Remember Again

Twelve years ago today, at about 1pm, Angie and I were at the used car lot, in the cold drizzle, looking for a replacement car. Three days earlier our car had been stolen and totaled by some 15 year old punk. The car he took was the one that Angie's Aunt Kathleen willed to her when she died. It was the car that we had driven both Alex and Robby home from the hospital in. We were standing in that drizzly car lot when our lives were changed forever. That's where we were when Robby died.

A half hour later I was walking in the door at home and the phone was ringing. When I picked it up, our friend Terri was on the other end. She was frantic and crying. She told me that she found Robby in his crib, not breathing and blue. Her husband Sam was giving him CPR and the ambulance was pulling into the driveway. I told her I'd meet her at the hospital and rushed out the door. I'd watched lots of the "Rescue 911" types of shows on TV, and they always saved their patients. I was worried, but thought for sure that the medics would bring him out of it. On the way down the street I met Angie. I jumped in her car and we raced to the hospital.

The next scenes I have in my mind, I will remember forever. I can still smell the place; I can feel the temperature of the rooms, the hardness of the chair I sat in.

We parked the car and ran in. The front desk clerk knew right away what we were there for and ushered us in. The hospital Chaplin took us into a little waiting room and told us that they were working on him and that the doctor would be right in. Everyone looked sad, and I knew it wasn't good. Sam and Terri were sitting in the little room with us, bawling. I don't remember talking to them. The doctor came in and told us that they were doing everything they could, but that Robby wasn't breathing on his own. He told us that he would not come out of it. He told us that it was most likely SIDS. I remember crying harder than I ever had before, and yelling.

The doctor left for a few minutes and then came back. He told us that Robby was dead, and that we could go see him if we wanted to. I remember walking out of the little room, around a corner, into a bigger room. The bigger room had clouds painted on the walls, just like Robby's room at home. I don't remember seeing anyone else in the room, but Robby. There he was, lying motionless on a big operating table. He was white, his eyes half open, with a tube sticking out of his mouth. At that moment, it was real. I could not go in right then, but had to go back to the little room, and cry some more. Now louder than before.

When I finally did go back into the big cloudy room, Angie was sitting in a wooden rocking chair, holding Robby for the last time. He was wrapped in a blanket. She was rubbing her mouth on his fuzzy little head, like she had always done. I remember making a few phone calls. I think I called my sister Tina and my Mom. I don't remember who else I talked to. A little while later, it was my turn to hold Robby. I think I held him a long time. He seemed heavier than before, and grew colder as I held him. The nurse cut a lock of hair from his head for us. Eventually we knew we had to let him go.

Twelve years is a long time, and time does heal. For a while I thought I’d never stop feeling pain. It did go away for the most part. Funny, now I sometimes wish for it again. Sometimes I feel like I’ve forgotten him when I don’t hurt. Every now and then, I’ll grieve a little for him and my throat and eyes will swell. I cherish these feelings now.

A few days ago, on a photo website that I frequent, someone asked a question about which photo you would walk into if you could. Immediately, I thought of the box of photos we have of Robby. If given the chance, I would walk into any of those, just to hold him again and kiss his fuzzy head one more time.

I hope you don’t think it’s morbid that I tell this story today. Sometimes I like to tell it. It helps me remember it. I need that.

Peace-
Matt