My partner, Jake, is the type of dad who has a toolbox ready for building playhouses and a stash of purple dye for wild hair day at school. He delights in wrestling with our ten-year-old son and eight-year-old daughter, unfazed by the way our turf grass rubs against his knees. He possesses the kind of strength necessary to shoulder our family’s grief.
Flashback five years; our kids are six and four. We find ourselves amidst the common conversation many couples have, asking, “Should we go for a third?” I fret over the thought of returning to diapers and sleepless nights. Our two children are healthy, and I wonder if we are tempting fate.
Yet, we adore babies. I often joke that had we married at 18 instead of 30, we would have a baseball team by now. I cherish the sight of Jake’s large hands folding onesies and sorting baby socks. I yearn to see him cradling a newborn in one arm while grilling with the other.
Then, I am pregnant, but ten weeks later, it’s gone. We cling to each other in the doctor’s office when she says, “There is no heartbeat.” Jake remains hopeful when, shortly after the miscarriage, I find myself pregnant again. I, however, am hesitant to let my guard down.
Our third child arrives without incident. Jake lays him on my chest, whispering that we have a son. In our cozy hospital room, we bond with our newborn, capturing a photo of Jake holding him, his fingers under the baby’s armpits, causing the little one’s fists to press against his cheeks. We affectionately nickname him Smusherface.
As we prepare to leave the hospital, we decide on the name Aiden. Jake gets misty-eyed, perhaps sensing that this will be the last baby we ever name.
Once home, we adapt to life as a family of five. Jake and the older kids are in a playful competition to see who can elicit Aiden’s laughter first. He handles all the baths since I still worry about the water being too hot. As Aiden grows, I watch nervously as Jake tosses him playfully into the air, confidently stating, “I haven’t dropped one yet.”
Jake is the kind of dad who doesn’t worry until there’s a reason to. I, on the other hand, lose sleep over possible developmental delays and bizarre rashes.
At 15 months, I notice Aiden’s head tilting slightly to the right, as if he’s questioning something. I ask Jake if he sees it too. He sighs, giving me that “there she goes again” look. Frustrated, I call the pediatrician, hoping for reassurance. As the appointment approaches, Aiden’s desire for earlier naps increases, and he becomes unsteady when waking, struggling to pinch blueberries and bring them to his mouth.
One appointment leads to another, culminating in an MRI, which reveals a brain tumor.
Jake is the kind of dad who carries his 17-month-old son into surgery. He listens attentively to the oncologists and surgeons, so he can explain everything to me later. He becomes the one who searches for information online, but later I discover that it’s not good news.
We endure 105 days of treatment, taking shifts sleeping in the hospital with Aiden, with Jake taking most of those turns.
Even amidst hospital chaos, Jake finds ways to play with our son. He skillfully navigates the tubes and cords connected to Aiden, tickling him and playing peek-a-boo. When Aiden tires of his toys, Jake inflates a blue surgical glove and playfully bats it at him.
Midway through Aiden’s first round of chemotherapy, he vomits bright green. At midnight, I request another MRI, which indicates swelling in Aiden’s brain. We transfer to the ICU, where a shunt is scheduled to be placed the next morning—my 40th birthday.
Jake stays overnight in the ICU, while nurses check on Aiden every 15 minutes. Before I leave, he hands me a letter revealing plans for a surprise birthday party with 25 of my closest friends, all while our son battles cancer.
On a rare night at home after Aiden’s second round of treatment, he develops a fever. We drive to the hospital at 2 a.m., with Jake resting on a gurney while I sleep in the car. We are unaware that soon we will leave with an empty car seat.
Weeks later, during a second attempt to remove the remaining tumor, Aiden unexpectedly passes away during surgery. Jake lovingly gives Aiden his final bath.
Jake is the one who tells me when it’s time to go. He drives us home in silence and breaks the news to our older children about their baby brother’s death. I can’t find the words.
I wake in the night, gripping my chest and sobbing for my son. Jake lies beside me, powerless as I reach out for Aiden. Eventually, I settle with my head resting on his chest.
When it’s Jake’s turn to express his grief, he says, “I wanted to fix it. I’m supposed to fix it, but I couldn’t. I’m so sorry.” I long to ease his burden, to share the weight he carries.
I let him share until his words run dry and then remind him, “It couldn’t be fixed. Aiden was perfect. He should never have been sick in the first place.”
It’s the summer after Aiden’s passing. I stand at our back door, watching Jake throw a football with one child while the other draws with chalk on the driveway. The grill is sizzling. I gaze at this beautiful, ordinary scene and feel the absence of Aiden, who should have just celebrated his second birthday.
As Jake sees me approaching with a closed-lipped smile, he meets me halfway. “I miss him,” I say softly. “I know,” he replies. “He would be walking by now.” Jake gestures with his hand, palm down, waving his fingers as if to ruffle our son’s curls.
For more insights on family and parenting, check out this post about the emotional aspects of home insemination. If you’re interested in learning about infertility statistics and resources, the CDC provides excellent information that can be useful as you navigate these topics.
Search Queries:
- Home insemination kit
- Self insemination
- Pregnancy loss stories
- Coping with grief after child loss
- Understanding brain tumors in children
Summary: This heartfelt narrative explores the journey of a family grappling with grief and the challenges of parenting after the loss of a child. It highlights the profound love and strength of a father who supports his family through their darkest moments, showcasing the beauty of shared memories and the pain of loss.