Ezra Explained
It has come to my mind that blogging/journaling might be a good medium to try and get through what now defines me, my greif. If you're reading it, it's because I want to get whats in my mind and my heart out, if you comment please be tactful and sensetive, and please do give thoughtful input.
I call this one "Ezra Explained" because of it's irony. If you're reading this it's becuase you want an explanation and I, as his mother, want it more than you. He was healthy, he was loved and cared for so none of this makes any kind of sense, and it never should or will.
On my calendar this year I have June 23 marked, Daddy's birthday. June 25th Baby Ezra born. July 6, my anniversary. August 9th, Josiah's Birthday and September 30th, Malachi's birthday. Looming in the midst of these most significant dates for me is now August 29th, the day my youngest son died.
Just like any other summer afternoon we were playing in the yard with the kids while Paisley and Ezra napped on our beds in the house. Specifially that Wednesday afternoon we were building a pirate fort in the back yard for the older boys, and it was a good one. I had checked on Ezra a couple of times, normal routine. We were all coming inside to clean up and get dinner ready and I decided to check on him again, this time was all consuming....I swear from teh moment I opened the door I feelt wrong...and like I've done many times before with the other boys and Ezra I reached out and touched his back to see if he was breathing....and he wasn't. So I picked him up, and he was limp and lifeless and his skin was the wrong color but he was warm. I took him out on the couch and laid him down wishing desperatly that Malachi and Josiah would go away and not see this....Sarah was on the phone with 911 and the told me to begin CPR and I did so, most frantically and with little success. I could blow into his mouth...there was spitup in it...and I pushed his little chest wanting so bad for all of it to work....waiting what seemed like hours for the paramedics to arrive and then falling to the floor in loss as soon as they came to take over. He was gone in seconds and that was the last time he left our house for ever..............and for that reason I will not go back, I will not live where my baby died. As much as they can tell us it was SIDS. No one can tell us what it means and I don't even think I want to know. I feel like he might have sufficated against the bed or something but somewhere along the way I've been told he should have been able to move out of that.
I JUST WANT MY BABY BACK!!!!!!!!! I want him. I want him. I want him.
I call this one "Ezra Explained" because of it's irony. If you're reading this it's becuase you want an explanation and I, as his mother, want it more than you. He was healthy, he was loved and cared for so none of this makes any kind of sense, and it never should or will.
On my calendar this year I have June 23 marked, Daddy's birthday. June 25th Baby Ezra born. July 6, my anniversary. August 9th, Josiah's Birthday and September 30th, Malachi's birthday. Looming in the midst of these most significant dates for me is now August 29th, the day my youngest son died.
Just like any other summer afternoon we were playing in the yard with the kids while Paisley and Ezra napped on our beds in the house. Specifially that Wednesday afternoon we were building a pirate fort in the back yard for the older boys, and it was a good one. I had checked on Ezra a couple of times, normal routine. We were all coming inside to clean up and get dinner ready and I decided to check on him again, this time was all consuming....I swear from teh moment I opened the door I feelt wrong...and like I've done many times before with the other boys and Ezra I reached out and touched his back to see if he was breathing....and he wasn't. So I picked him up, and he was limp and lifeless and his skin was the wrong color but he was warm. I took him out on the couch and laid him down wishing desperatly that Malachi and Josiah would go away and not see this....Sarah was on the phone with 911 and the told me to begin CPR and I did so, most frantically and with little success. I could blow into his mouth...there was spitup in it...and I pushed his little chest wanting so bad for all of it to work....waiting what seemed like hours for the paramedics to arrive and then falling to the floor in loss as soon as they came to take over. He was gone in seconds and that was the last time he left our house for ever..............and for that reason I will not go back, I will not live where my baby died. As much as they can tell us it was SIDS. No one can tell us what it means and I don't even think I want to know. I feel like he might have sufficated against the bed or something but somewhere along the way I've been told he should have been able to move out of that.
I JUST WANT MY BABY BACK!!!!!!!!! I want him. I want him. I want him.
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