I'm not really sure about pouring my innermost thoughts and feelings out on the internet for all to see. I don't know what happened to make me actually decide to go ahead and do it. It's certainly not arrogance, nor is it attention seeking. I think that it's hope. I know that doesn't make sense yet, but if you keep reading, I'll explain.
In February of 1999, my first son was born and died within a two minute window of time. His condition was not a surprise; I had been told by doctors and had done my research. This happened before everyone "Googled" to get their information- I actually had to go to the library and even that offered little help. The word "anencephally" has since become something all too familiar to me. My son had a terminal birth defect. He would never laugh, play, cry, smile, sing, walk, talk, do any of the things we do every day. He was simply born, struggled, and died. He was studied. He was called "unique," "rare," and "interesting." I just called him Nicholas. He was my induction into "The Club No One Wants To Join". I was part of the group of parents of dead children. I'm sorry if I sound matter-of-fact but somehow, with the loss of a child comes the deadening of a soul. Nicholas was the first child I lost. Though I was heartbroken from the time I found out about his defect, nothing in the world can even come close to what I've experienced in the last seven months. Nothing.
I do feel, however, that Nicholas deserves his part in this story. He was, after all, my first born son. My baby boy. I'll start his chapter tomorrow. For now, I'll say goodnight and I hope this proves to be the beginning of the healing process for my shattered heart.
