Chapter 16

We did not know how long we would have with him. I just stared at him trying to memorize all his features, especially his face. He did not look like JJ or Kayla to me. He looked like Joey’s newborn photos. Periodically our nurse would come in and check the baby and me. She asked if we had a name for him. I could not think of a name and looked to Joey for his thoughts. He said confidently, “I have a name.” He reached over and grabbed a notepad and pencil. He wrote it down and handed it to me, CURTIS SMITH MAST. It was if God had given it to us so bluntly. My grandpa had died exactly a week before and his middle name was Curtis. Joey’s Uncle Smith, or Smitty as he was called, had died at this time of year. And so we had a name that honored those we had loved.
As we held him, we noticed he was turning pale. Joey noticed that he was not sighing anymore. And I felt no more breathe. We paged the nurse, and when she came in I said, “I think he’s gone.” She checked his heart and detected about 10 beats per minute. She said, “it won’t be long now.” I could not believe he had held on this long. He was a real fighter. I desperately tried to make the most of our time with him, but I felt like I was dying too. I stroked his perfect little hands and feet, patted his back, and felt his downy soft black hair. I opened his eyelids to try to see his eyes that did not look back. I think they were brown, but it was too hard to tell. I kept kissing him and embracing his tiny body.
The nurse checked once more and said, “I’m sorry. He is gone.” He had died in my arms, and already I missed him terribly. I handed him back to Joey and went to the restroom to take care of my business. I was afraid they would take him away, but was relieved to see him still there when I returned to my bed. I asked Joey to hand him to me one more time. That’s when the floodgate of tears opened. I just sobbed and sobbed. I held him up on my shoulder like I loved to do with my newborns and I hugged him. I looked over at Joey and cried that I just couldn’t let him go and said, “It’s too hard.” I knew he was in heaven now, but he had taken a piece of me with him, and I was broken inside. Joey wisely and compassionately told me that the longer we held him the harder it would be to let him go. So I handed him to Joey and we kissed him and told him we loved him. Joey placed him gently in the bassinet and slowly covered his body and finally his face with the white blanket. We paged the nurse and allowed her to take him away. And that was the last time we saw him.