For 3 days we remained in the hospital. Magnesium sulfate running through my veins, my blood pressure still elevated and still a fear that I would develop eclampsia. Our hospital room was our sanctuary. We stayed in the same room we delivered little DJ in and for some reason that was comforting to me. This was the last place I held my son, felt his skin, kissed his forehead and I didn’t want to leave. I knew as soon as we left our cocoon, it would somehow make it even more real and I wasn’t ready to face that yet.
The day came when we were discharged. We were blessed with the sweetest lady as our nurse that morning. She was so nurturing, caring and compassionate and turns out went through the same thing we just went through 30 years ago. She shared her story with us and wanted to truly listen. She was a blessing and I know now that DJ sent her to us.
I asked to go home and she pretty quickly had our doctor in our room and we were ready for discharge. Doug went to get the car while I waited in the room. Doug was so strong through all of this. He walked to the car knowing that an empty car seat would be greeting him in the backseat. He quickly removed the car seat out of my sight, pulled the car around and came to get me. I stared out the window while Doug was gone. It was silent in the room and I could feel Dj’s presence. A ray of sunlight shot down from the sky and I knew he was there. Tears streaming down my face, unable to comprehend that THIS was now our story, I turned to Doug and told him I was ready. I wanted to walk out but the nurse said I had to be in a wheelchair because that was hospital policy. I sat in the wheelchair with a blue memory box in one hand and tissues in the other. I was sobbing. I remember being rolled down the hallway and people were visiting with all the new babies. People stared intently not knowing that the only thing I had left of my son was in a blue box on my lap. I wept and did not make eye contact with anyone. It was the longest ride of my life.
Driving home, we cried, the world zoomed past us…life going on. I was confused…didn’t the world know that we had just lost our son?! I sat there wondering how I was going to go on. Devastated, heartbroken and defeated…I held onto Doug’s hand tightly. I knew what was waiting for us at home, a house full of baby things. My sister-in-law had hurried around that morning, cleaning up our house and placing all baby things in the nursery (so thankful for our amazing family through all of this). Doug and I pulled in our driveway and took a deep breath. Doug said to me “All we need to do is make it into the house.” And with that said…we rushed in.
We entered our front door, dropped our stuff and I began to sob. Doug held me for what seemed like forever. It was hitting me that this is OUR story…there was no changing it, redoing it or fixing it. This was our reality.
A Moments Journey 
This takes me right back. It still seems so impossible that this is our story.
I remember that day as if it was yesterday with our Jaxson. And it has almost been two years. No mother should feel what it’s like to leave with a box instead of a baby carrier. I hate that you know how I felt two years ago. It’s a pain that does not go away, but lets you know you loved him more than anything in this world. Thank you for sharing his story, your story. It’s been my pleasure to read about your son. ~Jess
I’m sorry for your loss. My son Hugo was born at 24 weeks, due to me suffering from HELLP. He fought a hard battle, but sadly his lungs were too premature and died in my arms at 35 days. HELLP is truly devastating.