Highs and lows




"I can't do this again"

The room is spinning. My mouth dry and heart racing, I repeat these words a few more times- maybe out loud, maybe just in my head. I can't even tell. Feeling as though I am going to faint, I fight hard to push away the flashbacks that flood my mind so I can focus. I look down at the three day old baby sleeping in my arms when suddenly I feel panic. I start to frantically search for any sort of sign that he is breathing. I try to stir him, make him move, beg for anything. When he responds, I feel comfort. But it is temporary. I will go through this regularly. When he is napping, sleeping, still. The sight of his little chest rising and falling with breath, the slight flare of his nostrils as he breathes in and out, the tiny micro movements that occur involuntarily all provide tremendous relief. At night, our Owlet monitor is our lifesaver, providing instant calm with the display of his heart rate and blood oxygen levels. I am tired from broken sleeps and constantly chasing reassurance.

Cooper Keyes was born on March 13th, 2018. We chose his second name as it is a form of his brother Caius' name. It also has a special meaning between Clint and his brothers. We liked Cooper because Cooper is a fairly mellow and curious little guy who loves to snuggle (yay!). He is a spitting image of his big brother, which I LOVE but it also makes me incredibly sad at times. Their similar appearances and expressions mean that we are incessantly bombarded with memories of Caius, which is amazing. But it also brings sorrow as we remember how happy we were when he was here. It can also feel a tad surreal at times, especially when I am tired and my brain gets mixed up. Cooper definitely has his own little flavor though, and it is so much fun watching him develop. It feels like he is changing more every day, and each day is better than the last. I am so glad he is here, so happy that he is exactly as he is. Every minute I get to cuddle with him is a gift, and I am so aware of it. 

As good as everything has been, it is also exhausting, mentally, to constantly fear as though your child will pass away suddenly. When you have had this experience, you know firsthand how quickly it can happen and how terrifying it can be not to have any warning signs. I feel constantly on edge. I can't tell how many times a day I feel for breath under Cooper's nostrils, how many times I look to see if his chest is rising, how many times I reach into the baby carrier to feel for movement. There are other things I do as ways to try and predict a similar occurrence. I start to put together connections between Caius' last day and anything that is going on presently. For instance, happy coincidences allowed Caius to see all his grandparents the day before his passing. Therefore, my irrational brain suggests that if Cooper sees them all in one day, it is possibly a way of the universe telling me it will happen again. This rationale doesn't make sense even as I type this out, but perhaps it is a way to try and make sense of a senseless event. Certain dates and numbers and outfits and activities and totally random 'signs' also muddle my brain. I know these things aren't logical, I know there is no evidence behind these ideas. I'm working on fixing my brain. This also causes my anxiety to become heightened. I am so busy trying to correct intrusive thoughts and make my increased flashbacks go away that some days all I can handle is making sure Cooper is cared for and happy, getting us out for movement and fresh air, and drinking in all the happiness he has brought. Chores and errands fall to the side. I want nothing but to take in every moment and just feel the joy that has entered our lives.

There are days when I am playing with Cooper and suddenly wonder why Caius isn't here with us. There are times when I see families with two boys and feel sad. I constantly wonder what I could have done so wrong in my life to have caused my son's life to be cut short, as though he was punished for something I did or didn't do. I think about what Caius would look like now, what it would be like to see him playing with his little pals. I try to imagine him walking. I can't even begin to think about how he would be turning 2 in three months. I look at Cooper and see so much of Caius. In his expressions, his features. I notice them but I also look for them. I'm not sure why. But I do know that I have become renewed in these past two and a half months. I have another beautiful son who has filled me with so much love and purpose. I love both my boys and am so grateful to be their mother.

We miss you buddy.

Chantal


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