Dear Andrew,

Your one year anniversary has passed.  It's hard to believe it's been a year.  Some days it feel like it never happened.  That it was all some horrible dream.  But unfortunately we know now that isn't true.  Some days I still get a shock that you are actually gone.  It's like the numbness from being told that you were dead is still gradually wearing off.  Can that be the case one year later?

A year ago today we left you in the hospital  Everyone left the decision up to me but I was physically exhausted and emotionally drained.  Our room was a revolving door of midwives and doctors and all I wanted was for people to leave me alone.  I wanted the three of us to be alone in our grief but they wouldn't let us.

It was a warm day.  It had been a warm weekend.  Your cold cot wasn't working so slowly your face was turning more and more blue.  I was afraid to look at you as I wanted my memories of you to be as good as they could possibly be given the circumstances.  So we left.  I needed to be home in the quiet stillness of my house.  I needed comfort and familiarity.

We had no plan as to what we were going to do with your remains.  No one had spoke to us about it because the people who deal with these things don't work on the weekend.  God forbid your child dies on the weekend because there won't be anyone there to talk to you about it.  We were told we'd receive a call during the week to go over our options.  I know I sound bitter but I've let it go at this point.  I just can't comprehend how there is no one there to deal with grieving families over the weekend.  Even someone on call.  Are you the only baby to have passed on a weekend without any notice?

The day we left the hospital was a Sunday.  I just remember leaving you alone in our hospital room as your paternal grandmother pulled me out of the room.  That really annoyed me.  I know she meant well but I was able to walk on my own and would leave you when I was ready.  Not on anyone else's terms!  I remember thinking I couldn't believe we were leaving without you.  I couldn't believe we were leaving you there on your own and all we had was a memory box filled with little bits of you.  It's still heartbreaking to think about.  I gave you one last caress, trying to remember every detail of you before walking out of the room and not knowing if we would ever see you again.

I don't remember what we did when we got home.  The day is a blank.  I'm guessing I sat on the couch and stared at whatever was on tv.  I know I opened the door to your room again.  I realized closing the door was going to ease the pain we were going though.  I couldn't just erase your existence from my life. 

I wasn't going to sleep.  My parents were still trying to get an emergency flight here and we had left you alone in the hospital with no plan as to what was going to happen.  Life felt overwhelming.  The grief was there but only on the edges.  The numbness had taken over and I just felt lethargic and shocked.  Nothing had prepared me to lose you and my mind couldn't and wouldn't figure out how to process what was happening.