Surviving the Loss of a Child

Zachary Mitchell was born on June 16, 1996. I was in labor with him for twenty four hours, making very little progress, and he decided to enter the world just as my doctor was talking about a possible c-section. In the room with me were my mother, Phyllis, and my best friend, Andrea. Andrea had been the dad during my pregnancy, coming to doctor appointments and prenatal classes with me. She was out of town the morning I went into labor, four hours away. One to never let me down, she left early to come to my side.

Zachary was born with a cleft lip and cleft palate. I didn't really understand what it was, but I knew parenting him was going to be a little bit harder from the beginning. The hospital was not equipped to eat children with clefts and it was Sunday - the medical supply store was closed. For the first twenty four hours of his life, he was fed with a medicine dropper.

After a four day stay in the hospital, Zachary and I went home. I loved being a mother. Zachary was such a good baby. The first night he cried, but once he became familiar with his home, we settled into our life of us doting on one another. Holding him in my arms was the safest and secure feeling in the world.

Zachary had his first routine plastic surgery at the Children's Hospital in Minneapolis. The first surgery repaired the cleft to his lip - bringing his nostril to his nose and attaching the lip together. I was scared. It was my baby in surgery. He went through surgery like the champ that he was. He had my strong-will. They said he would never use a regular bottle - and he did. They said he wouldn't gain weight - and he did.

Zachary had an obtainer that he would wear after his surgery. Basically, it was a baby denture without the teeth. The purpose of this was to seal up his cleft palate until he had the surgery, a few months away. His obtainer needed to be re-sized, however, so it wasn't placed in his mouth. We would have to go to his orthodontist the next day.
We normally saw his orthodontist in Turtle Lake, WI. However, she was in her Stillwater, MN office that day at it was crucial that we had his obtainer resized and placed in his mouth as soon as possible. His surgery was Thursday, and it was now Friday. Since we said we would drive the two hours to her Stillwater office, she managed to find room for Zachary.

The drive to Stillwater was serene. We passed many miles of farmland and forest. In some places, the leaves were already starting to change color. My mother came with me, keeping me company for the ride. We chatted about different things, about Zachary, about his surgery, about me going to school again. Five minutes before we arrived in Stillwater, I looked back at Zachary through my rearview mirror. He smiled at me. It was his first smile since his surgery. That moment is a Kodak picture in my mind.

We arrived at the orthodontist office and I went to get Zachary out of the car. His orthodontist office was in a pediatrics complex filled with various pediatric specialists. I opened the door and unbuckled his car seat. I went to lift him out and I knew he wasn't just sleeping, I knew there was something wrong.

"There's something wrong with him, Mom!" I said frantically.

"Don't be silly. You are just paranoid."

"No mom, no!"

I grabbed him in my arms and ran into his orthodontist office and screamed that something was wrong with my baby. Immediately we were ushered to the pediatrician's office, where they took him from my arms in the waiting room. There was a little boy, about three, there with his mother. He had blond hair, a bowl cut. "Your angel baby will be ok" he said to me, hugging my leg.

We were ushered into our orthodontist's private office. There I made phone calls to my sister, letting her know what was going on. Two police men came and spoke with me. I was scared. It was around the time that so many young girls were killing their babies by throwing them in dumpsters. I was worried they thought that I had done this. The police then drove my mother and me to the hospital in Stillwater. They had taken Zachary there by ambulance. One was kind enough to drive our car there. We paced, sat, paced, sat - waiting for any news on Zachary. At 1:58 pm on August 30, 1996, I was told my son had died.

I was ushered back to a hospital room where a baptism ceremony was performed. I rocked in a rocking chair with Zachary in my arms. He had a tube in his mouth that could not be removed because an autopsy would need to be performed and the medical examiner would need to know that the medical staff did all that they could possibly do for him.

My older brother and a family friend drove down to bring us and our vehicle home. Neither one of us were in any shape to drive. We waited at the hospital for him for three hours. During that time, when I was not holding onto my son, I called all of those who would immediately need to know of his death. I called Andrea at 4:00 at the small grocer she worked at. She knew something was wrong before she came to the phone. I called my sister. I called Zachary's father.

After arrive back to our home, my brother went into the house and moved all of Zachary's things from the living room and bedroom into the basement. Everything he could, anyway. While he was doing this, Andrea, my mother, and my sister took me to the medical center to get Valium.

News travels fast in a small town. Stillwater hospital called our pediatrician, who was the best doctor I have ever known, and told him the news. I later found out from a maternity nurse that my doctor cancelled three appointments, sat in his office and wept, and went over every medical record on Zachary to make sure he didn't' miss anything. News quickly spread around the hospital, and from the hospital it quickly spread to people I had gone to high school with. Some of the people closest to me found out about my son's death at the bar during pool league, over dinner at the local family restaurant, and at the grocery store.

My brother stayed at our house until my father came home. He was at the state horse pull. My uncle is a hall of fame horse puller and my father often accompanied him. My brother first broke the news to my father at 1:00 a.m. It was one of the few times that I saw my dad cry. And it was one of the few times that my dad told me he loved me.

The next day, I turned 20. I needed to get out of the house. I went to the grocery store and someone who was close friends with Andrea's family saw me, asked how things were, and asked how Zachary was doing. She hadn't heard. I broke down, crying, telling her what happened. I purchased three Winnie-the-Pooh toys for Zachary there, to be placed in his casket and buried with him. To this day, I have a special love for Winnie-the-Pooh.

I returned home and my morning was filled with calling friends and family and telling them of Zachary's death. That afternoon, I planned my son's funeral. In the funeral program/visitation card was a poem I had written for Zachary when I was nine months pregnant. Andrea was with me, holding my hand every step of the way.

Later that evening, the medical examiner called and told me that the cause of Zachary's death was ruled Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.
Labor Day came early that year, and because of that, Zachary's visitation and funeral were postponed a few days. On Tuesday night, we had Zachary's visitation. The funeral home did not charge us for their services because Zachary was a baby. My brother, Bob, came home from a job in Colorado to be with us. He purchased a special casket for Zachary, one that resembles an adult casket rather than a platform bed that is often used for infants. I took valium the night of the wake. Some of it is fuzzy.

When we first arrived, I wanted to see Zachary. The funeral director warned us that since it had been some time since I had seen him; perhaps I shouldn't go in there alone - even though those were my wishes. I walked in the room and I started to weep. I wept for his loss, I wept for the loss of all of my dreams for him, and I wept for the loss of his touch. I wanted nothing more than to just hold him one more time, feed him one more time, bathe him one more time, and care for him one more time.

He was dressed in jeans, a plaid flannel shirt, and a denim vest. In his vest pocket I placed a letter from him to me and the poem that I wrote for him. He was buried with Winnie-the-Pooh toys, his favorite blanket, and photos of him and me and all the other people that loved him.

His funeral was held on Wednesday. I did not take any valium that day because I wanted to remember it - remember him. We gathered at the church. Finale was in the air. The family walked up, with Andrea and her parents by my side. "The Rose" by Bette Midler was performed. The pastor gave the service. I gave the eulogy. A few weeks after the funeral, one of my friends told me that all that could be heard through the service was me crying. I was touched by how many people attended Zachary's funeral and by how many people his life touched.

He was laid to rest at the cemetery. When my parents die, one will be laid to rest on each side of him. When I die, half of my ashes will be placed on his grave, half with my husband. His headstone reads Zachary Mitchell, Son of Amanda, and June 16, 1996 - August 30, 1996. On it is an image of Winnie-the-Pooh being carried into the sky holding a balloon.

After Zachary's death, I went through many cycles of emotion. At the beginning, I was depressed. I felt guilt. Anger. Hurt. Sometimes it would hurt so bad that I wanted to die. I left school. Zachary's death had a domino affect on parts of my life. I was depressed, which led to leaving school, which led to cutting everyone out of my life, which led to thoughts of suicide, which led to more hurting, which led to attaching myself to my ex-husband just to have someone to love, which led to marriage, which led to divorce, which led to being raped, which led to getting pregnant with my daughter, which led to meeting Jason, which led to finding love again, which led to being a parent again, which led to having Demon, which led to being a family, which led to going back to school, which led to having Captain, which led to getting married, which led to where we are now.

I am not blaming or crediting Zachary's death to anything, but illustrating how everything in life intersects and is woven together in a dance of circumstance and choice.

Zachary would be nine this year. Wow. Nine. I wonder what he would be like. Would he like baseball? Science? Would he be kind and generous? I would be lying to you if I said I have ever fully recovered from his death and would be lying even more if I said that I have never wondered what if.

However, I have acceptance in my heart.

Zachary was born with a cleft lip and a cleft palate. He would have undergone twelve surgeries by the time he was 2. He was spared the pain of each of these procedures. Zachary never knew hate. He never knew what it felt like to be discriminated against because someone looked different, lived different, came from different backgrounds, or had a different financial status. He never knew what it meant to be emotionally hurt. His heart was never broken. He was never betrayed. He never knew what it felt like to feel lost or inadequate. He never knew what it felt like to feel and be different. He didn't know the dark things in this world.

He did know love. Zachary received more love in the ten weeks of his life than some kids get a whole life through. He knew kindness. He knew happiness. He knew care, comfort, security. He knew laughter. He knew smiles. He knew only the good that exists in the world. To have a life full of these things is fortunate and for most of us, something we will never truly experience - particularly as life gets more complex and complicated as we grow. To have a life full of love and happiness, calm and goodness - - that is an incredible thing.