November 24, 1976 my son Davey was born. He was a beautiful fair haired doll with dark, dark eyes and the face of and angel.
I miss him every day and treasure every moment we spent together, because his destiny it seems was not to be lived out on this earth, but rather to touch our hearts and in October of the following year begin a new life in Heaven and in our hearts and memories until we see him again.
It was very hard. Losing Davey. And the little girl who was stillborn the year before, Shirley Deborah. Many moms would have lost their minds and in a way I did. In Davey’s ninth month of life my ugly postpartum bipolar disorder hit me full force.
I quit sleeping. I lost all ability to rest. My mind was racing. This was scary, because I was still caring for Davey. Still driving. Living in our new apartment alone. My ex had left. Flown home to his home town. Far away from us.
Fortunately, my family was tuned in. My Dad was worried. He got me to the hospital. My stepmom was watching Davey. They sent for my ex. I was frantic. I couldn’t bear being separated from my son. I was terrified my ex, one I no longer trusted, was his caretaker. I had no idea how sick I was. My doctor’s analogy to me without the protection of meds and the hospital was akin to running on a badly broken leg.
My worst fears were realized. While I was still in the hospital, Davey died. It was no one’s fault. He didn’t have a spleen. We didn’t know that. Complicated heart defects, we knew about and were treating. A baby can’t live without a spleen without treatment. He got his first cold. Without a spleen to produce white blood cells to fight the infection…he died.
Little Davey, angel that he was, became a real Angel. I still miss him. My heart is bigger now with love for my dear daughter Abby, 35! And sweet husband Mike of 39+ years, but it has a couple of holes in it named Shirley and Davey. Holes filled by God, yet deep and sensitive. Soft spots that can begin crying out of the blue.
What happened to the 23 year old me in the hospital? I began to respond to treatment. They found a couple of meds that worked. It seemed I could focus on my recovery a bit more knowing my Davey was in God’s hands. I mourned more later when depression hit me outside of the hospital, eventually sending me back.
I lived. I lived to love again is the smile through the tears. I give the credit to God. He’s my reason for living, for going forward. My reason for smiling is faith in a new day. That’s all we have in this life, but it’s quite a lot!