We requested to stay in that hospital room for the remainder of my stay. I couldn't bare to leave the room just yet. I wasn't ready to face the world. My doctor requested that I stay the night and could be released the next morning.
I nibbled on a plate of food and took a shower. Family members slowly started to leave and Waylon went home to shower and check on Lyla. I made my way to a chair and began to thumb through the materials that had been left in the room. I quickly pushed them aside- too soon.
Nurse Sherry walked in with the release form for the funeral home. We had already said our farewells to our baby, but signing that paper was unreal. No, I DON'T want them to take him. I want him. He's suppose to come home with ME...to the airplane nursery all prepared for him, and to his big sister who has been impatiently awaiting his arrival for 9 months! I signed the form with shaky hands and sobbed- again.
I was given something to help me sleep that night, but still woke up before sunrise longing for my precious baby. We were ready to leave;even if it meant going home to his nursery, and baby swing, and the closet full of little blue clothes. Having to leave the hospital without our baby had never crossed my mind, but it was about to happen. Waylon signed some papers that dealt with the death certificate and grief counseling, I was given a shot, and we were ready to depart around 10:00 am.
My first two nurses were long gone and my new nurse was not as well versed or prepared for dealing with our circumstances...or maybe she was just new. Lyla was brought to the hospital. I climbed into the over sized wheelchair and sat my only child beside me. The nurse pushed us out into the hall and stopped. She went to get the apple juice that I had asked for earlier that morning. There I was facing the long hall of rooms full of overjoyed families with their new babies- and I heard the cries. I covered my ears as the tears escaped from my eyes. The nurse returned shortly after with an apple juice for Lyla as well. She was enjoying the attention; her smiles were the only things keeping me from melting down into a pool of helpless grief. The nurse took us the "back way" out of the hospital and into the open air. Waylon walked by our side.
I had my wonderful husband, my beautiful daughter, the bright sun, and warm air- Only one thing was missing...our Wyatt.
Lyla rode back to the house with my cousins, sister, and dad. Waylon opened my door and I slowly climbed into the car. The infant carrier was in the back. I thanked the nurse and shut the car door.
And we left.....without our son.
We went to get my prescriptions filled before going home. I kept trying to forget that we should have a newborn with us, but the world wouldn't let me forget. As a result of my heightened sense of awareness, I noticed the hundreds of babies, children, and pregnant women at the store that day. Not to mention, my body even reminded me that I should be carrying a child in my arms at the moment. My chest began to feel tight and my vision began to blur. The tears fell as soon as we made our way back to the car. I needed to roll the windows down and feel the fresh air and warm sun.
I feared walking into our house. I had been pregnant the entire time we had lived there; every memory involved our sweet boy. I wasn't ready to see the fully stocked nursery, the cabinet full of freshly sterilized bottles and pacis, the list on the counter that contained the last minute "to pack" items for the hospital, or the overall feeling that a baby should be entering those doors with us.
The fact that some family members were still at our house made the blow of entering a little less painful. Shortly after arriving home, Waylon and I tucked Lyla in for a nap. Before leaving her room, I snatched the "Big Sister" frame and shirt off her dresser and left the room, holding back the waters.
Waylon and I found ourselves standing in the middle of Wyatt's room. Another slap in the face. Our little boy would never sleep in that crib, be rocked in that rocking chair, have his diaper changed on that changing table, or wear any of those recently washed clothes. We held onto each other for a short while and discussed what never will be.
We packed our bags for our trip to KY, to bury our baby. The packing was quick, yet painful. I refused to wear maternity clothes, but obviously couldn't wear my own a day after delivering a baby. While staring into my closet, I reached my hand down to my belly. It felt squishy and loose. Just a day before it had felt hard and tight. I began to sob and jerked my hand away.
We threw our luggage in the car and headed home, Ky home, to lay our baby boy's body to rest.
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