Keaton

Unless you and I are intimately close, you may not know that, in that 6 year space between Kensley and Caden, another little boy carved his way into my heart. Sharing him with everyone really isn't comfortable in casual conversation, and bringing it up later really isn't, either. Because I am hypersensitive to another being inhabiting my body, I knew even before the stick revealed its heart (no plus sign test for me..I found one with a heart!) that there was yet another soul dancing under mine. After months of 'trying' (which is fun ;) ) we were at 'Mission Accomplished' status. I was having a baby with the love of my life, and couldn't wait to share him with my two little loves, Alex and Kensley.

The pregnancy was bumpy from the start ~ bleeding, cramping, horrible nausea and exhaustion. Chalking it up to being in my 30s, rather than 20s, like my first two, I still never imagined what was to come. After a day or two of nonspecific sickness and dread that I couldn't put my finger on, I went to a routine OB visit, which already had an ultrasound scheduled.

On the table, with the cold gel on my belly, the lab tech ran the transducer over my abdomen. Being almost 19 weeks pregnant, maybe she could tell me the sex of the baby. For some unknown and odd reason, they like you to come back alone first, then they bring your husband/partner/family back with you. Alone, on the table, waiting to hear 'boy or girl', the tech called another person from the office back, and they looked at each other, nodding. They had still not let me see the screen, so I twisted myself to get a look. It was terrible~no bleeping heart; in fact, no movement at all. The words that followed echo to this day in the empty part of my heart: "I'm so sorry. Your baby did not survive the pregnancy".

Peering at the screen, hoping to see something different, I saw my poor, sweet baby, curled at the bottom of my uterus, unmoving. The tech said she would go get my family. NO! The pain was excruciating; I didn't want to share it. To Jon, and 4 year old Kensley, the baby was still alive, still growing. The hope and promise of it was still in their hearts, where the stabbing pain now inhabited mine. Although I refused, thinking I would just sit on that table forever and never allow them to know, someone watched Kensley while Jon joined me. His face was so pale; he didn't know what was wrong yet, and I found it impossible to speak the words. "What's wrong with our baby?", he asked. I have a huge blank after this; someone must have told him. I remember pieces of time as snapshots in an album. Kensley asked "Will we ever stop crying, because it's too sad to ever stop?". Alex drew me pictures of Pokemon that had word bubbles saying "cheer up, mom".

Since my body was still clinging to this lifeless little body, an induction was scheduled. The medicine made me so sick, I felt like the worst flu ever had invaded. Vomiting, diarrhea and the worst cramping and aching, along with a heart that had shattered were my new reality for the next few hours. Finally, in the early hours of the next morning, my body finally released. I'd refused pain medicine, wanting to be awake to at least hold him, and being afraid of it making me sleep. Jon somehow convinced them to give me something anyway. It took that drug, I beleive, to make my body relax enough to give the baby up. Physically, I didn't know he'd died. It wasn't time for him to come, and my body was holding tight to him.

The tiny, perfect boy was the most precious person I'd ever had the privilege of holding. His eyes were still fused shut, so he looked just like he was sleeping. His translucent skin was hairy everywhere. I remember being amazed at his fingernails; they were barbie-doll sized. The tiniest little body, this boy was perfect and complete. Weighing in at only 12 ounces, and measuring a mere 8 inches long, he looked like the baby dolls I'd played with so long ago. I was actually enjoying looking at him, holding him, being his mama.

Then, I realized that he wouldn't be with me, that he was dead, and, the part of him that would have made his eyes sparkle, his voice laugh was already gone. The grief from that moment on was too much to bear. I held him, told him how much I loved him, and how sorry I was that he couldn't stay. After a while, my body was exhausted, and fell into a fitful rest, with baby Keaton Nicholas (My favorite name and Jon's favorite name on the 'boy' list we'd made) 'resting' in a little wooden box on the stand. When I woke after a few hours, I asked Jon to give him to me. After peering into his little bed, Jon shook his head, and, with more courage than any man I'd even seen, covered him with a tiny blanket, and put the lid onto it. Keaton's body had not fared well apart from mine, and Jon wanted to protect me from what was inside.

A few hours later, as I was wheeled out of the labor and delivery floor, it seemed all I heard was crying babies and, even louder, fetal heart tones. Tears streamed down my cheeks for my little boy in his wooden box, whose heart was still. We brought him to my parent's farm, and buried him, not far from my Grandad Bart. I had brought roses from the grocery store, and a balloon stating "It's a Boy". Jon had tucked a tiny stuffed Snoopy in with him. My dad dug his grandson a resting place, put him inside, and covered him. It's all so precious to me, so horrifyingly precious, these snapshots of memories that come through the fog.

Now, as I type these words, tears stream. and I'm swallowing sobs. I miss that baby boy.