He's never far

Calvin. He's so close. Always. It's been a hard few weeks. I can't lie. My heart hurts extra much. And there isn't an hour that goes by that I don't miss him. It still comes in waves, only the last few weeks have been like a tidal wave. A never ending one. Time heals, I know. But this hole in my heart still is gaping. I want to hold him again.

I keep flashing back to the day they were born. The night before, I knew something was not right. At 6pm, the doctor did a sonogram to take a look. Mothers know. Surprisingly, all looked well. I didn't sleep much at all that night. I was very restless. At 6am, the doctor arrived as he did each day for another sonogram. It was a few minutes of silence when we knew that there was no heartbeat and then his words "Kate, there is no heartbeat. You're going to delivery".

The nurses started rushing. Within 10 minutes, my IV was started, the anesthesiologist had arrived and we were trying feverishly to reach C. They took off my jewelry, changed me out of my jammies into a gown, took some blood to run a quick work up to find out what drugs were still in my system and started wheeling me toward the OR. Scariest day of my entire life. C. arrived as we were wheeling out - he came running down the hall. They threw him his scrubs and he was dressing while following my bed down the hall. Mom was already scrubbed just in case he didn't make it.

Once we got into the OR, they gave me my spinal. We had to wait for what seemed like an hour for the blood work to come back. If my body had not rid of the indicin that I took the night before, they were going to have to knock me out for surgery. Luckily my levels were ok so I was able to remain awake. Within about 10 minutes, the babies were being pulled out. Cole was first since he was the most at risk. They didn't tell me when he was out - and he wasn't crying so I didn't know he had been born. JD was next out - he was wailing. The sweetest sound I've ever heard. I concentrated on his cry so hard. It was as if he was right next to me, it was so loud. He was alive, and breathing. They brought him to my head and I held him & kissed him for a second - he was wimpering. What a miracle. I'll never forget his sweet little face. Cole was being worked on; very shortly after I saw JD, they wheeled Cole up to me in the bassinet so I could see him. They were helping him breathe with a bag - but he was holding his own. I didn't get to see his face but I saw him breathing and touched his blanket. Then they rushed him away. Calvin was born last since he was stillborn. They all were born within 90 seconds of each other. C. got to cut the cords. It was an eternity when they were stitching me up after surgery. C. was giving me minute by minute updates as he bounced around the OR from baby to baby. He & the nurses came to me with pictures on the digital camera. I specifically asked for a photo of the three boys together and nurse K. came over to let me know that she had fulfilled my wishes. That was something I asked the nurses to put into my chart to make sure it got done...and it did.

Calvin had his own special nurse. She handled him with such dignity and grace. She wrapped him in a blanket, gave him a hat and kept him warm. I was not able to see him until a few hours later. We held him. And talked to him. He was perfect but lifeless. He looked like he was just sleeping. Such an innocent little soul who taught us the greatest lesson in life one could learn. A selfless hero. Our guardian angel. My greatest strength when things get tough.

People told me that I would probably long to hold him again. And that those last moments with him would have to last a lifetime. They seem foggy to me now. And it's only been a year. It's foggy probably due to the drugs I was on at the time. And I remember feeling particularly strong that day - I guess I was just numb. I remember how it felt to hold him (I didn't get to hold the other babies for over a day after they were born) and I remember his face. And hands. And feet. But what seems foggy to me is how I didn't crumble into a million pieces that day. How did I ever give him back to the nurse when I thought I was finished holding him? They kept asking if I wanted to see him again over the next 24 hours. We said no. Should we have? Would that have made my memory a bit more vivid? I'll never know I guess.

It's taken me some time to get to this point. I relish in the happiness that JD & Cole give to me every day. I can look at Cole any time and know what Cal would look like. But it's so hard to let that guard down and feel the pain. It's starting to rock my world. The most unforgettable, scary, joyous, heartbreaking, emotional, amazing day was almost one year ago. The teetering between extreme grief and extreme joy is a tough place to be. Fortunately, it just happens and you ride the wave of raw emotion as it comes; and goes. There's no easy way.