Prinna Boudreau - Treading Water

 

Several months ago, I met with a mother who had just lost her baby boy. I had heard about her through a mutual friend. She had asked if I would sit down with her and give her some hope that there was life after a tragedy like this. I felt this huge weight on my shoulders. I didn't know if I was a success story, if I had made it through the storm and come out on the other side okay. I wasn't sure I was really ready to help someone else yet. My story started with a phone call from my husband, Chris. He was in the emergency room with our 10-month-old daughter, Sophia. I kept asking if she was okay and he kept saying she was, but that I needed to get there quickly.

 

He kept saying she was okay, but something deep down inside of me told me my daughter was already gone. I ran in through the emergency room doors and I was screaming for Sophia like a mad woman. And it was like they were waiting for me. The nurses, the patients in the waiting room, they were just sitting there staring at me like they knew something that I didn't know. They led me into this small room and Chris was sitting in there. A doctor came in, he knelt down in front of us and he said, “I'm sorry to tell you, but your baby is dead. I'm so sorry.” And then he got up and left. And I remember thinking it was such a strange way for him to say it that he didn't find a nicer way of saying it.

 

I looked at his face and there was no emotion, no sadness, nothing. But I guess they know that after that first sentence, nothing else matters and nothing else will be remembered. So just give the news and leave. I think in that moment I left myself. I felt all my hopes and my dreams for my daughter, just slowly float away. Like, I had released a balloon and had to stand there staring at it with no chance of ever getting it back. The nurse asked if I wanted to hold Sophia and I said no right away. But then, almost as quickly, I demanded to see her, to hold her. It was like some rational part of me was rearing its head, telling me I would forever regret it if I didn't hold her. 

 

They sat me in an old brown rocking chair. Chris stood next to me and my mom, who appeared just out of nowhere. She grabbed me by the shoulders, she looked into my eyes and she said, “This is the worst thing that will ever happen to you, Prinna. It doesn't get any worse than this.” And I'll never forget those words. And then Sophia was in my arms. She was swaddled too tightly in too many blankets and she felt much too heavy. But her face looked just the same, like she was taking a nap. My mom tells me I told her I loved her, that she would always be my baby. That I was sorry we would never get to see her curly hair grow.

 

I don't remember when they took her from me, but after I sat there for God knows how long with empty arms, I remember thinking, what are we still doing here? Why are we still here? She was gone. So, what were we waiting for? And then suddenly and urgently I wanted to leave because it occurred to me, they were going to take me away. Surely, they had to think this was my fault. And I was right. Because just minutes after finding out that Sophia had died, I was questioned by a female police investigator. They led me into this other room and I noticed a tape recorder sitting in the center of the table and I was immediately very scared. She asked me questions about my pregnancy and I thought, “Did I do something during my pregnancy to cause my 10-month-old baby to die?”

 

She asked me about my day and I told her that I had been at work, that Sophia had been with our regular babysitter. She asked me about foods and medications, just a whole bunch of questions, some that I couldn't answer. And then she let me go. And somehow, we made it back from the emergency room to our house. And I remember sitting in the car, watching Chris move from window to window in the house. He was gathering some things for us, since apparently, we couldn't stay there. And I watched the police officers wander alongside him. I didn't realize it at the time, but it was a sign of things to come for me and Chris. I would sit there practically catatonic, and he would rush around making everything okay. But because I trusted him implicitly, I let him.

 

And then Chris appeared at the car door. He was holding our two-year-old daughter, Annabelle. She was wearing her Dora the Explorer pajamas and she was clutching her green blanket. He hoisted her into the car and buckled her in. And I remember I didn't have anything for her. I didn't talk to her. I didn't comfort her. She didn't ask where we had been or where were going so late. But I remember her asking why Sophia's car seat was gone. It was about a week after the funeral, when I was sitting on the computer with my brother, the phone rang. It was the female police investigator who had questioned me in the hospital. She said they had some more results from the autopsy and could Chris and I come in separately to answer some questions tomorrow.

 

And those words just stung, “Questions separately tomorrow.” I tried to sound calm and I said of course we would come in. But then I hung up the phone. It was like all hell broke loose. I ran around the house screaming that they were going to arrest me. I remember my legs just gave out and I fell onto my brother, begging him to tell me I was a good mother. Begging him to tell me I wasn't going to jail. My brother said that it couldn't wait until the next day, that we needed to take care of it that afternoon. 

 

So, somehow arrangements were made and I wound up at the police station with Chris that afternoon. They let us into this interrogation room. And something about it told me to run. Run like hell and never come back. Something was just very, very wrong. But Chris and I stayed in that room. We stayed because we had nothing to hide. The female police investigator came in and she said that they had received some more information about the autopsy. That a bruise had been discovered at the base of Sophia's neck. They weren't saying for sure that this was the cause of her death, but they were leaning towards it, maybe that they would know more when the official autopsy reports came back. She could not have said anything to shock us more.

 

She said that they knew there had to have been an accident. And she just kept asking us over and over what had happened. I thought back to the week before when Chris had taken a phone call from the hospital. And I turned to him and I said, “You said it was natural causes. You said they said it was natural causes.” The police investigator interrupted and said, “No, it was never said that it was natural causes. That was never said.” “But Chris, you said it was natural causes,” and my mom said, “What's natural about a 10-month-old baby dying?” The room went totally quiet. I had lost my ability to speak. All I could do was shake violently.

 

I can't describe the type of fear that something like this puts into you. It makes you question everything you've ever known to be true. In the days that followed, I questioned everything. I questioned myself, my babysitter, my husband. I remember lying in bed with Chris one night and I turned to him and I said, “Did you give her a bath and something happened.” He just said “No.” And then I heard him softly crying into his pillow. 

 

[sobbing voice] And I didn't care that he was crying. I didn't care because I just wanted to know what had happened to my baby. It was a couple weeks later-- it felt like a couple months, but it was a couple weeks and Chris appeared home in the middle of the afternoon from work unexpectedly. I could tell from the look on his face that the official autopsy reports were back. We were supposed to make an hour-long drive to the police station to get the results. But about five minutes into the drive, I couldn't take it anymore. I told him to pull over, that I wanted to call and get the results.

 

So, there were, standing in the tall grass, huddled over a cell phone on the side of the highway. We learned that Sophia had died of SIDS. This wave of relief washed over me. That sounds so cliche, I know, but I could literally feel myself, my mind, my body, my spirit change. It was like everything was right again. I'd been wrong to ever question my babysitter, myself, my husband, but I also felt disappointment. Disappointment that I'd been allowed to get worked into such a state that I couldn't be there for Chris when he needed me the most. Chris and I would later meet with Sophia's pediatrician. He would tell us that there was no medical evidence to support what the police had told us. There was no bruise on the base of her neck. There had been no accident. The police had been bluffing. And he was furious that they had been allowed to do what they did to us. They added to the trauma of an already very traumatic situation.

 

But I'm struck with how far I've come in the past five years. I've had two more babies, Eve and Alec. I'm back to work, I'm writing, I'm being productive and I'm having truly happy moments every single day. Chris and I are beating the odds, we're still together. So, maybe you can say that I'm a success story. I sat across from this mother who had just lost her baby boy. And it was like I was standing on the ocean shore staring out at this woman drowning. And I wanted to throw her a rope and pull her back in, stop the current from taking her away. But then I realize I'm not on the ocean shore, but that I too am in the ocean, just treading water. But maybe now I was strong enough to help her. Thank you.