December 5th Jade was born and our family was complete. (You can see Harvey holding her while I feed Brian.)
Two months later I came home from a night class at the community college to find all the lights on at my house and my in-laws’ car in the driveway. I entered to find my in-laws on the couch, saying, “She’s gone.” I ran to the nursery to find the room empty. Harvey wasn’t there, either. In shock, I sank onto the couch, numb. My inlaws said Jade had died and Harvey was at the police station. Brian, then 2, came into the living room dragging Jade’s blanket. He took it to the trash can, threw it in, and said, “Broken.”
My in-laws, trying to do something to help, told me they had gathered up everything of Jade’s and put it away. Harvey was at the police station answering questions. They told me Harvey said she was crying. He did everything he knew how to do to get her to settle down for the night. The next time he checked, she was gone. Jade had been taken by the police to the coroner’s office. As I walked around, there was nothing of her left anywhere. It was like she was a figment of my imagination. I knew I was going crazy.
The acronym is SIDS. (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome). I hear it and I fall apart. Jade was perfect. She had just gone for her two month check up and vaccinations the day before. How could my daughter be ‘perfect’ one day and die of SIDS the next, according to the coroner’s report, still seemingly perfect? Our pediatrician actually came to the house and cried with us.
Both Harvey and I seriously considered suicide. Harvey was afraid I would hold him responsible for her death. The pain was so great we couldn’t breathe, much less take in food, drink, or be even reasonable parents to Brian. We were all hurting so badly it seemed there was no other way to make the pain stop. Finally we quit feeling sorry for ourselves and kept living because we had to help each other through it and raise Brian.
Jade would have been 45 today. What kind of a woman would she be? I’ve speculated a lot about that over the years. I HOPE she would be kind and generous, like our Brian. I HOPE we would be close to her, as we are with Brian. Most of all, I HOPE she would have had a happy life, feel fulfilled as a person, found things she loved to do, found people she cherished, maybe had children…
When this happened I felt a cannon ball had been shot through my body at short range. That pain never leaves. As I have seen in others who have also suffered a great loss, we learn to live anyway. Somewhere deep inside of all of us is a part that hopefully doesn’t give up – that rises up and becomes stronger, helping you do what you have to do, what you need to do, and hopefully – finally – what you WANT to do again.
Each year I research the latest in regard to SIDS. They don’t know much more about it today than they did when Jade died. At THAT time the experts said it was important for the baby to sleep on their stomach to prevent choking from throwing up. Now they suggest the baby sleep on their back. There was the question about whether the vaccinations had some link to SIDS. They say not, though I have trouble believing that. A study in Australia links SIDS to serotonin abnormalities in the brain. No one really knows much – and how hideous is that.
I can’t hold a young baby without crying. I can’t go to a funeral without falling apart and becoming the center of attention. It hurts when someone asks about my children. When I tell them about Brian, they ask, “Is he the only child you have?” Well – NO. There is Jade. I am afraid when I see young babies or pregnant women. I keep my mouth firmly shut because the odds are against women or their babies having any problems. I no longer attend funerals. Our minister said, “Jade was born, lived a little while, and died.” I can still feel her in my arms. I hope we meet again in the future.
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