I have a son, his name is Ryan
“I have a son, his name is Ryan”; “I remember him”.
Early mornings are hard. I wake up wondering if it was all just a nightmare. For a split second I think it might be. But then reality comes crashing down. It was not a nightmare. This is my life. I had a baby. I have a son and his name is Ryan.
I find myself replaying every bittersweet second of those 22 hours. The moment I saw my sweet baby- the rush of joy that came over me. The moment I heard the nurse telling the doctors to give him to me even though I wasn’t supposed to be able to hold him. The best moment of my entire life as I brushed my finger over his chubby cheek just hoping he would open up his eyes so I could see them; the sliver of his eye I finally saw before they took him back. The few minutes in the hallway of the NICU as they were wheeling him to the ambulance. Those cheeks! That blonde hair! The way he looked at me and reached for me as I talked to him.
The moment I got the worst phone call a mother could ever get. Sitting in the lactation specialists car as she drove me across the Bronx to be with my son in his final minutes. The moment the doctor took my son and finally put him in my arm where he belonged. All the kisses I could give him while he was still alive. The minutes I had with my son in my arms and my husband by our side as we were a family.
And the final moment the doctors disconnected his life line. The seconds before his heart stopped beating. The words “he’s gone”.
In the dark of night- “I have a son” my husband cries “his name is Ryan”