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I chose to be brave. I chose to fight their words. I was told that he would die in two days. I denied this truth that simply put, was not in my heart.
And so he lived on. He flourished, his body began to grow, much to the amazement of everyone, everyone except myself. I knew that he could survive. I felt his heart, knew his dreams, the rythm of his life.
The time went by, rather slowly. I took pride in the preparation of his arrival. I lovingly folded his clothing, arranged his toys...anything that I could to ready the surroundings for his joyful presence.
Eventually I relaxed, becoming a bit complacent in the journey...He grew, I longed to hold him in my arms. Yet time is time, and you have to wait...it is a necessity that is incredibly difficult.
One afternoon I felt him dance to the music playing in the auto...I smiled, placed my hands protectively around my waist, loving him so much...Unconditional love beyond words spoken.
I wanted to tell him this so badly, look into his eyes as I did so...
Later, on the way home, he didn't dance to the music. I thought that it was odd, because I knew how much he enjoyed hearing the cadence...I pushed any thoughts of danger out of my mind, even when my back began to ache, I dismissed, I supressed the knowledge that something was very, very wrong.
That night I felt someone securely hold my hand. It felt like my Grandmothers', I woke thinking to let go, it was that strong of a contact... I left the bed for a moment. Just a brief moment I stood before I felt death wash over me. I knew it was over before the blood came, before the waters...Time went slowly for me as I must've yelled for help, for God, for anyone who could change this, for anything, who would simply turn the clock back and change this outcome.
But no one came to my rescue, to his rescue. Dakotah came too soon. His tiny body lye there in my hands, his eyes looking directly into mine, clouded with death.
I begged for the doctors to save him, to spare his life, but he was gone. I held onto his body so tightly that his skull bruised, but I refused to yield. I cannot recall all of the details, mainly because I had begun to bleed to death, a welcome death. I could not even begin to imagine life without him, or his death- my son facing his death alone. It was inconcievable to let go of Dakotah, it would be a lifelong failure to see him face the unknown alone. Unfortunately my religious beliefs didn't cross my mind that night...Honestly I just wanted to follow him into the shadows, felt it was my duty.
The nurses, and Doctor realized that I was fading, I fought them the best I could so that I could die with Dakotah. But the blood loss was severe enough that my strength was floundering.
I woke holding my son in a blanket. I held his hands, memorized all that was him so that I would never forget every single thing, every nuance about him. The priest came in and refused to touch his hands because my son was dead. I remember swearing and thinking, although I am not Catholic, this will probably buy me a ticket to Hell, but not particularily caring. This was my son, and dead or alive, he deserved to be blessed by God. The priest went on to reluctantly offer his blessing, perhaps it was the time of night that was offputting to him, I will never know.
The time came to leave the hospital, and my son would be placed into the morgue.
What can I tell you? I couldn't leave him behind. Not in a refrigerator. But the children at home needed me, and I needed to rest, revover from the loss.
I stood in that parking lot, much to weak to protest, yet I couldn't budge. What kind of a mother was I to leave him in there? Alone? who would see to his journey? People who didn't love him, had no personal interest in seeing him off as the beloved son that he would remain for the rest of my years?
I did return home, heartbroken, shattered in a million pieces, scattered in blood droplets sprawled across the floor...
They transfered his tiny body to the funeral home, and I walked up the hill to wait in their reception area. There I sat, after having provided family photos, Dakotahs teddy bear and a letter of declaration of all of our love to him.
They incinerated all of the items, along with his fragile body in the creamation oven. It was probably the longest 30 minutes of my life. When it was over I left. The urn was to be delivered to the church during the funeral.
I chose a silver heart enclosure as the temperary resting place for his remains.
I waited for the funeral with the greatest of despair. The finality of the service would be an incredible obsticle for me, how could I ever concieve in saying a final goodbye?
How do you tell the the one you loved so dearly goodbye? How do you not carry the weight of guilt for surviving? How is it that I could not provide my son with a body strong enough to birth him alive?
I believe that I wept to the depths of my soul those first few days...subsequent months... Until years later whent he tears would come upon hearing his name, the season, then finally the day of..the 19th.
10 Years later...
I decided that the time had come to scatter his ashes...I pried open the silver heart, frightened at what I would find...
His ashes, some bones and his toe tag. I recall the feeling of his ashes, the remainder of his body and all that he was (physically) sifting through my hands...I placed the remains into a nearby body of water that connected to the cemetery (by river) where his headstone will be placed, eventually.
I've refused to purchase his headstone until it is affordable for me to buy one alongside of his. I cannot leave him alone, even in his final resting place. Such as it is for a mother and her children.
I never regretted all that I went through. The experience taught me compassion, brought my heart to the brink and back again...I learned the depth of my love for all of my children...all of whom are wonderful and helped me recovery fully.
This week comes the 11th year. I will go to the water and lay flowers down, speak the words that I do every year...my devout love, my gratitude for his being in my life and that he will never be forgotten. The 19th of Febuary will come and go, but I tell you this in truth; Dakotah lives forever on in my heart and I am better for this journey. I'm lucky. Is it sad? Yes, it was a dream lost. But there came other dreams, other children. I'd like to think that he glances down from heaven from time to time, at all of his brothers and sisters with happiness. We all remember, and that is our blessing. He is a beautiful reminder of that we can overcome adversity and learn from extreme hurt, pain and suffering.
May you all have a wonderful week , live each day as it comes, and most of all love yourself enough to let go of those who would see you suffer. To hate is to confirm your insecurities, to reveal your weakness. So love! be sweet!
From my hand to yours,
Sawyer
Saint Andrews
