Carbon Copy.

Neuroticism is a fundamental personality trait in the study of psychology, manifested by characteristics of anxiety, moodiness, worry, envy and jealousy. Individuals who score high on neuroticism are more likely than the average to experience such feelings as anxiety, anger, envy, guilt, and depressed mood. They respond more poorly to environmental stress, and are more likely to interpret ordinary situations as threatening, and minor frustrations as hopelessly difficult. They are often self-conscious and shy, and they may have trouble controlling urges and delaying gratification. (Source:  Wikipedia)

I am really worried about my daughter.  Since we lost Nicolai ('Pi'), her anxiety and worry are starting to noticeably affect her.  Especially at night, when we are laying in bed, side by side.  I see my own neuroticism coming out in her more and more.

Last night she asked me if I would shoot myself in the head if she died, so that I could become an angel and be with her and Pi in Heaven.  I asked here where she came up with such a violent idea - had she heard somebody talking or seen something on TV?  She replied no, that she had just thought of the idea on her own and had been worrying about it alot.  Then she started to cry.  She said that she wants to become an angel so that she can see Pi, but that she would miss me too much to be away from me.  "Why can't we become angels together?" she asked.  She then continued, between sobs, to ask what would happen to her if I died?  If her whole family died, and she was all alone?  And how did I know that I wasn't going to die and leave her all alone?  What would happen if she died before her family, and was all alone in Heaven?

My heart was in my throat.  My little girl, barely five years old, grappling with the permanency and vastness of death.  She shouldn't have these questions t such a young age.  She should have had a few more carefree years, living the life of a normal preschooler, worrying only about trivial issues that can be easily be fixed with a band aid or ice cream cones. 

Throughout this worry and fear, she still has this beautiful idea and vision of Heaven and angels.  I am thankful for that.  However, I truly dread the day when she grows old enough to question the validity of Heaven and the afterlife.  Because that is when the darkness truly sets in, and that is a thought process that no one can escape from once they allow themselves to wander there.

A couple weeks after we lost Nicolai, Natalie had a dream that she and Nicolai were flying through the clouds together and she was chasing him from cloud to cloud.  They both had white angel wings ("but not that round circle thing on our heads") and they were giggling as they flew above the world.  Then, they came back to the earth and were playing hide and seek among the trees, and Nicolai disappeared.  She couldn't find him again after that.  But she wasn't worried, because he was happy and smiling when she saw him last and she was sure that he was okay. 

It's been nearly 5 months since we lost Nicolai.  I have asked Natalie, on two or three occasions, if she still remembers this dream.  Some of the details have faded (of course), but she still vividly remembers the color of his shoes and his coat in the dream, and what their wings looked like.  Her description to me now is exactly the same as it was 5 months ago.  I try not to put too much heart in this.  There are a million reasons that people dream certain things, and I am (unfortunately) not naive enough to believe that this dream has any cosmic meaning, no matter how badly I want it to.

Then, on the flip side, my own neuroticism.  What if this dream does mean something?  What if both of my children are destined to become angels before me?  What if something is going to happen to my precious daughter and I lose her too?  What if her dream is foretelling the future?

Or, what if something terrible is going to happen to me or my husband?  What if the reason that I lost Nicolai was because he would have lost one or both of his parents and/or his sister and he would been left an orphan, or I would have been unable to mentally/emotionally care for him due to extensive and all encompassing grief ?  What if there really is a cosmic reason for his death?  What does it mean?  Does it mean anything?  How do I process all of this without sounding like a crazy person?

I don't want my daughter to keep herself up for nights on end as I do, to worry about the things she cannot change, in a world that will go on long after we have departed.  I don't want her to feel the darkness and the emptiness that I do.  I wanted to protect her from all of this, and I can't.

Our Nicolai.

The Nightmare Continues.

They began inducing my labor Wednesday night.  Nothing they gave me for sleep worked.  The truth is, I was terrified to go to sleep.  Terrified that I wouldn't wake up.  Terrified that I would wake up. Terrified that I would wake up and think it was all a dream only to have reality come back to me.

We had to start making decisions before he was even born.  The doctor asked if we wanted to see him and hold him afterward the birth.  My heart stopped. I hadn't even considered that part of this ordeal.  I was immediately terrified again.  Terrified of what he would look like.  Terrified that his face would be one of pain and struggle and death.  There is nothing on earth that can prepare you to see a dead baby.  No amount of self talk, rationalizing, anything can ready you for that experience.  Especially when it's your baby.  Your baby that was kicking and tumbling around in your belly just 24 hours ago.  My husband luckily made the decision for us, and I am infinitely grateful that he did.  Yes, we wanted to see him and hold him.  For as long as possible.  My husband was not terrified like me.

Around 4pm on Thursday, the doctor decided my cervix wasn't making as much progress as it should be, and was still tightly closed.  My body continued to not want to let him go.  Initially, I refused pain medication.  I needed to feel every pain.  Every tear.  Every contraction.  I needed to punish my body for failing my beautiful child.  Eventually, the medical staff convinced me that I need it, and I consented to the epidural.  Then, a device which looked like a metal straw and a little balloon on the end was inserted into my cervix.  Its purpose was to dilate me from 0 to 5cm instantly.  The pain was immense.  And then came the heavy gush of my water breaking.  I felt life pouring out of me in waves.  I sobbed until there was no water left to replenish my tears.  This was really happening.  I was really getting ready to deliver a still baby.  My still baby.  My precious little son.

The contractions came quick and hard after that.  I pushed three times.  One, two, three.  And then he was out.  4lb and 14oz of perfection.  Soft, dark hair like Natalie's was when she was born.  All of my husband's facial features.  My little toe.  And such a look of peace on his little face. I couldn't being myself to open his eyes.  

He was so warm.  So pink.  If you were to hold him at that second, you may not even know that he had died.  I kept rubbing his little chest hoping for a miracle.  The miracle never came.

I examined every inch of his body.  He was perfectly formed - even the doctor said that there wasn't a thing visibly wrong with him.  He was exactly on target for weight and length for his gestational age.  There were no obvious abnormalities with the umbilical cord or placenta.  There was simply no visible reason for why this happened.    

The nurse bathed him and dressed him in a little blue gown, knit by a mother who lost her baby at the same hospital.  The nurse took some pictures, and so did we.  I wish we had known or been told about the Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep Foundation by the hospital.  There are several of photographers in our area affiliated with them, and it would have been a great service to have.

My husband and I were still in shock.  Our eyes, hollow and empty as we held our son close to us. We wrapped him and held him with us as all night long.  I was moved downstairs to another room, mercifully no longer in the maternity ward surrounded by the cries of new, living babies.   My body refused to sleep.  I laid awake all night with my baby and husband, cradled in the cramped hospital bed that we all three were sharing.  My husband and Nicolai, it was like they were lying, sleeping, gazing into a mirror at each other. Their faces are identical.  This is both a blessing and a curse on sleepless nights when I watch my husband sleeping.

Morning came, and by early afternoon I knew that it was time for us to let him go.  He was no longer the warm, pink baby that I had birthed the evening before.  He was beginning to change, and that is an experience no parent should ever have to see.  Death is a cold, cruel mistress full of blues and grays.

Our son was gone. And so was a part of me.