This post gives an account of the 10 hours immediately following my son's death and the mixed feelings of sadness, relief, anger, exhaustion, peace, disbelief, and emptiness my husband and I experienced.
Owen was 7 months and 7 days old when he died peacefully in the hospital holding his mommy’s and daddy’s hands. 12 days prior, he arrived at the hospital for his highly anticipated heart surgery when life took an unexpected and unimaginable turn.
Our angel
My husband, Kevin, and I took turns holding Owen’s lifeless body for the last time, and lovingly bathed and changed him into a special gown the hospital gave us for him.
I was struck by Owen’s incredible angelic beauty – he looked like a flawless marble statue of a cherub. There was a sense of peace radiating from his sweet alabaster-toned face.
A couple of nurses down the hall (one who cared for Owen a few nights ago) came by the room to pay their respects to Owen and to give us a hug. They said it was a privilege to be here. We talked to the chaplain-on-call, thanked the incredible staff, and began to load the car with our belongings.
Before leaving the PCICU, I kissed Owen's face repeatedly and told him I loved him and would see him at the funeral. It felt terrible and surreal leaving him on the hospital bed but it was time to go. I remember thinking about how I hoped to never return to this children's hospital as I walked through the revolving doors.
Leaving the hospital, our home away from home
It was 5 PM. We felt numb. Drained.
If we went home now, we would have to face Lea, our energetic two-year-old daughter, feed her, and put her to bed.
I broke down when I told Kevin I couldn’t bear going home in the daylight. I didn’t want people to see us - a wearied heartbroken couple, entering the house with an empty baby carrier. It would mean the nightmare happened and we were entering a new reality.
Mentally beginning a new chapter
To procrastinate our homecoming, we went for a restorative walk along the George Washington Bridge over the Hudson River. It was where Kevin proposed to me over six years ago on one of our many walks over and along the Hudson River.
We walked reflectively across the bridge mentally beginning a new chapter. When we reached the end of the bridge in New Jersey, we sat in silence for a few minutes. We then stood up and retraced our steps heading back to Manhattan to go home. Halfway across the bridge, Kevin paused to take in the scenery. While gazing at the peaceful surroundings, he said he could feel Owen in it - in the trees, the water, the sky, and the sun.
Going home
At the hospital parking lot, we called the funeral director from the car to start making funeral arrangements.
We drove home in silence as the sun was setting. I texted a few friends and relatives. I remember feeling oddly at peace because Owen’s last moments were so powerful. I told friends that his death was the most beautiful thing I had witnessed. I felt as if I had accepted what happened, that I had already experienced the five stages of grief in the hospital. (I'd later learn that this grief was anticipatory grief.)
At home, but a different home
We quietly entered the house in the dark around 9 PM. My in-laws left. Lea was asleep.
After flicking the kitchen light on, I saw Owen’s empty blue bouncy chair on the kitchen floor in its usual spot, in the corner, but this time facing a wall. I burst into tears.
We ate our take-out dinner quietly and got ready for bed. I reluctantly pumped breastmilk for my body hadn't received the memo that I didn't need to nourish a baby anymore.
In the shower, I cried thinking none of this was right. It just wasn’t.
I slumped into my familiar bed and forlornly looked over at Owen’s empty crib.
I turned off the bedroom light.....wept on my pillow....
...and fell into a deep sleep.
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