A Gramma's Sadness

As Larry packed the last bag into the truck before we hit the road for South Carolina, my son, Chris, called. I thought, "How nice. He's calling to say goodbye." "Hi Mom, we're on our way to the hospital. Jen's in labor." He told me we didn't have to come to the hospital...yet. She was thirty weeks along. She had been receiving weekly checkups and regular tests. Everything was normal. They lost a son at twenty-four weeks last year, so her doctor was vigilant with her high-risk status. We were hopeful and planning a baby shower. This was 6:20 a.m. on 11/11/11. Within an hour we learned that my newest grandson's heart had stopped beating without explanation and he was gone. The first person to learn about this tragedy from us was a stranger. We were at a local restaurant eating breakfast, and the owner knew we were waiting to hear our baby had been born. With all the good news about his weight being on target and good test results, we had no reason to believe anything was wrong. When Chris called me back, she was topping off our coffee cups and I asked for the check. I fell apart right there after hanging up the phone, and this stranger put her arms around me and was the first to say, "I'm so sorry". We left right away and headed to Beth Israel Hospital.

To say we were in shock is an understatement. Our sadness is without measure. If my sadness hurts this badly, I cannot even imagine that of my son and my beautiful daughter-in-law. We just cannot believe this happened. As I write this, we still have no answer as to why he died. We can only hope that an autopsy and testing will reap something we can grasp that will help with closure. We can only pray for an answer. If we don't receive one, we'll just have to deal with that when the time comes. I just don't know what to say. I wish I had wisdom to share as a Mother, but I have nothing. I am blank; an empty vessel with a deep throbbing pain in my broken heart. I don't know what else to do but write something to get a little bit of it outside of my Self.

After doing whatever we could to help our children on Friday, we drove back to Tiverton from Boston in utter silence. The only sound breaking the quiet drive, was my sobbing. I remembered something Chris said to us in the hospital, "This is happening to you too." We were consumed with worry and sadness for our children, but I had not considered how I felt. I began to cry and mourn for myself. I wanted to be a Gramma more than anything. Once again, I would not get the chance. I cried for the lost memories and for our little boys we would never get to know. Our children did everything right. They did whatever the doctor told them. There was nothing more to do, but God had other plans.

The next day, I had to do something, so I cooked. I wanted to make sure that when the kids came home, they wouldn't have to cook all weekend. They needed comfort food and sweets. At least, that's what I most crave when I'm hurting. The first thing I thought to make was chicken soup. What doesn't chicken soup help? It helps everything. It is the most basic "comfort food" I can think of. So I made enough delicious soup for their house and ours. Next, I made my son's favorite dish: chili. Larry was my taste tester. He said it was delicious and made his head sweat.

I couldn't stop there, of course, so while I was buying a non-fat latte in the supermarket (because I left the house as soon as I rolled out of bed on a mission), I noticed the coffee counter was right next to the chicken rotisserie. They looked so delicious, I bought a large cooked bird. That meant I needed mashed potatoes, butternut squash and green beans almondine to go with it. I also grabbed a box of Jiffy corn muffin mix, (Chris' favorite) potato bread, Brigham's Vanilla ice cream (Chris' favorite from Grammy's house), Brigham's hot fudge sauce (my favorite), and three kinds of cookies; two involving chocolate (double-stuffed Oreo's and Chips Ahoy).

I poured all my love and healing energy into cooking that food. While I cooked, I needed some healing music to help me, so I played a Nipmuc Indian flute CD I bought at a local fair supporting indigenous people earlier this year. It was the perfect music to calm me as I cooked. When all the food was done, packaged for transport, and the kitchen cleaned, I did one more thing for myself before heading north to deliver it: I took the puppies for a walk around Fogland Beach point. It was a beautiful day, but the wind was so strong, I had trouble walking against it along the beach on the way home. I guess being lower to the ground helps, because my little Bichon Frise and Havanese puppies, didn't seem to have as much trouble walking as I was. But it felt so good to be in the salt air with the wind whipping my hair around. I pulled my hood over my head and tied it down to keep my ears warm. I felt alive again and ready to travel.

Once we arrived at the kids' house, Jen's parents came with Shephard's Pie, and we ate a feast. Jen's best friend also came to visit, so we had a lovely evening. My sister, Mere, called to say that at our nephew's birthday party, all the cousins; aunts and uncles in attendance, wrote messages to their lost cousins and watched the two balloons float to meet our little angels in Heaven. Before floating out of sight, though, my sister said she could have sworn those balloons headed towards our kids' house first. "It was our way of saying, Hello!" she said. It was such a sweet and thoughtful thing to do. We are very blessed to have such a loving family.

Once I have a bite to eat, I'll take the pups for a walk back to the beach. Larry will come with us this time because he wants to see the progress for himself of a house being built on the point. I've been keeping him apprised of its progress, but I don't know the right terminology of the foundation walls.