Invisible wings

I finally got ahold of Renee at the hospital today. She is the Perinatal Loss Consultant. She is in chanrge of all the stillbirths and miscarriages as well as memorial items and the support group. I had talked to her a few times on the phone in the last couple of weeks. She's very compassionate.

Anyway, I pulled into the parking lot to go in through the front doors. I turned off the car, took my seatbelt off, and there was a knock at my window. There was an old lady standing there with what looked like a permanent frown. I rolled down the window and she said, "You parked to close to my car. I can't even open my door!" I appologized, she frowned at me, and I said a few obscenities as I rolled back up the window. I wanted to say, "I'm sorry mam. But I'm trying to get up the nerve to go inside and pick up pictures of my dead baby." But instead I looked over and couldn't help but notice the 4ft between my car and hers. An elephant could have gotten into the car in that space! Her husband pulled out of there quicker than I could pull back into the spot. I got out, and walked through the doors. The same doors that not two months earlier I had ran in with amniotic fluid streaming down my legs. When I got to the information desk, I asked where Renee's office was. She didn't know who I was talking about. I mumbled quietly, almost unable to speak, "Renee W. She's the perinatal loss coordinator." The lady looked at me, and back down at her computer. I don't know, she said. Check at the Perinatal center. I turned and left, thanking her for the no help that she gave. And I wondered to myself how I was going to make it up there. The perinatal center. The last place I was that I was pregnant with Riley. The place that I was when they told me there was nothing they could do. The place where Dr. Bell looked through my eyes and into my heart and told me how very sorry he was, but I was going to loose my second son. I walked past the gift shop that just a few months ago I had marvelled at. I walked by the elevators and pushed the button. The elevator came down, I got on, and behind me a prgnant woman and a doctor got on as well. The lady looked like she was due the end of May. The tears started to come. The doctor was going on and on about how when his youngest child was a newborn his oldest children were just enthralled with him and blah blah blah. This time I was crying silent sobs. I stared at the numbers. It felt like I was on the elevator for hours. Ding. Their floor came. They got off, I sighed a big sigh of relief. Ding. There's my floor. I got off, turned to my right, and started walking. I got to the door of the Perinatal center and froze. For the first time I noticed the quilts on the walls. The quilts that had the names of each baby lost. The quilts that next year would hold the names of my babies. I turned back to the left and started walking down the hall towards the NICU. I asked a nurse at the nurses station. She took me to the office, and I walked in. Renee met me immediately with his pictures in her hand. You aren't going to look at these alone I hope, she said. No, of course not. I'm waiting for my husband. I'm waiting because I'm to afraid to open them I wanted to say. She walked me back to the elevators and stopped to show me her favorite quilt. She showed me the names and they were beautiful. Each year a different one. Each year with different babies. She said in 2006 they had 42 second and third trimester losses. That's a lot, almost one a week. I asked her about the woman who was in labor, knowing her baby had passed, at the same time I was. I wanted to know how she was doing. I think about her often. She told me she wasn't sure, but she would try to get a hold of her again to see. She said she would be sure to tell me if she was going to the support group or not. We chatted a bit, I shed a few tears, and then the babies started to cry. Their sweet newborn wail. The sound that haunts me at night. I got back into the elevator, went downstairs and out to the car. I met Derick at work, we looked at the pictures together. He was so much smaller than I remember. But beautiful.

I saw something that I want to get. It's quotes for your wall, but big and decorative. One said, "A baby is an angel with invisible wings." That's what I think of when I look at the pictures of my boys. Invisible wings.