Wake me up when September ends..

Part of growth is learning what to leave behind. This would seemingly be an easy task, nobody would deliberatly carry around things that hurt them. Yet I have.. and it sometimes wears me out trying to figure out how to put it all away, maybe I never will.

I look back over the past few years, and there are so many things I am dragging along behind me it has really been bittersweet. I have found so many new friends, had so many things to be really thankfull for. There are times when I think it would be great to have someone erase my memory.. just to make things less crowded in my head, and other times when even painfull memories serve to remind me how really precious it has all been.

I've spoken briefly about one of those memories here from time to time, but never really went in depth because just the thought would make me cry. Still, every year as the colors in the leaves here begin to change it rushes back to me.

At 12:34 PM September 12th, 2000, my daughter Sabrina was born. I saw her for all of 30 seconds before the NICU team descended to wrap her in life support.. She was the single most beautiful thing I have seen in my life, before or since that 30 seconds.

For days before she arrived the members of the NICU were in and out of the suite my X occupied - laying in decline, saturated with drugs and steroids to build the baby's lungs and keep her from going in to labor - because every day counted. By the time she was born my X had been on the drugs for 3 days.

Three days was plenty of time to reflect on the events that lead us to that moment.. from the time she told me she was pregnant, my anger and resentment was extreme. I was convinced that this child was her bf's as she and I had not had sex but one drunken night after attending a wedding 5 months prior. I was certain I was not the father.

My daughter was only 11 at the time, and the idea of putting her through the humiliation of even the notion that my X was unfaithful, let alone the reality, was more than I could wrap my mind around. With all that had taken place, and at that time my X's affair had trailed on for more than 5 years, I managed to keep my daughter from ever having known about it.

Things were at an all time height of stress between us at that point, my X had been a very busy girl for months, she had been funneling money out of my accounts well into the near 6 figure range, hiding bank statements, hiding unpaid bills, and generally constructing the end of our relationship. My business had taken off, I was up to my pits in work and oblivious to what she had been up too. It all came to a head at the photography studio my youngest son had his senior pictures done at.

He was supposed to pick them up, and I got a call from him telling me that the check I had sent the week prior had bounced.. which was preposterous given the money that was in the account.. or so I thought. I told him to go home, that I would pick them up. That touched off a sequence of events, hours on the phone with my bank, my attorney, and ultimately wrapped in the lobby of the photography studio. I was livid.. the amounts were staggering, I went down to pay off the pictures. I remember picturing my hands around my X's throat.

On the drive to the gallery I had plenty of time to relive the past few years.. the thought she had once again pushed the level of betrayal to a new high made me want to just explode. I phoned my attorney enroute and told him to draft separation papers, called my secretary and told her to reschedule everything for the next few days.. it was over, this was it.

I got to the counter at the gallery and paid the invoice, standing there looking at the happy faces that adorned the walls was enough to make me want to vomit. My mind shifted to every picture I posed for with "N" over the time since the affair started - the plastic smile I had formulated to cover the humiliation.. I wondered how many of those portraits on the wall were real.

While I was waiting, I saw the reflection of "N's" car pulling up outside.. I seriously thought I was going to have a stroke my blood pressure spiked so fast. She ambled in the door all pie eyed and innocent, like a thousand times before. She put her hand on my waist and I pulled away and glared at her.. "You need to leave here before I say something evil that will embarrass us both." I said in a very restrained tone.. "What?" was her reply. I snapped. "Listen very closely, because I won't be repeating myself.. get out of here - go home and pack your things, it was bad enough that you have been fucking him for the past 5 years, but now you've brought him home, you've embarrassed our son, you've robbed me for the last time.. get out of here now before I make a scene you will never forget." She looked down at the ground, and went out the door.

The girl handed me the envelope and receipt - I was shaking I was so furious. When I got out the door my X motioned me over to her car.. "Get in and talk to me - then I will leave or do whatever you want." I got in. I don't even remember what the preamble was.. she was talking but it was as if the blood rushing to my head had deafened me. Then came the words "I'm pregnant." I just exploded.. "You fucking SLUT! You can't be serious! And what I am supposed to believe this is mine??!!" It must have been loud - people were staring..

What followed was an hour long argument on her part insisting that it was mine, that she hadn't been seeing him at the time that the baby was conceived - it fell on deaf ears. The money. She tried to argue she had helped her Mother out who had fallen behind on her Mortgage.. Yawed, yadda, yadda. This would later prove to be the absolute bullshit I suspected it was - I had been playing sugar daddy to her bf.

I left there that day and drove straight to my Father's - I was just out of my head, and for some silly reason I thought I needed him. He was as usual worried about appearances, and insisted I think before throwing her to the curb. Later that night I went to the Park I used to go to as a kid.. still that little kid - I got very drunk, cursed God, and demanded he strike both my X and this child dead. I was mad at the world..

That night I ordered her out of our room.. barfed all over the bathroom and fell asleep at the foot of my bed. We didn't speak for weeks. I was thoroughly convinced she had done this on purpose hoping to guaranty she would hold on to me indefinitely. I worked well into the night at the shop to avoid seeing her at all. A month later she demands to know what I want her to do.. somewhat stupified at the implications - I told her she had better plan on raising this one alone if a paternity test did not guaranty I was the father. Then came the task of telling everyone she was pregnant.. keep in mind we were 40, and even in optimal circumstances this would be at best shocking for most who knew us - let alone the kids.

My sons were grossed out by the prospect we had sex - my daughter cried because she was no longer going to be the baby - then flipped to ecstatic because she would finally be a big sister.. the peripheral shock was as expected. When people conceive that late in the game it is always pretty well understood that it wasn't intentional, and congratulate with sympathy.

On the surface it was all about trying to make it ok with everyone around us.. all the while the specter of what it really was loomed between us - it was an exhausting experience. I of course insisted on an Amniocentesis as soon as it was possible - intent that I was not going to go forth for one second longer than I had to with the entire charade if the child were not mine.

A day after the amnio, I came home to her in labor. The hospital near our home was not equipped, and they sent her by ambulance to Uof M. The things that cross your mind when tailing an ambulance at 2 in the AM at high speed, I of course shifted back in time to that night in the park.. guilt running amuk.

While they were getting her processed at the hospital, the liason from NICU took me to the ward. They do go to shocking extremes to prepare you.. what is most surprising is that as blunt and informational as they are.. you just can't possibly be prepared for it... words don't exist in the english dialect.

We filed past a dozen incubators, parents standing vigil beside them, she took me to an infant that was to be about the age my daughter was - 25 to 26 weeks. The sight of a baby that tiny... I couldn't stop the tears, I stood there listening as they explained it all. The nurses last words were that I needed to prepare myself for the worst roller coaster ride I would ever be on. That description while somewhat accurate doesn't even scratch the surface.

Flash forward to that 30 seconds seeing her for the first time.. She was under her own power - but they said that would be fleeting and lead me out of the prep room as the team descended on her to put her on support.

Everything else fades away in the moment - you see just how amazing and fragile life is and it takes your breath away.

It was more than an hour before they had her ready to greet the world.. you file past the parents and visitors huddled round the other babies - causes that take on lives of their own. And there you are at the foot of her bed, an open layette with lamps to keep her warm, the tubes seem to overwhelm her, at 1 lb 7 oz. she nearly fits in my hand.

They encourage you to gently touch her - she needs to know you are there, you put your finger tip in her hand, which is barely big enough to wrap her tiny fingers around - yet she grabs it.. there you are, she trembles a second.. you stroke her hair she raises her eyebrows fighting to get them opened.. that won't happen yet. When it hit me I just stood there speechless, tears running down my face.. trembling like I had touched the face of God.

What followed would be days of seconds like that.. and when your there, you are litterally living moment to moment.

You get to know the parents of the other babies of course, each day we would be gathering in the waiting room, discussing progress - sniping about this nurse or that doctor, praising others. Every day new faces would be added.. then some days there were faces missing.. a silence would fall among us when we all realized why. We all took turns with the day to day crisis, each knowing that 10 minutes could bring us a new one.

Sabrina was thriving at first, she was strong, and a fighter.. then one day seemingly out of nowhere things changed, she was attacked by a terrible staff infection, blistered from the top of her shoulders to her rear. It looked a lot like a third degree burn, the whole thing broke out in a matter of hours.

The next few days were spent watching doctors fight to stop this.. and it seemed we were winning, she improved, still in the days that followed went through a lot of agony. There were so many moments I wondered if it were fair to put her through all this. Had this been years ago.. none of this would be happening, yet you trust the ones who know best.

Friends and family came and went, my daughter Tiffany was 11 at the time, and would sit at her bedside doing her homework. I tried to get her to stay home but she was insistent she wanted to be part of it. I had serious issues with that, and later restricted her to weekends.. but there was no protecting someone from loving.

Each day brought new challenges and hurdles, so many complications for babies born too young. She opened her eyes for the first time when she was 2 weeks old, she looked so startled.. the menagerie of tubes and hoses must have frightened her.. I was just awestruck she was so alert.. so hard not to hold her. Her Layette was covered in tiny stuffed animals and family pictures, she must have thought she was born to circus folk.

She had become somewhat of a cause celeb among the doctors - seemingly she had none of the normal laundry list of super preemie babies, things like lung ailments and eye bleeds, signs of brain deficiency were non existent, there was so much hope that while she would always struggle, she would be fine.

We left for one night.. the following morning came a call from a nurse who's trembling voice shook me to the core, "We need you to come down here right away." My heart sank, I asked her why, she said there had been some problems while trying to change the dressing that held her respirator. She wouldn't tell me what. I got ticketed for 115 mph in the 70, as politely as I could muster - I told the trouper he had best follow me and just keep fucking writing.

When we got there the news was pretty horrible, the infection that had the third degree burn like effect had returned beneath the tape that held her respirator, when they removed it the adhesive had taken a layer of her skin over her lip with it. I was furious, as I had been bitching about the tape for more than a week to deaf ears, but it is all academic once faced with what had to be dealt with, at that point they had to fabricate devices to hold her still and keep the breathing tube stationary.

The following days would see the infection returning across her back with a vengeance, and just when it seemed things were turning around again came the blow that her heart was in trouble - a tube that was supposed to close itself off days after she was born was opened and had to be surgically closed. It took 48 hours to find a cardio thoracic surgeon who would risk the surgery while she was still infected, there was no time to clear up the infection.

Doctors were consulted from as far away as Johns Hopkins, when finally a surgeon stepped up. We spent the 6 hours she was in surgery in seclusion, they had a suite just for such things. In the suite was a hot line where the surgical staff would call in and give us the progress reports, I have to say these people were as thoughtful as any medical professionals I have ever encountered. But there is just nothing that can make you at ease until it is over and you hear the word success.

When the surgeon called I about jumped out of my skin - the silence was deafening up until that second, "She came through it splendidly" is about all I remember of the conversation - half an hour later they came to the suite to visit us and reassure us it was fine - they were really amazing people, and you had to respect them for what they did.. walking where angels fear to tread every day.

The days that followed saw some major improvements, her stats seemed to get exponentially stronger with every hour. The infection was seemingly under control, and for 5 days life was sweet.

But in that time, we said goodbye to three other babies and their parents, I cant put into words how raw the emotions get.. you feel this bond - I guess drawn by the very experience, and when they suffer a loss you feel it like a bullet sailing past your face.

Then day 6 after the operation came the news that the infection had gone active again. At this point having been back and forth with it - I guess I figured it would work itself out, still I had to leave the room, head to the parking deck - a place I had turned to for quiet, dropping to my knees and swearing on all that was holy that I would live the rest of my life as a choir boy if God would just get us through this.
By the start of Sabrina's 28th day it was clear to me that God had little to do with what was happening.

She had struggled at that point for 3 days with the infection - it had gone to her arterial system via the wound from the heart operation.. we were loosing. All the nutrition from the IV's was bleeding through the walls of her veins - the infection had begun to ravage her from inside now. Her kidneys had stopped functioning, and the doctors called us to a meeting.

At the very start - they tell you if there comes a point where things just look too hard to win - they will give you the option of discontinuing the efforts.. this was that point. I just couldn't accept it, she was still fighting. I asked if they felt it cruel to continue - they insisted no - yet said that if things continued to deteriorate that we should start considering "it". In hindsight this was the team getting us ready.

An hour later, we were met at the foot of her bed by the Doctor who had overseen her for most of the time she was there, she asked for permission to try one more round of high dose dopamine to get her kidneys going, I immediately said yes - my X said wait, what will this entail? At this point her IV's had failed one after another. The doctor explained it would involve another surgery called a "Cut in" because they would have to have a hearty vein in order for the round to work, this would pose even more risks as well and she might not even survive the process.

My X reared back on her heels and said "No." I looked at her incredulously, and we began to argue.. all the while I had waited for Sabrina to give me some sign - any sign that told me she was just too tired to go on. My X argued that what they were proposing was cruel, and that she had enough.. I countered that until I saw some sign that she was giving up I owed her every chance.. And then it happened. Sabrina coded as we stood there arguing.. the doctors pushed us back and immediately started to resuscitate her, my X grabbed my arms and said "Scott, it's time, stop them.. you were looking for a sign - she just gave it to you, she is tired, you have to let her go."

I looked past her at the team that had descended on her - her arms and legs flailing helplessly when they jolted her.. and the word "Stop!" came out.. I heard it - ..it came from me. They turned towards me and a nurse stepped away towards me and said "Are you sure?" I shook my head.. I was sobbing too hard to talk - they continued and I hollered this time "Stop.. PLEASE just stop" Even with all the furor, they heard me the second time.. all the sound left the room, things went to slow motion, it was all almost other worldly..I felt myself slumping to the floor, tears blinding me, I couldn't stop shaking , "Are you sure?", the doctor grabbed my arms, "Are you sure?" "YES, just stop..

It was too late they had already resuscitated her.. the doctor said, "We can disconnect support, make her comfortable, it will be ok." I remember thinking how odd it was to use the word OK. The doctor asked if one of us wanted to hold her while she went.. My X just said "I can't", and she grabbed my face and said "You have to do this.. Scott you can't let her go alone." I shook my head and they put her in my arms. I could scarcely see her - the tears just wouldn't stop.. She passed away in my arms half an hour later. For me, for the longest time, hope died with her.

The second hardest moment was telling my daughter.. I wished with all my heart I hadn't let her get so close.. I remember every second of the conversation yet I can't bring myself to write the words, I felt I had failed her in the worst way... The days that followed, the funeral, all of it a blur.

After the funeral service, an older gentleman, one of the church deacons, approached me at the church - he hugged me and said he had lost his little boy the same way more than 40 years ago, his eyes welled with tears, "You never really forget it."

He was right.. you really never do.