Microfiction | Loss | Regrets
The Choice
TW: Child Loss
I woke to hear him gasping for air. His sweet little face crinkled, his mouth forming an O. His bright blue eyes revealed his panic as his lips opened and closed, his chest barely rising, not being able to get enough air in his tiny lungs.
I sprang from my bed, my feet never hitting the floor as I moved to gather him in my arms. His sweet soft body, so perfect, still smelling like powder after his bath. His curls draped across my hand as I cupped his head, pleading with him to breathe, as I screamed in sheer terror at my husband to get the car so we could get to the hospital.
I didn’t think for a moment about calling an ambulance that would surely make it to my home before I made it to the ER. My tiny sweet angel just needed his mommy to save him. My heart was squeezing in my chest, and I was willing all the air in my lungs to fill his instead.
As we sped through the city streets, running lights as I panicked and begged him to calm and just breathe a little, his father was on the phone with Children’s ER giving them notice of our arrival. I remember keening as I saw the first drop of blood drip from his nose onto my hand. My cries were inhuman, nothing I could ever replicate.
I started to beg whatever deity would listen.
Please don’t take my baby; please save my baby. Please let me keep him.
I then promised the life growing inside of me. My surprise miracle, an upset in the world of permanent birth control, a future son I had celebrated the knowledge of only a few days earlier.
Let me keep my boy, and you can take this life from me. Just don’t take my son. Please let me keep my son, I wailed as I watched my baby boy, my perfect angel’s lips turning blue and his eyes growing dull. Please take this baby and leave my son with me.
As we rushed him through the door of the ER, the doctors and nurses met us and pulled my son from my arms. I was terrified I would never feel his sweet lips against my cheek, be squeezed by his wee arms, or smell his breath of vanilla and milk again. Terror seized my very being.
A couple days later, my sweet, perfect little man was released from the hospital to come home. I held him and squeezed him while he squirmed. I absorbed every single feature into my memory again, held him tight, afraid to fall asleep, thankful for every breath he took. Grateful that I was allowed to keep him. Thankful beyond measure that the universe had let me keep my boy here.
Two days later, I walked into OB’s office to listen to the heartbeat of my little miracle. His wee heart had stopped. I had made a bargain, I made a choice. And the universe … had collected.
