September 5th

The morning of September 5th five years ago I hung up the phone from talking to my cousin and checked on my six week old son taking his morning nap.

*my heart is racing as i begin to type this out*

I am one of those paranoid mothers who has to check if their kids are breathing frequently. He was so still lying almost face down on the guest room bed made of white bedding and wearing his white onesie.

*yes, he was on his stomach-he had reflux-doc recommended it*

I immediately panicked! I scooped him up and shook him. No response, of course. I started screaming and running for the door.

*i had no idea where i was running to-i wouldn't call it screaming-it was a loud whimper as if i were in pain*

I yelled to Sydney to call 911, but she followed me out the door. I was still unaware of where I was headed.

*my sweet girls forever changed by this experience were only five and two*

I ran directly across the street yelling, "HELP! Call 911! My baby's not breathing!" I banged on my neighbor, Laura's, door.

*we had had our babies within just days of each other-maybe that's what lead me there-to this day i regret putting her and her children through this-things were never the same after*

A neighbor man was headed to work and had to slam on his brakes not to hit me and my following of frantic girls. He followed us in to Laura's house. He talked to 911 and walked me through tiny, baby CPR.

*he had offered to do it-but no one was going to give my baby CPR but me*

911 finally arrived.

*seemed like an eternity at the time*

They too performed CPR.

*did you know CPR comes at the cost of $300 even if it doesn't work*

Bobby showed up. He rode in the ambulance with his son. Patty showed up and gave me a ride to the hospital. I had to go get shoes and makeup. I asked Laura to take Sydney to afternoon kinder for me. As I left Laura's house I looked up to see Sydney and her friend (Laura's daughter) Emma watching it all from the top of the staircase.

*who makes their kid go to school after all of this*

I put on foundation as I was driven to the hospital.

*who cares about makeup at a time like this*

Upon arrival to the ER I'm shoved off to a private, seating-type room. Bobby and his parents are there.

*you know things are bad when you get your own room at the ER-not an exam room-just a place to sit*

A pathetic excuse for a chaplain comes in to "pray" with us.

*we were already a hundred prayers in-we told him he could join us-i have never appreciated my religion more than through this trial-i do not know how people make it through this without the faith i have*

Maybe it was a nurse that came in and said they were doing all they could. Like the movies, I was waiting to hear about life support options and hoping my son would not have suffered any brain damage. She or he proceeded with BUT there is nothing more they can do and asked if we would like to come in and see our son. Then we went into yet another private room in the ER, but this one was a hospital room.

*gorgeous child-i thought he looked like me more than the girls-strong-healthy-beautiful-still*

They asked if we would like to hold him. I refused. Bobby jumped at the chance. He whaled as he held his son, and his parents comforted him. I stood back. It was my turn, but I had to be convinced.

*i wanted to hold him-i wanted my mom and dad-were they there, yet-i can't remember-i know Annette called them-she came to the hospital and so did Darren Stuart our poor, new bishop*

I held on and never wanted to let go. He fit so perfectly in my arms even with wires all around. "Sweetest Boy." I used to call him that. I just closed my eyes and kissed his forehead pretending he was fine. I opened my eyes, and we were still there.

*i still close my eyes and kiss my kids on the forehead-i pretend they are my baby and everything is fine for just that split second*

From that moment of holding my six week and one day old son on is a blur. I remember bits and pieces of the memorial service. I Know That My Redeemer Lives was played on guitar by two great men. That was my only request for the entire service. I didn't even want a service. Bobby insisted, and I'm glad he did. Darren said some words, and my dad read a poem he wrote. Glenda showed me her new boobs!

*i feel a certain ownership over the song I Know That My Redeemer Lives- no one has performed it as awesome as it was performed that day-thank you Eric and Jeff for making a memory to last a lifetime*

We put the sweet, little coffin in the ground, and it physically pained me to know his tiny body was going underground, but my faith in the knowledge that his spirit lives on kept me standing. I wanted to be buried that day with my boy, and I guess a part of me was, but a new part of me was born simultaneously. I am stronger, wiser, more faithful, more appreciative, kinder, and definitely more obedient. I hope to see Thomas Wyatt again one day, and I don't want to disappoint him. I should use the word we for this paragraph. Bobby and I are stronger and more faithful. We appreciate so much more. "T" is a special gift to our family, and he is not forgotten.

*i so often want to shout from the rooftops that i've had five children-people ask me how many kids i have, and i say four, but in my heart and mind i say five-he is not forgotten*