The 25th Day • Part 1

It's October 15, National Infant Loss Awareness Day. This year is the first year I had any knowledge of this day, and I wish it was the last...but just like his birthday and the date he died, this date will always hold a special meaning to us Spaldings. In honor of this awareness day, I would like to do just that and make people aware of Isaiah's story. His story began long before April 29th, but for the sake of awareness about SIDS, I'll stick to the details, what I can remember anyways, of that horrific day.

It's April 28th, and Isaiah is 24 days old. It's Saturday and Daddy had to work a half day, so myself, Ava, Elijah, Jetta, and Isaiah decided to lounge around in jammies for most of the morning and maybe into the afternoon. I didn't sleep at all the night before because Isaiah was fussy..which was very unlike him, he was always so content as long as I was holding him. (looking back now I count it a blessing that he kept me up and we got to have some special alone time). I remember the kids laughing and playing in the living room while I laid back in the recliner and nursed Isaiah. He fell asleep shortly after and I somehow managed to juggle holding him and painting my nails at the same time. That was the last significant thing I remember doing with him. Daddy got home and was tired, so he took Isaiah and laid on the couch with him. Isaiah was always so peaceful on his chest..I wondered why I couldn't sleep as well as they could together. They slept that way for a couple hours and then I started pestering them to wake up...I had been in the house all day and I wanted to get out and do something. We tossed around ideas and then decided that we were pretty much stuck at home. Our stroller was still en route to our home, and everything we thought of doing required the need for wheels. I walked into Isaiah's room with him to change his diaper while I tried to think of people to invite over for a game night so that I could still feel in touch with the real world. No one accepted the invite. Feeling somehow energized and ready to do something for the first time since my c-section, I decided to make dinner. This was my first time making dinner since Isaiah came home...the meals had stopped coming, and I was a little excited to get back into the routine of cooking. I didn't realize that we didn't have much food in the house, but with a lot of creativeness and a few items, I made some home made mac-n-cheese. Isaiah lounged in his swing wide awake the whole time. And when I say lounged, I mean he fussed pretty much the whole time because I wasn't holding him. Ava kept putting his paci back in his mouth and trying to soothe him to sleep, she even used Daddy's phone to take a picture of him. Dinner was done and it was our first sit down family meal since we had been a family of 6. Everything felt perfect.

I still had a ton of energy that I needed to unleash, so I took it out on my kitchen. I had intended to scrub the entire thing down, but after just wiping down counters and sweeping, I decided that was enough, and Isaiah was still begging for some Mama cuddles anyways. Back in the recliner we went to nurse for awhile. He ate and I watched Daddy carpet clean the tops of the kitchen chairs. Side note, if you have kids, don't buy chairs with a white cushion on them. He finished that and sat on the couch to watch tv. I was completely uninterested in the show, so I did what every Mom does, Pinterest. I stared at his sweet baby face, fast asleep with milk dribbling down his chin. And that was the last moment he was in my arms alive. Troy went to the kitchen and came back in and I asked if he could hold him awhile so I could get the other kids to bed. He laid with Isaiah on the couch and they listened as Ava and Elijah climbed into my lap and we read the children's Bible. As much as I hate to admit, this was something that we didn't normally do, but on that night the kids asked me to read it to them. We flipped through and read different stories....Jesus dying on the cross, Elijah ascending to Heaven in the chariot, and about Isaiah the prophet. After their stories, they ran off to bed and I resumed my Pinterest-ing. Troy told me to go to bed and get some sleep for a couple hours before Isaiah woke back up and needed to eat...I said ok, but then ended up dozing off on the chair. I woke up shortly after to the lights on and I decided to get up and shut everything off and get the bed to myself for a little while. I walked over in front of the couch where Troy was sleeping with Isaiah on his chest, and I just stared at their faces...so content and peaceful. I wanted to take a picture but I was afraid the flash would wake him up...oh well, it was too cute. I snapped that pic at 10:42 and walked to my bed...where I had no idea the nightmare that awaited me.

"NANA, NANA!" I heard my husband screaming but I couldn't make out what he was saying or what was going on. I sat straight up in bed and through blurry eyes, I made out him carrying Isaiah in front of him. Isaiah's arm was limp, I could make out that, but I thought maybe it had fallen asleep and lost circulation or something. Troy brought him closer to his body and turned the hallway light on before bringing him over to me. He placed him on the bed in front of me, and I was trying to make sense of what was going on. I picked him up close to my face and looked for any signs of life. He was still warm, he was pale, but no breathing, no heartbeat. I listened for a breath and checked for a pulse, and then I heard a scream...that was me. I was screaming his name, I was screaming "no", and then I grabbed my phone and called 911 and I could hardly get out the words. "My 3 week old baby isn't breathing, we need help, please someone come now." By this time Troy had brought him to the end of the bed and started to perform CPR. I just sat there, talking to a woman who was telling me to calm down, willing myself to wake up, telling myself this was just a dream. I heard squeaks coming from the end of the bed, and I thought he was back, I scooted closer to see what was going on, and then I realized the squeaks were just Troy's breath escaping Isaiah's lungs. Isaiah was wearing the same outfit he had come home from the hospital in. It was my favorite. I remember watching Troy rip it off him and try to rub his chest to warm his heart. I'm not sure where his strength or expertise came from. I was frozen. I got up to unlock the front door and then I walked back to the room. I wanted to be closer to Isaiah, to hold him, to do something to make this all go away. I handed the phone to Troy and leaned in close to his face saying his name over and over and over. "Wake up, c'mon Mama's mans, wake up!" The operator must have heard that I wasn't doing CPR, and insisted that I get back on the phone so that Troy could continute CPR. The minutes seemed to creep by although this was all within 8 minutes, it felt like an eternity. I met the officer at the door and he rushed into our bedroom with defibrillator in hand. I hung up with the 911 operator and watched him get to work...but instead of standing by idly I knew that I needed someone to pray. I stared at my recent calls list and immediately pressed "mom". I walked from my room into Isaiah's adjoining room and repeated "pick up, please pick up" until I heard a half awake "Hello?"
"Mom, pray, just pray, Isaiah's dying." I couldn't say dead, I wouldn't say that...despite no signs of life, I knew my God was a God of miracles and I wasnt ready to accept that fate. She prayed without stopping, words I don't even remember. I paced through the house and watched the paramedics rush in to my room. The AED was hooked up and I heard "do not touch patient". They scooped him off the bed and I stood in the front entrance of my home saying "mom, they're carrying him out." I watched my sweet boy in just a diaper being genty carried through the doors that we just carried him through 25 days before. I held onto that moment knowing that would be the last time he was at our home. My mom started to pray for me because I must have sounded panicky and a wreck. I yelled "pray for Isaiah, not me!" we hung up and I ran out to the yard and asked if Troy could ride with them. They told me he could, so we frantically searched for his shoes, and off they went. Sirens blaring, lights flashing, there went my world. At some point I called Troy's mom and asked her to come quick so I could go to the hospital. I still couldn't acknowledge that he was dead...I simply said "Isaiah stopped breathing but they're on their way to the hospital." I learned from an early age that words can bring life or death, and I wasn't about to let my words effect the fate of my son even if my mind was rapidly losing hope. The first responder stood in my living room in front of the recliner where I sat. He tried hard to hold back his emotion and referenced scripture to ease my heart. He prayed with me and told me that there's still hope...the paramedics wouldn't have rushed him out so quick if there wasn't hope. I held onto that with everything in me. I walked into the bathroom to get dressed and my human mind struggled with my spiritual mind.. "he'll have brain damage if he lives...God can restore him fully." either way, I just wanted  him alive. I begged and pleaded with God. "If you let him live, I'll sit by his bed for months. I don't care how long he needs to recover, I'll be there. Just give us a miracle." I walked back out to the living room and sat. They asked me where he was with my husband and told me not to go near that area. I stared at the couch they were sleeping on wondering what happened. I sat alone while officers walked around doing their officer thing, talking in code and walking away and then back. Finally one approached me and said "I have some bad news." that was all it took. I knew. Those words knocked out any ounce of hope I had left in me. I just wanted to go there. I wanted to see my husband and see Isaiah. The officer offered to drive me, so I stood outside and waited. Troy's mom kept saying that I should call my dad and tell him, that I needed to call someone. But I didn't want to tell anyone. If I told someone that meant it was real, but if no one knew then maybe this could all still be a dream. I wished my sister could be there. I knew she was the only person who could grieve with me and know exactly how I'm feeling without saying a word. It began to sink in when I heard her voice, and for the first time since I woke up, I cried. "Isaiah's dead. Isaiah's dead." I could hardly speak the words, as my throat tightened up and the tears started to fall....I heard her voice and the shock and pain that she felt, and I started to realize that this was real, I wasn't going to wake up. It didn't seem real until I said the words. "He's dead. Isaiah's dead. He died." I stared into the still, dark sky looking for signs that he was with me, but all I felt and saw were emptiness.