Blessed Broken Road

I have one sibling, a younger brother, whom I best picture during my childhood for the times we drove each other insane. We fought like, well, brother and sister, and frequently made the best of situations to torment one another. But I still loved him... even before I was old enough to realize that that was why I inexplicably remained protective of him after the little butthead broke the tv remote and then blamed me for it. It's the plight of the big sister, fighting the urge to kick him in the shins under the kitchen table while simultaneously protecting him from all the world's troubles.

When I left home for college and got my own "outside" life, when I got married and got a career and bought my first home, when he left home for college half-way across the continent and started building his independence, I still felt like it was my job to protect him. He's my little bro, he's "Squeak," he's that mischievous blonde-haired toddler wearing velco-close sneakers and driving his Cozy Coupe down the deck stairs. I'm hard-wired to make sure he never experiences anything other than happiness and ease in life. That's what "he's my little brother" means.

...And then there he was, all grown up in my kitchen, "Meg, I'm engaged, and we're expecting."

No you're not, you can't be, how can you drive a baby to the grocery store in a Cozy Coupe?

I cried. We hugged.

And the months went on. And I started to adjust to this new phase in my life, where I'd protect my grown-up little brother. And I'd protect my nephew! The day we found out it would be a boy I was carpooling with a girlfriend from work when Squeak called. I swear the phone didn't even ring as I had already calculated how long it would take the average human to write a check for their doctor's copay, walk to the car, buckle up and dial the phone after their ultrasound. "Guess what Meg, it's a boy!"

Holy crap it's a boy. I will see my little brother in miniature again! He'll be a flirt with white-blonde hair and he'll constantly keep his mommy on her toes. I'll hug him and pick him up and his feet will dangle while he giggles. I'll buy him a Cozy Coupe!

I was already protective of him. I already loved him. My nephew, our Aiden.

Aiden's mommy, M, kept on incubating her little one like a champ. There wasn't much news for the remainder of her pregnancy. Everything was textbook. Everything looked great, hunkey-dorey, perfect even. So we all prepared for what (we thought) was to come. The nursery was decked out in the cutest nautical-themed baby garb. My mom handmade a beautiful quilt and I made a teddy-bear to match. I hoarded every baby clothing item I could find that had the Phillies logo on it (go Phils!!) And on a routine basis I educated everyone who was unfortunate enough to stop by my office at work on every single detail about my nephew and how he would be born any day now!

During a cold and wet winter in New England, Squeak was a full-time student and working long hours to help save up for when Aiden arrived. He asked me to come stay with them for the week around M's due date so that she wouldn't be alone going stir-crazy in their apartment. It worked well for me because my government job includes a nice leave package, so taking off the week with relatively little notice was possible. In no time it was all set up and I was packed up in my Corolla and on my way.

It was the first time I had made the drive from my house to their apartment, and it sucked. I'd flown previously and that worked out great - reasonable prices available, short hour and a half flight on a regional jet. But because it was last-minute and I knew it would be helpful to have two cars while up there I decided it was best to drive. And other than the 7-hour trip through miserable slushy blinding January snowfall during which I got to practice my evasive driving around a VW-bug who crashed in front of me, it was in fact helpful to have that extra vehicle for running errands while Squeak was at work.

For days after I arrived I did my best to pack our time full of activies to keep M happy. My trunk was crammed with every miscellaneous "fun" thing I could find in my basement before I left - a leftover gingerbread house kit from Christmas, my bins of K'nex from 1997 (still meticulously organized), puzzles, games, you name it. And we went through everything. I couldn't remember the last time I had no other commitments to occupy me, no office work or house chores or other responsibilities. Literally all day every day free of anything specific to do other than to wait in anticipation. M's due date had already come and gone several days earlier.

Later I would be haunted by some of the simple things I did and said during that time. I took pictures of the empty nursery thinking, "Wow are things going to change quickly around here! This is just the calm before the storm!" As M impatiently prodded her belly and complained of feeling like a whale, I encouraged her that "it'll happen soon, he's just got his mommy's/daddy's stubbornness, don't worry, just think one week from now you won't be pregnant anymore!" God why did you let me say those things if you knew what was to come?

Friday morning M saw her doctor for a pre-scheduled appointment. She was 5 days past her due date, but all looked well. She was 3 cm dialated. They stripped her membranes and said they would be surprised if she wasn't back that day to give birth, but to go to the hospital on Sunday morning if not.

Friday evening/night was spent with M and Squeak, all of us together watching movies in nervous excitement. Then Saturday we went to the library to refresh our pile of DVDs. It was icy on our walk and I half-jokingly drove M nuts by encircling her with my arms in case she would start to fall. Saturday evening, nothing.

Sunday morning, January 18th. We were all up early.

"How'd you sleep last night M?"

"I actually slept really well, surprisingly"

laughs "Little guy must have been giving you a break in preparation for all the work today"

God why did you not send an angel down to tell me that something was wrong? That I should have thought more of her belly being still enough to sleep?

We ate breakfast, deciding that 6:00 was too early to go to the hospital because we'd just wait as the doctor wouldn't be there yet.

M showered. She felt him kick.

And then we were driving to the hospital in the middle of a blizzard. A day I'll always remember I thought, as I tried to memorize my little brother's face while he drove the car on his way to meet his son for the first time. All was well with our world.

There are some parts of that day that I'd like to just keep for myself for now. Others I feel belong solely to Squeak and M and so I will not share. What follows is therefore a simple snapshot, from that separate place in the room where I felt myself floating as the events that were to be unfolded in front of us.

I sat with my little brother, my little brother, in a chair in a hallway waiting. We joked, I smiled. Just me and Squeak. Remember this moment I told myself.

A nurse came and then I was alone waiting in the chair in the hallway. I wonder what today will be like now that it's finally here?

A text.

"They can't find a heartbeat."

I don't understand.

A nurse comes to get me. She says, "I'm so sorry."

I don't understand.

I'm in their room. They're crying. I'm crying.

I DON'T UNDERSTAND.

Minutes later I was standing outside the room while a handful of the nurses went about their normal business in front of me. I stopped one and asked what happened? What's going on.

"I'm sorry, the baby has died."

And that's what I needed to hear. That's why there was no rush of doctors and phone calls and bringing in a stretcher and something, anything showing that there was an emergency. "They can't find a heartbeat" apparently means the baby has died. Would seem like a simple connection to make.

But when that baby is your nephew, when that baby is your little brother's son, it's an impossible connection to make. Your mind cannot make that connection because you didn't think it was possible for your heart to break into that many pieces all at once.

They induced her, which I thought at the time was strange. But in any case, while the pitocin worked I had hours ahead of me to pack full of doing anything and everything possible in response to the overwhelming urge to "help" M and Squeak, as if I could somehow protect them from the pain. I may not be a mother, but the motherly instinct that rose from the pit of my soul took over.

You need to eat Squeak, I'm going to get you food. Do you need anything else? Maybe it would help if I cleaned your apartment? Done. Maybe it would help if I made phone calls? Done. Maybe if I shoveled out the car? Done. Maybe if I climbed Mount Kilimanjaro and built a rocket and flew to the moon and back? Would that help?? DONE.

Shock will do funny things to a person. Given what had just happened, in hindsight I'm not entirely sure how I drove to a grocery store and had the presence of mind to pick out healthy foods that I know my little brother likes, to walk to a cash register and give them my credit card, to hold my body upright as I walked to the car. That day was survived on pure shock. And I knew it at the time. I knew I was barely holding it together. But I held on to it ferociously. Only once did I let myself go for even a moment. In the car while I waited at a stoplight I screamed for my little brother. For what God had allowed to happen, even after all the strict marching orders that I had delivered to Him on just how exactly life would be allowed to treat this person that I loved so much. What a cruel twist, after all he had already been through. To steal his son mere hours before birth, while we drove to the hospital with false hope in our hearts.

Eventually there were no more errands to run, and my mom had arrived, and M was dilated fully, and it was time.

I learned that day why it is profoundly important for a woman to have the chance to birth her baby herself, even if he has died. She may think that she is not strong, but she has already shown superhuman strength and it's clear to everyone that she would do anything for her child.

He was beautiful, and perfect. Just like I had imagined, but not at all like I had imagined.

My brother through some miracle had the presence of mind to ask me to take some pictures of Aiden. Each one is like gold to me, a handful of mementos taking the place of what should have been a long lifetime of memories. If you ever should find yourself in the most terrible of circumstances, please know that pictures are incredibly important even when you wouldn't think to take them at the time.

A few weeks later the doctors medically confirmed that Aiden was, in fact, perfect. He died because his placenta was very undersized, which no one had noticed because the pregnancy had gone so well that no one thought to check. He was perfectly healthy, and had he been born hours earlier, before his little body could no longer survive on a 41-week old undersized placenta, he would likely be here with us today.

...

In many ways Aiden is still with us. Not in the one way that I know I would prefer, but he does live on. The only "auntie" duty that I can possibly do for him now is to keep his memory alive. There has not been an hour that has passed since that day when I have not thought of him. Aiden means "little fire" and he is and continues to be that - a fire in the hearts of those who knew him. Without ever taking a single breath on this earth he has affected my life forever. There is a saying that pain can increase our capacity to love. Because of Aiden I have accepted my days as gifts. I find myself caring less about things that I once thought were important, and more about those that really are.

I miss him so much, but I know that Aiden's story has only just begun.