couldn’t be.
She reached down and touched Julia’s tiny hand. It was slightly cold, lifeless. No, no, no, this isn’t happening. Please, God…
“Julia!” she screamed. Claire scooped the infant into her arms. Her baby girl didn’t squirm or cry—as she had only a few minutes ago. It was as if someone had severed all the joints inside her little body, she was so limp.
Clutching the baby to her chest, Claire raced down the hall to Charlie’s and her bedroom. She grabbed the phone and dialed 9-1-1. She told the operator that her baby had stopped breathing. She didn’t want to say that her baby was dead. But Claire knew she was.
It didn’t keep her from trying mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on Julia. She finally stopped when she heard the ambulance siren in the distance. Pulling her mouth away from Julia’s, she glanced toward the bedroom door.
Dazed, Brian stared back at her. She would never forget the horrified expression on Brian’s face: his big green eyes gaping at her with utter dread, the lower lip quivering.
Everything after that was a blur. She didn’t remember calling Charlie’s office at the University of Washington. Her neighbor, Nancy, must have come over at about the same time the ambulance arrived.
While one of the paramedics attended to her daughter, Claire asked Nancy to take Brian. They labored over the infant for ten minutes. Claire knew they were all hoping for a miracle. She knew her baby daughter was dead. Yet when one of the paramedics covered Julia with a blanket, Claire screamed and tore off the coverlet. “No, no, no, don’t cover her up,” she cried. “Don’t take her away, please…”
They let her hold the baby until Charlie got there.
She wore the pearl necklace to Julia’s memorial service. A social worker from the hospital had given Claire and Charlie the literature and the talk on Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. She’d warned Charlie and Claire that they might blame themselves—or each other. And try as they might to find a reason for their child’s death, they couldn’t. Claire played over in her head those last few minutes when she was holding Julia, trying to lull her to sleep, wishing more than anything that she would stop crying and be still. She couldn’t help wondering what might have happened if she hadn’t put Julia down for that nap. Would her baby have been spared? Or maybe she would have died later that night. Claire knew it was useless to wonder, but she couldn’t help it.
Brian, as the surviving sibling, was a classic textbook case. For a while, he was afraid to step inside the nursery. And he didn’t want to go to sleep—for fear he’d never wake up. Charlie or Claire had to stay in the bedroom with him until he nodded off. He demanded their constant attention, and seemed worried about their mortality too.
Claire knew exactly how he felt, because she kept thinking another horrible catastrophe would soon happen to them. She and Charlie read the literature. They tried to make Brian feel safe and loved—without smothering him. They told him as much as they thought he’d understand about SIDS, stressing that it only happened to infants—not to older children or grown-ups. They reassured him that he’d been a good big brother to Julia.
Every time she reassured Brian, Claire used the same argument on herself. She couldn’t avoid the nursery forever. She couldn’t blame anyone. She had to quit worrying that some other horrible thing would happen. She needed to sleep.
The literature had a section for mothers who had been breast-feeding their SIDS babies. Claire read up on what to do about the painful swelling and discomfort. But there were no instructions in the book to remedy the soreness in her arms. No one seemed to understand that her arms actually ached from not holding her baby.
She tried not to cry in front of people. Charlie was the only one with whom she let down her guard. He didn’t talk about Julia much. But he listened. Somehow,
She reached down and touched Julia’s tiny hand. It was slightly cold, lifeless. No, no, no, this isn’t happening. Please, God…
“Julia!” she screamed. Claire scooped the infant into her arms. Her baby girl didn’t squirm or cry—as she had only a few minutes ago. It was as if someone had severed all the joints inside her little body, she was so limp.
Clutching the baby to her chest, Claire raced down the hall to Charlie’s and her bedroom. She grabbed the phone and dialed 9-1-1. She told the operator that her baby had stopped breathing. She didn’t want to say that her baby was dead. But Claire knew she was.
It didn’t keep her from trying mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on Julia. She finally stopped when she heard the ambulance siren in the distance. Pulling her mouth away from Julia’s, she glanced toward the bedroom door.
Dazed, Brian stared back at her. She would never forget the horrified expression on Brian’s face: his big green eyes gaping at her with utter dread, the lower lip quivering.
Everything after that was a blur. She didn’t remember calling Charlie’s office at the University of Washington. Her neighbor, Nancy, must have come over at about the same time the ambulance arrived.
While one of the paramedics attended to her daughter, Claire asked Nancy to take Brian. They labored over the infant for ten minutes. Claire knew they were all hoping for a miracle. She knew her baby daughter was dead. Yet when one of the paramedics covered Julia with a blanket, Claire screamed and tore off the coverlet. “No, no, no, don’t cover her up,” she cried. “Don’t take her away, please…”
They let her hold the baby until Charlie got there.
She wore the pearl necklace to Julia’s memorial service. A social worker from the hospital had given Claire and Charlie the literature and the talk on Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. She’d warned Charlie and Claire that they might blame themselves—or each other. And try as they might to find a reason for their child’s death, they couldn’t. Claire played over in her head those last few minutes when she was holding Julia, trying to lull her to sleep, wishing more than anything that she would stop crying and be still. She couldn’t help wondering what might have happened if she hadn’t put Julia down for that nap. Would her baby have been spared? Or maybe she would have died later that night. Claire knew it was useless to wonder, but she couldn’t help it.
Brian, as the surviving sibling, was a classic textbook case. For a while, he was afraid to step inside the nursery. And he didn’t want to go to sleep—for fear he’d never wake up. Charlie or Claire had to stay in the bedroom with him until he nodded off. He demanded their constant attention, and seemed worried about their mortality too.
Claire knew exactly how he felt, because she kept thinking another horrible catastrophe would soon happen to them. She and Charlie read the literature. They tried to make Brian feel safe and loved—without smothering him. They told him as much as they thought he’d understand about SIDS, stressing that it only happened to infants—not to older children or grown-ups. They reassured him that he’d been a good big brother to Julia.
Every time she reassured Brian, Claire used the same argument on herself. She couldn’t avoid the nursery forever. She couldn’t blame anyone. She had to quit worrying that some other horrible thing would happen. She needed to sleep.
The literature had a section for mothers who had been breast-feeding their SIDS babies. Claire read up on what to do about the painful swelling and discomfort. But there were no instructions in the book to remedy the soreness in her arms. No one seemed to understand that her arms actually ached from not holding her baby.
She tried not to cry in front of people. Charlie was the only one with whom she let down her guard. He didn’t talk about Julia much. But he listened. Somehow,
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