Hi, My name is Dave. What I am about to write was originally intended for any men out there to help keep you from making the same mistakes I did. But with more thought this is also for the women that stand beside these men so that you may also understand some of our, what seem to be at times, cold actions. Earlier this week my wife, her mother and I stopped by a couple cemeteries in order to see our boys and my wife's grandfather. We stopped to see Luke, first. When we arrived to the area he was buried in I cried. I cried because I miss my son and because everytime we stop by we only know the area he is located in. At the time my wife and I thought it would be easier to let them bury him unmarked. We were in a lot of pain and at the time I think we honestly wanted to forget. Even if we had not lost another son afterwards, I know we would have never forgotten Luke. Next we went to see Austin. We don't have a marker for him, yet. But we had a funeral and when we purchase a marker his grave's exact location is recorded. Before I tell you about the visit I must first give you some background. The day of his funeral was cold with a wind that was much colder. I didn't notice. The only cold I remember feeling was in my right arm. I held my son before he died. I was in a room with Andrea and her mother. We had to make the decision to take him off the respirator. He couldn't breathe on his own and the respirator on the lowest setting was too strong and caused his lungs to collapse many times. We were told, basicly, "You're son cannot possibly survive all of this, but these machines will keep him going until you are comfortable with letting him go. But do keep in mind the longer you take to decide the more pain he will be in". Some decision. We held him with all the wires, hoses and probes coming out of him from everywhere. It was terrible. Then they gave him a dose of morephine and removed everything. He was wrapped in 2 warm blankets and we were escorted beyond the staring eyes to a private room. When we entered the room they turned on a tape playing "Rock-a-by Baby" and left. The fact that I calmly turned off the radio and didn't send it flying out the window still surprises me. Andrea held him for a few minutes and then handed Austin for me. I named him Austin. I believed it was a strong name. He was so tiny. Not even the length of my forearm after being wrapped in two receiving blankets. I'm not sure how much time had passed when I came out of my trance. Andrea and her mother were talking and I remember one of them wondering if he was still with us. I wasnt sure myself. For the next 5 minutes or so I wondered if he was still alive. Then it happened. Not trying to make it sound dramatic, but that's just the way I remember it. It just happened. I hadn't realized just how warm he was all wrapped up until I felt it start dropping rapidly. He was so small it took less then a minute and he felt cold. My arm went numb. All I managed to say was, "He's gone" A couple tears escaped before I remembered my wife. What ever I felt could be nothing compared to what she was going through. I had to be there for her. She needed me. As I carried my son's casket to the plot (he was too small for even a second person to carry the casket) I kept recapping those last moments and reminding myself that my wife needed me to be strong. Everyone else was crying, men and women alike. Many clumsy things were said by family members. We've all been there. They meant well but only made the pain worse. This is off the subject, but the only thing you need say to someone that has experienced a loss that you can't begin to comprehend is "I love you". Anyway, during the service everyone was crying and having their own private questions towards God. I wanted nothing more then to scoop up my boy and cradle him and cry over him until my love either brought him back or my despair took me to him. Either was preferable to the way I felt inside. But Andrea was next to me. What I felt inside could be nothing compared to how she must be feeling. I had to be strong for her. She needed me. I didn't cry that day. I stood tall beside my wife and conversed with the relatives that had to say something and met the stares. I was there to be Andrea's shelter and her crutch. I used Andrea's problems as an excuse to not face my own feelings. In protecting her I had a noble reason to ignore my own pain. When we visited his resting place I couldn't control my tears. Again my arm felt cold. At first I thought those tears were because I had never dealt with the fact that my son is gone. The more I thought about it though, I realized that I'm not comfortable with Austin not being here but I can talk about him now without feeling so hollow. I don't have to choke back tears like I did in the beginning when I mentioned or thought of him. Those tears were because as I looked down I was flooded by the whole funeral. The funeral that I was present at but never attended. As I looked down and then back at Andrea, her pain was no longer so overwhelming that I could use it to hide behind. No one was there to say something stupid so that I might deflect some feelings with anger. I wish I would have swallowed my pride and cried the first time. It would have saved me a lot of time. Time that I could have spent sharing my life with my wife. While being the strong man I thought my wife needed, I missed being able to share my feelings with her and more importantly, I missed the chance to heal with her. | Home | Our Story | Luke | Austin | Heather | Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness | Grief Information | Links | Daddy's Page | Mommy's Page | Awards | Awards Two | Awards Three | Awards Four | Awards Five | Awards Six | Awards Seven | Awards Eight | Awards For You | Poems | Other Memorials | Quilts | Angel Heart Memorials | Webrings | Voting |