Chapter Three

February 21st was never the worst date in my calendar. It was always pretty bad, but it wasn't the worst. That belongs to August 3rd. February 21st reminds me of everything my son could have been, of everything he'd never do. From walking and talking, to going to school, to having a life. But August 3rd reminds me of his death. Of going to his crib at eight in the morning, wondering why he'd let me sleep so late and not woken me up for his feed like usual.

I didn't want to think about it. I never do. I want to pretend it never happened, that Jacob Peter Brown never existed. Most of the time I succeed, but twice a year I just let it all out.

I sat on my couch all night. I didn't listen to music, or watch TV. I just sat and let myself remember. I guess I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I woke up still curled up on the couch, but with sun streaming through the windows. It was a regular Manhattan day for February, cold as anything and gray skies. It kind of helped me though, like Mother Nature was grieving just like me. And yes, I'm fully aware just how self centered that makes me sound.

My apartment was on the third floor of a huge old brownstone building on the Upper West side. It was small compared to the house I'd grown up in, but compared to the others in the area it was a good size. I'd always lived alone anyway, and I didn't rent it either. It was all mine and I loved it.

I walked from the living room into the kitchen. I mechanically put on the kettle and decided to drink some tea for once. I'd gotten a taste for real English tea when the band and I had spent 4 months in London recording our second album. The producers had all drunk it, and people had just kept bringing us cups of the stuff. In the end we were all addicts. It became a comfort for me, and that morning I needed that.

I carried my drink back to the living room and sat down on the couch again. I let myself sink into the pillows and finally reveled in the memories, happy and painful.

I had been having contractions for eight hours before my waters broke. The clinic I'd been getting my checkups from had told me that I didn't need to come to the hospital until the contractions were less that six minutes apart. I'd been timing them obsessively, and they were stuck at six minutes and eight seconds. Then my waters broke all over the kitchen floor in the apartment that Mindy and I were renting. That seemed to speed things up so Mindy drove me to the hospital.

She'd come to the Lamaze classes with me, and had agreed to be there for me. I couldn't have asked for a better friend through everything, but I really just wanted Ephram there. I didn't need him as a boyfriend, and I definitely wasn't still in love with him, but he was the father and he was supposed to be there! He was supposed to let me yell at him and I was supposed to almost break his fingers while I held his hand through a contraction.

Once we got to the hospital, things just seemed to move at a kind of natural pace. I didn't do the whole screaming in agony thing, and cursing the world, because I was smart enough to take all the drugs I could get. The epidural was incredible. It meant that while labor was exhausting and seemed to take forever, it wasn't as painful as I'd imagined.

It was so worth it when it was over though. I had a perfect little boy with 10 perfect fingers and 10 perfect toes. I know all parents say this but Jacob really was such a beautiful little guy. His blue eyes shone and his little tufts of hair were brown like his daddy's. I held him and I finally knew what it meant to really love someone. I lied when I talked to Dr Brown that one time. I'd never had a first love. Not really. I had one now.

It was painful at first reliving those memories. It was necessary though. I I refused to think about him the Jacob would really be gone. I never want that to happen ever.

I let my memory drift again to the worst day of my life.

I woke up slowly. That never usually happened. I was either pulled out of sleep by my crying son or... Well, actually always by my crying son. A lot of parents are convinced that their child is so good. That they sleep so easily. I was convinced Jacob would never sleep through the night.

I looked over at my clock. It was 8 am. That was definitely a miracle. I hadn't been able to sleep that late for months. Even in my last couple of months of pregnancy I hadn't slept that late. I pulled myself out of bed and padded across the room to where Jacob's crib was. I would have loved for him to have a nursery, but Mindy and I were still sharing this two-bedroom apartment and there was just no room for it. I was saving money though, and soon I'd be able to have a place on my own with my baby boy and then he'd have a nursery. I already knew exactly how I wanted to decorate it and everything.

I knew there was something the matter even before I got to the crib. It just felt all wrong. But when I looked at him, I saw something no parent should ever have to see. Jacob wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing. He was an unearthly gray color that I can't even begin to describe. I just stopped. I don't remember how long I stood there unable to take things in. It could have been minutes, it could have been seconds. All I knew was that my baby was gone and all that was left was an empty shell.

The next thing I remember was a scream. At the time I don't think I even realized that it was coming from my mouth. Mindy came running and saw what was going on. I think she must have called an ambulance or something, but to be honest, I don't remember anything that well after that point. It's so strange how some things are sharp in your memory and some such a blur, even though there are only minutes separating the events.

I reached out to touch him, but I pulled my hand away. He was cold, and his skin didn't feel like skin. It was more like rubber. It wasn't my son. It wasn't Jacob.

I remembered everything with horror. I felt everything all over again. All the pain and the tears washed through me again. But it was good, it was cathartic. I needed it. I needed to remember it. To remember him.

They told me it was SIDS. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. In other words "Shit Happens." They told me there was nothing I could have done, but they don't have to deal with the guilt and the nightmares.

Jacob Peter Brown. My baby. Forever loved. Forever missed.