly late) and proceed to the seventh floor to the Mom/Baby Unit.
6:25 AM - They are quite busy this morning. So much so, we didn't have a room to get prepped in, so they have us in the recovery area of the Labor and Delivery wing. We wait patiently for our nurse to come and get us checked in and hooked up to the monitor.
7:45 AM - The nurses finally start asking the check-in questions and prepping us for the surgery. They eventually hook her up with the waistband fetal monitor. The nurse seems to be having a bit of trouble finding the baby's heat beat. She is new to the floor, so we don't think much of it. After five or six minutes of this, the more seasoned nurse came over to try. After two attempts, we thought she had it. She said, "I'll be right back," and returned with a handheld Doppler to try and find the heartbeat that way. When that didn't work, she left again to get the doctor. At this point, I had that hot, heavy feeling in my arms and flutters in my stomach. I looked down at my wife, trying to stay calm as she looked up at me quite scared. The doctor comes back in with an ultrasound machine. He puts the gel on her belly and looks for the baby. He scans over the head and goes down further. I see the neck and shoulders, and her gets to the chest and my hands went cold and my wife started crying. There is no blip of light, no movement on the screen, no noise. What happened next I'm sure only took seconds, but it felt like hours. He slowly turned his head over his left shoulder and speaks with a flat tone, a pale shock on his face as he delivers the news that no expectant parent ever has nightmares of hearing, "I can't find a heart beat." My wife cries, "No. No. Please save my baby." We both burst in to tears as everyone starts moving. I can't go in to the room with her, they have to perform an emergency c-section. I grab my wife's hand and tell her, "Everything is going to be just fine. I love you. We're gonna be ok. I love you." They rush her back to the surgery room and all of a sudden I am alone. There is no one in the room, I am there by myself, and all of a sudden, I need someone. I walk down the hall, lost in a hospital I know quite well. I walk out of the doors and find no one. I walk over to the elevators and look into the waiting room and meet eyes with my mom. I instantly burst into tears and look away. She runs out of the room and asks what's wrong...I blurt out "They can't find a heart beat," and sink to the floor. She gets on the phone and calls my dad. I hear her say to him, "You need to get down here. They can't find a heart beat." After I don't know how long, my dad gets there and wraps me up in his arms as I cry again. Never in my life have I been more scared. My wife's parents show up with Izzie and see me crying as soon as they get off the elevator and know something isn't right. A nurse comes out, looking for me, and tells me I need to stay back there for when the doctors come out. I bring my dad with me.
Around 8:20 - At this point, I have no recollection of the time, so I might be a bit off. I walk back to where we were in the morning with my dad. A doctor I'd never seen before, a blond woman, pulls me in to the hall and closes the door and explains what is going to on. The first thing she says is, "Does your daughter have a name?" I burst into tears and fell to the ground. We had a little girl! Isabella has a baby sister! I stammer out, "Sophia" "Sophia didn't have a heartbeat when we pulled her out of your wife. We are working on her right now, doing everything we can. We are massaging her heart, pushing medicine through her tummy. We're doing everything we can." She asked me some other questions and explained more things to me, but I cannot recall much of what she was saying. She leaves to go back to tend to my wife and new daughter and my dad and I go back to the recovery room. I grabbed the chair and threw myself into it. I had to physically hold my head up with both of my hands. "Dad, what am I going to do? How are we going to survive this? Why did this happen? What can I do?" I ramble off questions, knowing he can't answer, but it seems the only way to cope with all this fear I have inside me. My dad says to me: "You pray. The only thing you can do right now is pray and trust Him." That coming from my dad was a bit of a shock, as he's not much of a religious guy.
8:25ish (again, I have no idea of the time) - I shot up as the blond doctor comes back in, this time with the nurses who were checking us in. The younger one is weeping. I knew what they were going to say before they said it...They could not get her heart to beat. I collapsed in the chair and lost it. I remember asking if they used the paddles, but I don't remember what they said. At that moment, my wife and I became grieving parents. Our child had died before us. The doctor asked me what I wanted to do about telling everyone in the waiting room. She said she would go with me, and she would talk to everyone if I couldn't. My dad, the doctor, and I all walk out to see all of the nervous and scared faces of our family and friends who were waiting for an update. The doctor asks everyone to come with us as we walk in to an empty conference room at the end of the hall. Everyone gathers in and is seemingly holding their breath, staring at me. I am crying, they start crying. I start to speak, but they words can't come. Finally, "We had a little girl, but her heart..." I couldn't finish. The doctor takes over and explains as I stare at the floor. I hear their cries louder now. My wife's grandfather speaks up, "I don't understand. How can everything be fine three days ago and now your telling us this?" Her grabs his handkerchief and storms out of the room, not mad at the doctors, but devastated like the rest of us.
8:35 - I go back to the recovery room with my dad and mother-in-law. My wife is out of surgery and waking up. I am afraid to go and see her. I know that when I do, this will be a reality for the both of us...that our daughter was stillborn and she will not be coming home with us. A million thoughts raced through my mind as I walked down the hall, all dissolved when I turned the corner and saw the look on my wife's face and heard her crying like I never have before. They bring our daughter to us, and she is beautiful. She weighs 8 lbs 11 oz and is 21 inches long. Sophia Marie was born at 8:01 and the doctors stopped trying to revive her at 8:20. She looks exactly like her sister. We hold her and each other and cry. Then, the nurse starts taking pictures. I wanted to jump up and slam the camera into the ground. She asked me to turn toward her (I'm assuming so she can get a better shot), and it took everything I had in me not to scream at her. In hindsight, I am ever so grateful for those pictures and wish I could have gotten more. The nurses remove her swaddling blanket to show us how beautiful she is. Her skin is cold and has a purplish hue. Aside from her color, she looks just like any other little baby. She is our daughter, born sleeping, and changed our lives without taking a single breath.
Monday, May 21st - I had my second interview at LaBrae Schools with the superintendent. At this point, I was finishing my fifth year at Liberty High School (both in Trumbull County). I originally interviewed for a science position, but the superintendent had a technology position not yet posted that he thought I might be a good fit for.
Wednesday, May 23rd - I received a phone call and was officially offered the position of Technology Teacher at LaBrae. I was beyond elated. I was about to begin a new adventure in my field, my wife was 9 months pregnant with our second child. For both of our children, we declined to find out the sex and looked forward to the surprise. Our first daughter was born in September of 2010, and we were both really anxious to see if our prediction of a boy was correct or not.
Friday, May 25th - I called the superintendent at LaBrae back and accepted the position. This was also my last day of school (I had taken the last week of school off). My wife went to the doctor this day, everything looked normal, she heard the heartbeat, and we officially had a date: May 29th. My wife had had a Cesarean with our first daughter, and at the suggestion of her OB, she should have another to alleviate any risks of bleeding.
Saturday, May 26th - My wife, daughter, and I celebrate her 27th birthday with a cookout and some time with her family.
Monday, May 28th - Memorial Day. This was going to be Sophia's due date, but because of the holiday, we'd have to wait one more day to see our little baby. We both could hardly sleep. I remember lying in bed and placing my hand on my wife's stomach and being so excited to hold my baby.
Tuesday, May 29th
4:30 AM - We both wake up, shower and prepare to leave for the hospital. Her mom and dad came spent the night before at our house to watch our daughter and bring her up later in the day.
5:30 AM - Both showered, we stand in our living room taking pictures. We grab Charlie (our dog) and stand in the same positions, wearing the same clothes that morning we wore two years prior.
6:15 AM - We arrive at the hospital (slightly late) and proceed to the seventh floor to the Mom/Baby Unit.
6:25 AM - They are quite busy this morning. So much so, we didn't have a room to get prepped in, so they have us in the recovery area of the Labor and Delivery wing. We wait patiently for our nurse to come and get us checked in and hooked up to the monitor.
7:45 AM - The nurses finally start asking the check-in questions and prepping us for the surgery. They eventually hook her up with the waistband fetal monitor. The nurse seems to be having a bit of trouble finding the baby's heat beat. She is new to the floor, so we don't think much of it. After five or six minutes of this, the more seasoned nurse came over to try. After two attempts, we thought she had it. She said, "I'll be right back," and returned with a handheld Doppler to try and find the heartbeat that way. When that didn't work, she left again to get the doctor. At this point, I had that hot, heavy feeling in my arms and flutters in my stomach. I looked down at my wife, trying to stay calm as she looked up at me quite scared. The doctor comes back in with an ultrasound machine. He puts the gel on her belly and looks for the baby. He scans over the head and goes down further. I see the neck and shoulders, and her gets to the chest and my hands went cold and my wife started crying. There is no blip of light, no movement on the screen, no noise. What happened next I'm sure only took seconds, but it felt like hours. He slowly turned his head over his left shoulder and speaks with a flat tone, a pale shock on his face as he delivers the news that no expectant parent ever has nightmares of hearing, "I can't find a heart beat." My wife cries, "No. No. Please save my baby." We both burst in to tears as everyone starts moving. I can't go in to the room with her, they have to perform an emergency c-section. I grab my wife's hand and tell her, "Everything is going to be just fine. I love you. We're gonna be ok. I love you." They rush her back to the surgery room and all of a sudden I am alone. There is no one in the room, I am there by myself, and all of a sudden, I need someone. I walk down the hall, lost in a hospital I know quite well. I walk out of the doors and find no one. I walk over to the elevators and look into the waiting room and meet eyes with my mom. I instantly burst into tears and look away. She runs out of the room and asks what's wrong...I blurt out "They can't find a heart beat," and sink to the floor. She gets on the phone and calls my dad. I hear her say to him, "You need to get down here. They can't find a heart beat." After I don't know how long, my dad gets there and wraps me up in his arms as I cry again. Never in my life have I been more scared. My wife's parents show up with Izzie and see me crying as soon as they get off the elevator and know something isn't right. A nurse comes out, looking for me, and tells me I need to stay back there for when the doctors come out. I bring my dad with me.
Around 8:20 - At this point, I have no recollection of the time, so I might be a bit off. I walk back to where we were in the morning with my dad. A doctor I'd never seen before, a blond woman, pulls me in to the hall and closes the door and explains what is going to on. The first thing she says is, "Does your daughter have a name?" I burst into tears and fell to the ground. We had a little girl! Isabella has a baby sister! I stammer out, "Sophia" "Sophia didn't have a heartbeat when we pulled her out of your wife. We are working on her right now, doing everything we can. We are massaging her heart, pushing medicine through her tummy. We're doing everything we can." She asked me some other questions and explained more things to me, but I cannot recall much of what she was saying. She leaves to go back to tend to my wife and new daughter and my dad and I go back to the recovery room. I grabbed the chair and threw myself into it. I had to physically hold my head up with both of my hands. "Dad, what am I going to do? How are we going to survive this? Why did this happen? What can I do?" I ramble off questions, knowing he can't answer, but it seems the only way to cope with all this fear I have inside me. My dad says to me: "You pray. The only thing you can do right now is pray and trust Him." That coming from my dad was a bit of a shock, as he's not much of a religious guy.
8:25ish (again, I have no idea of the time) - I shot up as the blond doctor comes back in, this time with the nurses who were checking us in. The younger one is weeping. I knew what they were going to say before they said it...They could not get her heart to beat. I collapsed in the chair and lost it. I remember asking if they used the paddles, but I don't remember what they said. At that moment, my wife and I became grieving parents. Our child had died before us. The doctor asked me what I wanted to do about telling everyone in the waiting room. She said she would go with me, and she would talk to everyone if I couldn't. My dad, the doctor, and I all walk out to see all of the nervous and scared faces of our family and friends who were waiting for an update. The doctor asks everyone to come with us as we walk in to an empty conference room at the end of the hall. Everyone gathers in and is seemingly holding their breath, staring at me. I am crying, they start crying. I start to speak, but they words can't come. Finally, "We had a little girl, but her heart..." I couldn't finish. The doctor takes over and explains as I stare at the floor. I hear their cries louder now. My wife's grandfather speaks up, "I don't understand. How can everything be fine three days ago and now your telling us this?" Her grabs his handkerchief and storms out of the room, not mad at the doctors, but devastated like the rest of us.
8:35 - I go back to the recovery room with my dad and mother-in-law. My wife is out of surgery and waking up. I am afraid to go and see her. I know that when I do, this will be a reality for the both of us...that our daughter was stillborn and she will not be coming home with us. A million thoughts raced through my mind as I walked down the hall, all dissolved when I turned the corner and saw the look on my wife's face and heard her crying like I never have before. They bring our daughter to us, and she is beautiful. She weighs 8 lbs 11 oz and is 21 inches long. Sophia Marie was born at 8:01 and the doctors stopped trying to revive her at 8:20. She looks exactly like her sister. We hold her and each other and cry. Then, the nurse starts taking pictures. I wanted to jump up and slam the camera into the ground. She asked me to turn toward her (I'm assuming so she can get a better shot), and it took everything I had in me not to scream at her. In hindsight, I am ever so grateful for those pictures and wish I could have gotten more. The nurses remove her swaddling blanket to show us how beautiful she is. Her skin is cold and has a purplish hue. Aside from her color, she looks just like any other little baby. She is our daughter, born sleeping, and changed our lives without taking a single breath.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Where to begin...
It's been over seven months and I still don't really know how to begin writing this blog.
I could break down a chronological timeline of the events leading up to the day Sophia was born without a heartbeat. I started to, in fact, but I just can't seem to shake this feeling of getting out what I have inside me. At some point, I will share those events; but for now, let me get this out.
I feel like I am walking around completely submerged in water. I can see only what's right in front of me, but even then, it is blurry. I can hear things, people talking, asking me things, but it's cloudy and muffled. Everyone around me is unaffected, but I am moving in slow motion. Everything around me is a blur. I can't breathe...
My hope here is to connect with other grieving fathers. There isn't a lot of support or materials out there for us. Or maybe there is, I don't know. I can't focus; can't research or plan; I can't think straight. I am not the same person I was on May 28th and I don't know if I will ever get any of that back. I have days where I feel like a hollowed out shell of a man...I walk through the halls of my school, feeling like I am not even there. I stand to deliver a lesson to my students, and I draw a blank. Our first daughter, Isabella, gives me strength. She now greats me with a running hug when I come home. But where you see one, there should be two. I kiss my wife, I feel and see the change in her. We are grieving parents. We lost our daughter. She was still, and we don't know why.
Until next time...
-Joe
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