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In December of 2007 we found out we were going to have our third child. Our first thoughts were, “Where are we going to put this baby and how are we gonna stretch ourselves to take care of another child?” Those thoughts very quickly turned into, “We can’t wait to decorate a space for this baby and we can’t wait to kiss and hold this new beautiful life.”
I have always wanted to be a mom. As a young girl I was always seeking out little ones to care for and play with. I dreamed of the type of mom I wanted to be and the babies I would someday have. I've learned in the years since that dreams do come true and have also learned that dreams have twists and turns you could never expect.
Christmas rolled around and our families seemed very excited about the news of our coming addition. Gifts were even given to our baby from an auntie. I remember her saying, “We just want you to know we are excited.” I suppose she had picked up on the apprehension I had when I told her our news. Our older two children Marisa, then 4, and Emmett, then 2, were very planned pregnancies so the whole idea of being pregnant with a “surprise”' was different for me. The rest of the winter rolled by with little more than your typical tiredness and nausea. Our baby was growing and so was our excitement!
Our ultrasound was scheduled for March 20th . In early March I was sitting on the edge of the couch in the living room and I felt that oh-so-familiar flutter. I remember looking at my husband, Joe, and smiling. “I felt it, I think that was the…yep, that was definitely the baby.”
What a wonderful feeling. I stayed busy over the next few days working as a hairdresser at a new salon and, of course, taking care of Marisa and Emmett. I don't remember feeling much movement after that night on the couch other than a flutter here and there. We had decided for sure not to find out the sex of the baby but were very anxious to see his or her picture.
I picked just the right outfit for our appointment, careful to look pregnant and not chubby. I was looking forward to this day not only for the ultrasound, but to spend the day with Joe and the kids. We were going out to eat after our appointment, then going shopping, and picking something out for the baby. We arrived at the clinic for our appointment on time and waited to be called back for our ultrasound. I remember teaching Marisa the staring game, which was quite funny. I remember seeing a newborn baby there with his mom and wondering how I ever had any worries about having this new little life. It was going to be great. I couldn't wait until August when I could hold my very own newborn baby.
“Casey, Casey,” the technician was saying at the door.
“Hi, I'm Casi” I said, a statement that has been repeated more times in my life than I can begin to tell you. There we were: Joe, Marisa, Emmett, myself and the ultrasound technician in a tiny dark room with a computer screen. And there it was: my baby, on the screen.
The kids were full of questions and so was I. “Where is the heart beat?” I asked. The technician kind of blew me off like that wasn't a plausible question. I had had an ultrasound or two in my day and knew the heartbeat was always the first thing I spotted.
“Oh well,” I thought, “maybe the baby's just not turned the right way or something.” The technician continued showing us the arms and legs and then the head. All seemed well.
“Just a minute guys. I'll be right back. I ran out of tape,” the technician mumbled as she walked out of the room. So there we were in the dark room left to entertain two kiddos. Seconds turned into minutes and minutes dissolved into worry and frustration. When the door opened again, she wasn't alone. Our doctor was with her.
“What are you doing here?” I said, with a knowing tone in my voice. My heart started racing and tears were in my eyes when the words no mommy ever wants to here were spoken: “I'm sorry. There is no heartbeat. Your baby has died.”
Even typing these words four years later brings the hurt right back to the surface. “Are you sure?” I asked through my sobs. I looked over at my family and saw three frightened faces. Three faces I will never forget. The doctor looked at me with pain in his own eyes and said, “Casi I'm so sorry, but we need to make a decision on the next step.”
I've always been a quick decision-maker and have a can-do attitude, and even though I was facing decisions I never dreamed I would be making, my core values and characteristics came through when I needed them most. We walked through the clinic to our doctor's office to talk over our options. We decided a C-section was our best option with my medical history.
With Easter being only three days away, I wanted to go ahead and have the baby that day so I could keep my kids’ holiday as normal as possible. I had the opportunity to go to the bathroom alone with Marisa and explain to her what was happening since she was, at that time, old enough to need to know. As I was talking to her I realized I wasn't only telling her what was happening I was also telling myself that I would be giving birth to my baby today and I would not be bringing him or her home.
Joe, I suppose, had to do the same thing as he called his sisters and dad to inform them of our devastation. That was the first and only time I have seen him cry.
As I said, we promised the kids we would go out and eat, and for the sake of normalcy and love we walked into the restaurant with wet puffy eyes and sat down with our kids so they could have their chicken nuggets and smiley fries. I wasn't allowed to eat since I would be having surgery in a couple of hours, nor did I really want to, but I was glad to see my kids smiling. We saw a few people we knew and tried not to make eye contact. I wasn't at the point where I could talk to anyone about what was happening. We sat in the parking lot of the restaurant when the kids were finished eating and waited on the aunties to come get the kids. We were trying to enjoy the last few minutes we had with them before we would be in the hospital for a few days.
When the car pulled up with my sister-in-laws in it I braced myself and tried to be strong. I didn't want to upset anyone with my blubbering. When they got out of the car they too had wet puffy eyes and this was somehow comforting. I guess it just showed how much they cared. This was only the first of many, many gestures our families used to show their love and support to us. We loaded the kids in the car and gave them lots of hugs and kisses and forced a few short seconds of dry eyes and smiles.
We drove to the hospital for our C-section scheduled for 2:00. As we walked into the hospital I caught glimpses of familiar faces, but did my best not to make eye contact with anyone. One foot in front of the other was my only thought as I trudged down the hallway to the women's care unit of the hospital. Joe pushed the intercom button and we were let right in. We passed right by the windows to the nursery where they had the blinds shut and were greeted by several women all with melancholy faces.
Our nurse had us follow her right to our room. As I was given a gown to put on I couldn't help but start to cry. I was only able to keep it together for a few seconds at a time at this point. The nurse frowned as she looked at me and cleared her throat as to let us know she was sorry and this was the worst part of her job, but it was, in fact, her job and there was work to be done.
The questions began pouring out of her mouth: “Do you want to hold the baby? Do you have names picked out? Are you going to baptize the baby? Do you know the sex?.........”
My head was spinning. I had no answers. I can only imagine the look of fear and grief on my face when the nurse said, “Casi how long ago did you find out that you lost your baby?”
“Um, about two hours ago,” I said, through my tears.
She quickly apologized and agreed to take things a little slower. The nurses I had throughout this entire experience were, for lack of a better word, amazing. We continued on with the typical IV's and paperwork. Meanwhile, one particular nurse asked if we had a camera and, for some odd reason, that day, I did. I had one in my purse.
“Can I take pictures?” she asked. Joe and I talked and decided we didn't want any pictures.
“Please let me take them and if you don't want them…..well, you can delete them,” she said, with a knowing half-smile. We agreed she could take pictures----a decision for which I will forever be grateful. Before I knew it I was in the OR being prepped for surgery. I remember someone asking our doctor, whom I have the utmost respect for, how he was doing and I remember him replying something along the lines of, “Well, I've certainly had better days.” The understatement of the century, as far as I was concerned.
I was quickly on my back. Blue filled my vision in every direction I looked. The only things I remember being aware of were the tears which were burning my cheeks and the warmth of Joe’s hand holding mine. Everyone was silent except the occasional question from the anesthesiologist. “Casi, do you feel any pain?” I never spoke but remember screaming in my head, “YES I feel pain. My heart hurts. What do you have for a broken heart?” I knew they didn't have anything of course. No amount of physical pain I would face over the next couple of days could compare to the pain in my heart at that very moment. The only thing I remember saying out loud was, “Is it out?”
“Yes. It's over,” Joe whispered. The silence was deafening.
Then came a feeling I did not expect. I heard Joe say the words: “I guess it's a little boy?”
A little boy, I thought. A little boy. I had the same proud feeling I had when each of my children were born.
“I want to see him,” I said, with confidence that came out of nowhere.
“Looky there,” I thought to myself, “my baby boy. Look how perfect he is. Ten fingers, ten toes. Perfect eyes, ears, and nose.
“I love you, buddy,” I muttered, as I reached up to touch his tiny lips.
“I can’t wait to hold him,” I thought.
My wish was soon granted when I went to recovery. They handed me my tiny baby boy and I held him in the crook of my elbow, just the way I had so naturally done with my first two babies. I was still sad beyond belief, but somehow happy to be holding this precious baby. I spoke many, many words to him while simultaneously praying that he could hear me.
I looked at Joe and said, “Isac Flynn.” Isac being Casi spelled backwards and Flynn a name Joe had been fond of throughout the pregnancy. He simply nodded and said, “Whatever you want”.
So there we were the three of us: Joe, myself and Isac, a baby who we’d never known we loved this much.
Very soon we were back in our room. Flowers and cards were already showing up. Our families trickled in. Our parents and one of my brothers decided they wanted to see Isac, so they went to the nursery to spend a few minutes with him. I still wish I could have shared that moment with them, but was very grateful they could have it. There were many tears shed, hugs given, moments of awkward silence, and even moments I found myself using my questionable sense of humor in an effort to make everyone else comfortable. We chose to have the nurse baptize him, a moment I also wish I would have witnessed, but was just happy that it took place. The funeral director showed up after a few hours. I knew it had to happen, but had been dreading it since he was born. That was when I had to hold my baby boy for the very last time here on earth. The funeral director, white plastic bag in hand, along with our family, stepped out of the room to give the three of us some time alone. We both held Isac and told him everything we wanted him to know in the short time we had. It was then that I cried louder and harder than I had ever known possible, as Joe took him from me, placed him in his bassinet, and rolled him out the door.
“Goodbye. I love you, buddy”.
The time we spent in the hospital after Isac was gone was hard. The short visits from family and friends, and especially our kids, brightened our days here and there. There were a lot of decisions to be made. We had a real heart-to-heart talk with one set of our parents, and by the grace of God the decision-making started to come a little easier. Joe, by far, had one of the toughest jobs. A job which he handled with grace beyond all I've seen: making the arrangements for our son's funeral. He went to the cemetery and not only picked out Isac's plot, but the plots for us as well. I am so grateful for this. For whatever reason, it makes me feel at peace to know we will be buried with him someday. I believe you see the true character of not only yourselves but of your relationship in a true crisis and I am proud of the character I saw during those days.
I was wheeled out of the hospital on a Saturday very similar to the way I had when Marisa and Emmett were born, but this time I wasn't looking down at my newborn baby. I was looking down at my empty lap to once again avoid eye contact with anyone I might know. Careful not to feel sorry for myself, I mustered up a smile when Joe pulled around with the van. “What a wonderful man I have married,” I thought.
At home everything had been taken care of: laundry done, meals cooked, house cleaned, and---most importantly---eggs boiled to decorate for the Easter Bunny. The day was somewhat quiet. There were a few visitors and phone calls here and there, but mainly just quiet time spent with our family. The following morning was Easter. We had fun with the kids that morning, watching them hunt their Easter goodies and being the sweet innocent beings they are. We left our house and went to an aunt's house for a yearly celebration. This was hard not only because of what we had just been through, but because people would barely look at me, let alone mention what had happened. I understand how uncomfortable this issue is for most people, but for me personally it is much easier to talk about Isac than to ignore the subject. We made the most of the day then headed home to get ready for the next day.
The next day was Isac's funeral. Joe had made all of the plans for this so I wasn't sure what to expect. Joe's family came to our house early to sit with Marisa and Emmett so Joe and I could go to the funeral home early and have a little time to ourselves. We walked into the funeral home and there, wrapped in a John Deere blanket his grandma made him, along with some goodies from Ninny and Grandpa, was our little boy.
We went up to the tiny casket and talked to him, placed a few more things with him, and waited for the others to arrive. As we waited, I spotted his blanket from the hospital. The funeral director had placed it aside for me to keep. I picked it up and held it to my face. The smell took me back to the hospital and the short moment I was able to hold him. Our families soon began to arrive. We only asked immediate family to join us because, at that time, that felt right to us.
After everyone arrived I leaned over to kiss him one last time. As Joe and I turned around to leave Marisa came up between us, grabbed each of our hands, and walked us out, a moment I will never forget. I went and waited in the van to go to the cemetery and looked up to see Joe carrying the small casket and placing it in the hearse. This absolutely broke my heart watching this strong man, my husband, do this. It truly did not seem fair.
The service at the cemetery was nice. The preacher did a nice job of acknowledging Isac's short, but very important, life. I appreciated his words very much.
The next two weeks I had off of work were filled with a lot of visits, calls, and cards, and a lot of me trying my very best to resume life as normal. I had very high expectations of myself. I kept telling myself I needed to get over it and move on. Every time I was nearly at my breaking point an “angel” would come along to tell me just what I needed to hear. I got Isac's pictures developed and flipped through them more times than I can count as to not forget his precious face. What I didn't realize then was that I would never get over it and move on, nor did I have to.
I was truly dreading going back to work for many reasons. I was still recovering from surgery and I was sad, yes, but more than that, I was nervous about how people were going to react. I walked through the back door on my first day back and, like I expected, everyone greeted me with a smile and a hello like this was any other day. I knew I should have been grateful for their attempt at normalcy, but I really wasn't. I wanted to talk about Isac and I didn't want to pretend like he never existed. Of course, I played along and went on with the next few weeks adjusting to my “new” life. I was very sad, but somehow grateful for the chance to tell Isac's story. Many of my clients didn't know and would ask how far along I was or where I had been the last couple of weeks. I tried to answer all questions with grace, but was relieved when a client came in who knew what had happened and offered a hug. As more time passed, some of the girls I work with would present me with the opportunity to talk about Isac and I welcomed those opportunities whole-heartedly. I knew I was going to be okay, but it was going to be a year filled with a lot of ups and downs.
We decided to set Isac's gravestone on his due date a few months later. This was a day I didn't want to go unnoticed. I had meticulously designed his stone over the last few weeks and was quite pleased with how it turned out. Joe, along with my dad, did all the work that day, and the kids and I were back and forth showing our support. I had been feeling a lot stronger and was able to get through most days without any tears. This day, however, was hard. I couldn't shake the sadness as much as I tried. I truly wanted it to be a happy day, because I was very glad to finally get my baby a headstone and spend the day with my family. The sadness was unwelcome, but uncontrollable, and, as I’ve come to learn over the past few years, those kind of days are just going to happen and it’s okay. One of the aunties told me that when I was having one of those days it just meant Isac was sending me extra love. I liked that, so I decided to believe it.
The days and weeks were passing and I was feeling good. I was starting to get comfortable with the idea of getting pregnant again. I couldn't shake the feeling that we would be trying to replace Isac, but I knew I wasn't done having children. In December, we found out we were expecting another baby. We were thrilled, of course, but I had a hard time letting my heart get too excited. I was experiencing all of the normal symptoms and not even the least bit upset. I was ready to take on this pregnancy and everything that came with it. When we told our families they were happy, but I could see the same hesitancy in their eyes that I felt in my heart.
My doctor was amazing throughout the whole pregnancy, but especially in the beginning. I had extra ultrasounds simply for our peace of mind, and with each doctors appointment came a small nervous breakdown. I, of course, fell in love with this new life growing inside of me and started looking forward to meeting him or her.
March 20th was Isac's first birthday. I woke up ready to face the day with a smile. I love birthdays and enjoy celebrating my children’s. Isac's was going to be no different. I made cupcakes and went to the store for balloons. The kids and I went to the cemetery to leave a cupcake and release our balloons. Marisa and Emmett really enjoyed doing this, and I couldn't help but smile at the idea of Isac in heaven waiting for the balloons from his brother and sister. When we left the cemetery we went to my sister-in-law's house to visit the newest addition to our family, my nephew. As I walked into the house I could tell she was unsure of what my disposition would be. I smiled, grabbed up that baby, and snuggled for as long as my kiddos would let me. None of us could get enough of the little guy. My sister-in-law gave me a little gift and a card to let me know she was thinking of me, and this is what finally made the tears fall. It has, and always will, touch me in a way beyond words when someone lets me know they miss and love him, too. I continued to get a couple of messages and phone calls that day and I appreciated each and every one.
The summer went by in a hurry and before I knew it the kids were starting school and I was due to have our baby any day. Grant Eli was born on August 31st, 2009, an event filled with so many emotions. I knew he was special and was very much meant to be a part of our family. He, as well as all of my family, have brought me so much comfort. Without them, the loss of Isac would have been nearly unbearable. I truly believe that our God has a plan for each and every one of us and it is our job to accept it with grace. I am so blessed to live the life I do and be surrounded by people who love me and who I love just the same.
Isac will always be a part of my everyday life. Even when I don't speak his name out loud, I carry his memory in my heart each and every day.
I still struggle with the loss of Isac, but the pain has indeed lessened with time.
If you ever have the opportunity to be that listening ear or have the opportunity to keep someone’s memory alive, take it. And know that you are impacting their lives and the lives of those who love them more than you may ever know.
