(This is a story I wrote about the birth of my son, Jeremy)

I never knew that March 23, 1998 would be the start of my life changing forever. The loss of a friend, parent, or sibling is painful enough, but does not compare to the loss of someone that you have wanted and waited for your entire life. My best friend, Connie, and I were pregnant at the same time, so we counted on each other for support. I had had severe complications early on in my pregnancy, but it was on that cold day in March that she got the phone call from me, she had said she never wanted to get. It all started about 6:30 in the evening.

"Connie? Hi, it’s Chris. I think my labor has started again. I have been trying to get a hold of someone to come watch the girls, but no one can do it. Do you think that Amy might?" "I don’t know," she said, "but I will ask her, and be right over."

It took about twenty minutes to get to my apartment, but it seemed like a lifetime. She asked me what had happened. As I was explaining it to her, we both started to cry. This wasn’t the first time my labor had started, and I was on medication to try and stop it. For some reason, it just wasn’t working. "I have the girl’s things ready, did Amy say she would watch them?" "Yes, and she told me to tell you not to worry about how long it would take." Said Connie. "It is probably nothing. I have already been there twice in two weeks, and they keep sending me home. I just want to be sure." I said. I could tell by the look on her face that she understood.

All the way to the German Hospital, we were looking back on the day I found out I was having a boy. "I can’t believe that I acted so crazy." I said. "You did go a little overboard. I don’t think there was any reason to scream out the car window, "IT’S A BOY", but I can’t believe that we sang that stupid song all the way home, over and over." Then we both started singing it again.

"Cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon. Little boy blue and the man on the moon. When you coming home, Dad. I don’t know when. But we’ll be together then, son, you know we’ll have a good time then."

That was our theme song since both of our husbands were in the Gulf War. When we got to the hospital, the doctor started running several tests. After an hour or so, she returned. "We are going to have to admit you for premature membrane rupture." She said. "What exactly does that mean?" I asked. She explained, "You have a rupture in your amniotic sac, and you are loosing fluid very fast. Due to the rupture you have also developed a severe infection." "How long has this going to go on, Doctor?" I asked. "About a week." I was extremely frightened. The look on her face told me that everything was not going to be okay. I asked Connie to try and get a hold of my mom and step-dad, which were stationed only an hour from us. And try to have them contact my husband in the Persian Gulf.

Six days after I was admitted, and several tests later, I was down to labor and delivery at about 11 o’clock at night. The doctor came in right after I got into a room. "We have a problem," she said. "We have been trying to fight your infection for six days, and it’s not working. It’s not getting any better, and I don’t think it’s going to." It was at that moment she would have me make the hardest decision I have ever had to make in my life. She continued to explain things to me. "We can keep trying to fight the infection with medication, and risk an even greater chance of it getting to your baby, or we can do an emergency C-section tonight." She started to go further into possibilities or things to do, but I never heard much of it. I was in shock. They never gave me any indication that any of this was going on. I started to get sick to my stomach. I knew I couldn’t make this decision on my own, so I begged them to wait until I could get a hold of my husband. I called Connie right away. "Connie?" "Chris, WHAT’S WRONG??" "It’s the baby. The doctors cant’ fight the infection and want to do an emergency C-section tonight." I started to cry hysterically. "I don’t know what to do, Connie. I’m so scared. I can’t make this decision without Rob. Can you please get a hold of Red Cross and send a message to him. Give them this number and tell them to have him call me as soon as possible. I’m so scared, Connie." I can remember just repeating that over and over. "I’m scared….. so scared. God, please help me." She tried to calm me down the best she could. "Don’t worry, Chris. I’m coming up there right now, and I’ll make the calls from the hospital." With the fear, anger, disappointment, guilt and confusion I was feeling, I know I couldn’t make this decision on my own. When Connie got to the hospital, we didn’t say anything to each other. She was just holding my hand, and we were both crying. She only left my side for fifteen minutes to make the phone calls. I had made myself so sick and upset with worry, that only two hours later, the doctors rushed back into my room. "We can’t wait anymore. Your labor has progressed, and your fever is high. I’m sorry, Mrs. Neville, we have to do it now." I was crying so hard, I couldn’t even sign the paperwork.

Our son, Jeremy Remington Neville, was born in the early hours of March 30, 1991.

In recovery as I was waking up, in even more confusion, the nurse told me that Jeremy was holding his own, and gave me a picture of him. It was all I could do to hold myself together. He only weighed 850 grams (about a pound and a half), and looked like a little baby doll. I had caught pneumonia and was in serious condition. My husband was finally contacted, but due to a one-word mistake in the Red Cross message, (the german doctors has stated that 'wife wants service member home'!) he was denied leave to come home. Connie had finally gotten a hold me my mom. She came to see Jeremy and me and arranged for his baptism. I was unable to attend this very special event because of the pneumonia, but my mother took pictures, and I kept everything by my bedside. Connie came to see me as often as she could. But it was difficult for her since she had taken in my two daughters. I asked about Jeremy all day, every day. The nurse always told me the same thing, "he’s doing very well under the circumstances, trying to breath on his own, and every day he lives, he has a greater chance for survival." On the 3^rd day, the doctor finally let me out of bed long enough to go up to ICU to see him. There were two other babies in there with him, a girl who weighed a little more and another little boy the same weight. Jeremy was in the first bed. I wanted so bad just to touch my little boy. To hold him in my arms, and kiss all of his little fingers and toes. But they wouldn’t let me. I hung on the words, reports and hopes of the nurses for five days.

When we returned, I never expected my whole world would come crashing down around me. The head nurse met us in the hall, "The doctor wants to see you." She said. It was so casual; I never expected it to have anything to do with Jeremy. I remember turning to Connie, smiling, and saying, "Hey, maybe they are going to let me go home. Just wait in the room, I’ll be right back." As I walked into the room, my hands started to sweat. I could tell by the look on her face, that she wasn’t happy. So I immediately started to explain why I had left the hospital. "I only went to McDonalds for something to eat. I didn’t realize that I wasn’t suppose to…" "Mrs. Neville, it is not that. It’s your son. He passed away at 8:22 p.m." My heart started pounding. It was pounding so hard it was painful. And I could feel the lump in my throat starting to form. It was like hitting a brick wall head first. I just started screaming, "NO, NO, OH GOD NO!" Connie could hear my screams from my room, and starting running down the hallway, where I met her half way. I just fell into her arms, and we both sat there crying. I could hear the nurse and doctor behind me, telling me to stop screaming. That there was other mothers there. After a few moments, they got me back up and into the room. I kept telling them that I wanted to see my son, I wanted to hold him. They kept telling me that it wasn’t their policy, but they would see what they could do. A few hours later, I finally got to hold my son. His eyes closed, his body cold, all ten fingers and toes just as perfect as he was. I sat there holding him, so close to my heart and crying.

I don’t remember much that happen after that, but I will never forget those feelings of helplessness, fear, anger, disappointment, guilt and confusion. Those are feelings that will never go away. To this day, around the anniversary of his birth and death, it is extremely difficult for me to cope with life, much less just simple daily activities. For the circumstances around his death are still, to this day, so confusing. He was doing better and better every day, and then he’s gone. I have not yet been able to get any answers from the Germans, nor have they released his medical records or mine. But there is still one very scary image that runs in my mind in slow motion all the time…. When they finally took my son from my arms, I looked over into the nursery as I walked past. The little girl was still in her same crib, same spot, and the other boy was in a crib, IN JEREMY'S SPOT! Almost like it was him.

Yes, there is a feeling of sadness when you lose a friend, parent or sibling. But nothing will ever compare to the emptiness when one loses a child.