Reminders

It has been a month. I don't know if it feels like it all happened just yesterday, or if it feels like a lifetime ago--sometimes both, I guess. But it's been a month. A month. A month since I saw those eyes. A month since I held that sweet little body in my arms. A month without hope.
My world came to a screeching halt that day. Everything that ever meant anything smashed into the wall of time and broke into a million pieces, scattering around like leaves. Have you ever watched one of those movies where, when something big happens, the whole scene freezes, and the camera sort of circles the main character, while everything around her looms in strange stillness? It seems as if I'm stuck in that frame. This fuzzy, dark, dizzying stillness consumes my world now, especially today, as my mind replays the horrors of my sweet baby's last moments.
I will go to his grave today. I think I will bring him a gift, something he would have liked to play with at 3 1/2 months. I will tell him I miss him. I will tell him stories about his daddy making songs on his guitar. I will ask him how his new home is, and smile as I think of his cousin Morgan and friend Ella's innocent concern for him and simple understanding of his new heavenly home. I will have to leave him again. I will have to say goodbye and walk away, another reminder that the world does indeed go on despite the stillness that consumes me.
Gary and I have gotten several beautiful gifts to remind us of his precious life. His mom got him a keychain engraved with the words CARTER'S DAD. It has a place to put a picture. Jenny gave me a charm bracelet with three charms: a cross, a mother and baby, and a baby shoe engraved with his name and birthdate. I wear it each day, along with my locket. It's my way of keeping him close to me.
Today will come and go, just like that terrible day that forever changed my heart, my viewpoint, and my very being. A new day will come, and life will go on. But, if you get a chance, think of him today. Think back to the moment you met him, or first heard his story. Think of his smile, his sweet personality, his amazing ability to light up a room.
My beautiful Carter, I think of you constantly. I love you so very much. I know you are happy and healthy now, laughing and playing with the angels. I will hold you forever in my heart, sweet baby. You gave me true joy, do you know that? Do you know how precious and perfect you are? Do you know that you melted my heart with that ornery little smirk, those bright and inquisitive eyes, and your adorable babytalk? I miss you so much, but I'm trying not to be sad. You are in heaven, and Mommy and Daddy will see you again. For now, we will have to settle for these talks. I cannot wait to hear your stories, to know what you're doing up there. I imagine you perched someplace where you can see everything around you, kicked back and comfy. Every now and then you probably call out to someone passing by--a girl perhaps--with your Joey-style "how you doin?" You used to sit that way and talk to the nurses. I know they miss you, too. We all do. You be good up there--mind your manners, help out wherever you can, and have fun. I'll talk to you again soon. I love you.

He Knows

I went back to work on Monday. It seems the road back to normal has brought me closer to reality. I find myself thinking more about Carter. I miss him a lot more now. Some people say they know how I feel and some say they cannot imagine. The truth is, any loss hurts and is deep and painful. But every hurt is different. It's hard to take comfort in your pain when no one can truly relate to your personal experience.
Sitting at home tonight I began to think about how Jesus connects in all of this. What came to my mind was Isaiah 53:4. In it, Isaiah is speaking of the coming Messiah, Jesus. "Surely our griefs He Himself bore, and our sorrows He carried" In my Bible it states that the word sorrows is used in Hebrew of both physical and mental pain. What that means to me is that Jesus cared enough about me to experience my pain. You can't get a much closer friend than one who willingly experiences your physical and mental pain in order to show their love. I thank God He reminded me of this scripture tonight. If you are reading this and experiencing pain of your own, let this bring you some peace like it did me. Jesus really does know how you feel.

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day to all dads.

Sarah and I spent a little time looking at pictures of Carter. We laughed and smiled as we were reminded of his many expressions. I wanted to use this entry to let you all do the same. So here are some pictures of Carter you may not have seen.

What...

I miss him. Everywhere I turn there are reminders. Babies in their carriers at a restaurant, pregnant women eagerly looking at diapers and little clothes in the store. I try to be happy for them, but honestly I just want to scream.
I watched the last video tonight. It was taken Saturday night, May 20th. He was sick, and he looked tired. It was so hard to watch. I spent that night on the phone with Tiffiny, crying because I knew it was bad. Then Dad came--Gary and I walked into the NICU after getting a snack, to find Carter in the arms of his Papa. We talked for hours as he held him, and I will cherish that time forever, as I'm sure he will. I saw that night the love of a dad for his daughter and a grandpa for his grandson.
I remember that I took the video that evening, as well as the last picture we have of Carter. Then I stood by his crib and sobbed for my child. But he'd pull through this time, too....that's what I told myself that night.
I titled this post "What"--
What happens now? What's left of who I am? What is it going to take to be able to go on? What do I do with my time? What is the answer to the "do you have any children" question? What could possibly help to heal this horrible pain? What if we have no more children and i never know what it's like to hold my baby again? What amount of time is "right" before we do? What is the reason for all of this? What was God thinking when he gave us a baby to fall so in love with, and then chose not to heal? What could have been done differently? What if?
I know all of that sounds so sad and depressing, but these are the things that go through my mind. It's not pretty or eloquent, it's just me, broken and crushed. I'm so sad for him.
I realize that I know the answers to a few of the questions. Life goes on. It takes time. I'll get a job and even be able to find an answer to the probing questions. Only God knows what the future holds.
Things always could have been done differently, but I am trying to convince myself to acknowledge that the result would have been the same. Carter was just too sick. He had too many problems. Even if he would have gotten a transplant, the damage had been done. He was so small and his little body would have had a lot of trouble with such a big surgery. He passed away as a result of liver failure, kidney failure, and stroke.
God took him away from his pain. I try to picture God watching everything unfold. That last day was just too much. God loved Carter, and he just couldn't see him suffer anymore. He knew his life would be so hard if he survived--he'd be on medicines forever, would not get to have a "normal" life, would be small and sickly, never get to eat a normal diet, and have to watch life from the sidelines. Now he is in heaven, really living. I don't know what it's like, if he's a baby or a 5 year old or a grown up. Or perhaps some form that has no age. But I do know it has to be perfect.
And I know that Carter affected so many with his smile, his big, brown eyes, and his courage. I'm happy for those of you who were touched by his story, and I know that he's a "testimony"--a word I've come to dispise. I am proud of him, I'm proud to be Carter's Mommy.
But I miss him. It's 2:30 a.m. and I just cannot sleep. You've read this many times before...but it doesn't get any easier. Maybe it's even getting more difficult. The shock is wearing off and I'm just here, alone, without my baby. I would give anything, do anything, to change it. To have just a little more time with him.
That's my regret. Everyone says you can't do that, it's not healthy to question. But I look at all the time I chose not to be with him, when people would visit, so I'd sit in the waiting room with them and talk and laugh, instead of being with him. The last day, when I went to take a shower instead of holding him. I will regret that shower for the rest of my life. Don't tell me not to. I just will.
Tomorrow we go to the funeral home to decide on a stone. We hope we can put the last line of the ladybug book that we read to him and was read at his funeral:

Carter Maxwell Heckman

...you flew so fast. Now you can rest, home at last!

March 9, 2006 - May 22, 2006

34

Well today was my 34th birthday. It went fast but it was nice. Several of my family and friends came by to celebrate with me this evening. I grilled hamburgers and hot dogs and Sarah made a delicious German chocolate cake.
I thought about Carter a lot tonight as I sat back and observed conversation. It seems I am missing him more and more as the days go by. You see, he was our future and what I was looking forward to. And now with that gone I seem to be lost in what to do next. I start back to work next Monday and life will be back to somewhat normal.
I don't do well with sharing how I feel about this but felt compelled to write tonight. Next Sunday is Father's Day. I do pretty well with seeing babies and even admiring them. I don't know how I will feel on Father's day. I keep telling myself that Carter was an unexpected gift so I shouldn't feel like I was somehow cheated. But I think that sometimes I just put on the "we were just blessed to have had him for 2 months" face without allowing myself to be upset. I forget, sometimes, how precious he was. I look at his pictures and it seems like it wasn't real. I really tried to make each moment I had with him last. I remember holding him in the middle of the night at home telling myself, "just hold on to right now". But it's not sticking in my mind like I had hoped. I do miss him. He was MY son. And that's something that was and still is hard for me to grasp. Something this wonderful was mine. This probably doesn't make any sense to anyone else. Anyway, I just had to get this out tonight and I'm glad I did. It helps when I'm honest with myself about how I feel.

God Bless The Staff at KU Med

Everyone has been tremendously supportive throughout this time for Sarah and I. But I want to put the spotlight on the staff of KU Medical Center in this entry.
Everyone has stories to tell of their experiences at hospitals. We would like to let you know of the wonderful people we encountered during Carter's stay.
Several of the nurses in the NICU came up to Carter's visitation and funeral. It means so much to know that our son meant enough to them that they would want to be there. So many times during Carter's stay at KU, the nurses would come over just to see him or talk to us. Even the nurse who was in the operating room during his birth would come over from time to time. Many have given us phone numbers, e-mails etc. Wow! To all of them we say, thank you and God bless you. We received two cards from the staff today loaded with notes and comments from doctors and nurses. They talk of how Carter has touched them. They say how "wonderful" of parents we were. We just loved our boy and wanted to spend every moment we could with him. The nurses and doctors were the ones that worked so hard to bring him back to health. They were the ones who brought him back to life for us if even for a few more hours. Those hours were a gift that we are forever grateful for. Thank you. I want to also say thank you to Doctors Schropp, Raguveer, Clark, "Ola", and Cocjin. We know you worked very hard to make Carter well. I could see in each of your eyes that Carter held a special place with you. I wish I could name all of the nurses but there are so many, I'm afraid I would forget someone. So, again we say thank you. We WILL keep in touch.

It Helps

Your comments and prayers mean so much to us both. I (Sarah) perhaps feel it more because I'm generally the one writing and written to, but Gary gains much strength from your care as well. Thank you all for your love. It helps more than you will ever know, and through your kind words on here, in the cards, and in person, I am beginning to see God's love in all of this. Thank you.

Trying

I'm trying. Trying to get on with my life and enjoy the little moments in my day. Trying to walk past his room without shuddering. Trying to motivate myself to put away the bottles, pack up the clothes and the toys, and give away the diapers that we don't need now. I'm trying to see the good that came from my son's brief stay in our lives. I know there is some good--the probably hundreds of people that are now connected through this site, the love that he seemed to bring out in everyone, the hearts touched by his smile, the healing that has taken place in the hearts of other parents and families. So I'm trying.
We have received over a hundred cards from family, friends, and even strangers. Our funeral costs are covered, and we will even be able to pay off a good part of the medical bills thanks to the generosity shown us. We are amazed at the goodness and love that Carter's life and death has brought out in so many. Thank you.
Some have sent letters telling us that Carter's story renewed their faith. I am very honored by that. Some say he helped them heal from their own loss and pain. I'm glad for them. Some friends with whom we've lost touch have reunited with us. I find joy in these relationships.
And yet my heart hurts, I feel all alone, and worst of all, I cannot seem to make amends with God. I know He cares. I know that He gave us a miracle when He gave us Carter, if only for a little while. I know that He rescued Carter from the pain and suffering and took him to heaven. I can see these things, but I hurt. He could have healed my child.
We went to church yesterday. I went because I needed to, not because I wanted to. I couldn't sing the songs, and I couldn't take communion. I just couldn't. I believe, I really do. I haven't lost that, so I know my faith is still intact. I'm just sad. If you think of it, would you pray for me?

I had a dream last night about his last day. The day started as it did in reality, but he got transferred to Children's in the morning. Once we got there, he started playing and cooing and seemed to be fine. He was sitting up and moving around and even untangled all his cords by himself. And then he started to look and act sick. I got to hold him while he was still OK and we snuggled. Then I woke up.
In reality, I never held him that day. I'd fed him at midnight, then gone to bed. I didn't hold him when they woke me up at 6. I don't know why. I had those 3 hours with him before he coded, and I didn't hold him.
We've gotten so many cards and letters. Several of them have said things like, "for a brief while, a miracle was yours"...I realize that while I didn't get the miracle I'd hoped for in his healing, I did get a miracle. I got HIM, a beautiful and wonderful baby boy. I had never even dreamed of having a baby of my own, and God gave him to me. He changed me completely, my heart, my thoughts, and down to the core of who I am. I had a miracle. For a little while, I was blessed far beyond the reaches of my own desires.
I still wonder and question and hurt. I'm not exactly on speaking terms with God yet. I think I'll get there someday. We still have much to do around the house--piles I cannot bring myself to sort through, dirty laundry that still smells like him that I cannot bring myself to wash, and an entire room full of things that I don't know if I should keep, toss, or give away. For now I will just BE. God tells me to "be still and know that I am God," and so I'm trying to let that be enough.
Someone left a comment that there is an article in the Lathrop paper. I have not read it, but I will find it. I will see if I can post it on here.
One more thing. To all of you who have said you are here for us when we are ready: thank you. I don't know when that time will come, but it helps so much to know that we have so much support. We love you all dearly, and we are so very grateful.

Random Thoughts

Please excuse me as I begin writing some random thoughts that have been going through my head lately.
The generousity of God's people continues to surprise and amaze me. I know I write about this alot but I want you to know how much it means to Sarah and I. Over the past few days we have opened dozens of cards from friends and family and others we've never met. Each card varies what is inside but all bear the mark of true love. I look at Carter's memorial fund and cannot believe how people so freely give.
I've been trying to think about what is was about Carter that drew people to him. Was it his beautiful face? Was it his sweet nature? Maybe it was how he was so brave. There was something mysteriously wonderful about Carter that I can't quite put my finger on. I know...I'm supposed to feel that way because I'm his dad. But others shared the same comments with me. Regardless, God used him to bring His body together in unity not often seen. I think that's real love. To come together regardless of background or race or denomination.
When I was at the visitation on Thursday night, I kept thinking about how I was so glad to see so many people I love and yet so sad why they were there. Why does something devastating have to happen for us to finally catch back up with friends and family. I think Carter taught me that getting together often with those we love is so important. I want to do it more often, just to talk and laugh about things. Not to be consoled or comforted. Don't get me wrong. That was and is much needed. I want to get together with others just because.
Carter was so wise for such a young guy. I am and believe will still learn so much from his life. Hey let's get together sometime. Just because.