Our Story (7)- After the Rush

The days and weeks following our son's death were full of busy work, necessary  phone calls, doctor's appointments, picking out a tombstone, and finding ways to get back to the real world. Was that even a reasonable goal?

Before releasing me from the hospital, my doctor requested that I call in a few days and schedule a follow up appointment with her for the next week. A 1-week post-partum checkup? I thought that odd, and then it dawned on me...she wasn't concerned about my physical well-being; she was worried about my mental health. Makes sense. Afterall, its not everyday you have to deliver a lifeless full-term baby.

The Monday after the funeral, as Waylon and I were driving into town I picked up my phone and mustered up enough courage to call my doctor's office to schedule that appointment. Easy task, right? Wrong. There was no longer such a thing as an easy task. A lady answered the phone. I simply stated that I needed to make an appointment with Dr. C and that I was told it needed to be that week. She said, "What kind of appointment?" I don't know, a "my baby died inside of me and I had to deliver him and bury him all in the same week" appointment? I managed to say, "A post-delivery check-up." She continued with the questions, "When was the baby born?" I began to cringe as the tears burned my eyes. I replied, "April 25." She asked, "What's wrong, ma'am? Why are you crying?" I'm crying because my baby was born- but I didn't get to keep him! I handed the phone to Waylon. I heard him clear his throat and continue on with the conversation, "I'm her husband, and I will finish giving you any information that you need for this appointment." The nurse continued to question him about my reaction to her simple question of the baby's birthday and the need for him to take the call. After trying to not let her in on our current horrors Waylon finally just stated in a very blunt and matter of fact manner, "We just lost our son, can we please just make the appointment?" The lady was silent. The appointment finally was scheduled. Phew, onto the next "small" task...picking out a headstone for our son's final resting place.

Waylon had been forced to make many of our latest decisions regarding our son without my help due to my lack of strength and some denial. However, I was determined to help him with the choices to be made concerning the headstone. I remember the feeling of my stomach dropping when we arrived at the business that would be creating the stone to memoralize our little man. There were stones of all different shapes, sizes, and colors lining the drive. I was certain that one should have had my name engraved on it...I felt dead, useless, and numb.

There we were- two 26 year olds designing and purchasing a tombstone for our baby boy. Totally unacceptable.

We had drawn a rough sketch of our hopes for the stone ahead of time, and handed it to the kind gentleman after announcing to him that we needed a headstone for our son. His eyes appeared to be glassy and it was obvious that although his line of work hardly ever involves happy occasions, our request was a pinch on his heart. He worked with us and our requests, assured us that we would be kept informed of the progress, shook our hands, and bid us farewell. I looked back at the man as we made our way to our car. He had placed both elbows on his desk and was resting his head in his hands..even strangers could feel the heaviness and unfairness of our situation.

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Wyatt's stone was set a few weeks ago next to the other three angel babies from Waylon's family. A set of 4 tiny headstones bearing the names and dates of babies taken all too soon from this world sit side by side now, though arriving years apart.

Front

Back

The only way that I will ever have a picture of our two children together...beautiful babies.