And then, just like that, our lives changed. Everything just kind of ended. The dreams, the plans, the chaos, the love, the anticipation, the fear, the loneliness, the joy, the everything. There was no slowing down. Yes, there were warning signs that things could go bad, real bad, but I didn’t think it was so imminent. No chance for even a second opinion…he was already gone by then. Baby died of heart failure? How is this possible, our little boy had more heart than anyone I know. He loved us and wanted to meet us and did everything he possibly could to make that happen. So did we.
I watched a video from my phone of baby this morning. It made me cry, then it made me cry big gulps of gasping pain. My dear Wyatt, looking his best at that point. We’d dressed him in a grey onesie, little stars on the front and back. His pretty arms, all spindly, moved jaggedly up and down. The nurse was weighing him and I wanted to capture the event. It was an event you know. The more I stayed at the NICU the more I understood the schedule. The night nurse weighs the baby every day. Measurements and length are taken only on Saturdays. Vitals are taken every 3 hours and that’s when you change the position of the baby. Don’t want them settled too long in one place…maybe to fix a crooked neck or to mix up the circulation, or maybe just a change of view, though they sleep all the time. One nurse told me that a baby his age would normally sleep between 20 and 23 hours a day. Impressive.
I loved it when Wyatt’s eyes were open. He would track me and follow my voice. One time he was facing the window and as me and Brian left, he could hear our voices and he turned his head back towards us. I will always remember that moment.