Noah Lambert was out of sight for less than 20 minutes when he died in his crib. He had just turned 4 months old.
“Noah died yesterday. There’s no other way of saying it,” his mom, Courtney, wrote. “I feel dead too.”
I read the news on my computer screen and felt a dull ache in the pit of my stomach — deep in the place where I’d just nurtured my own baby for nine months before she was born earlier this year. My hand covered my mouth while I tried to comprehend what my heart could not.
Courtney said their sweet, blond boy may have died in a “SIDS-related event,” according to their pediatrician. They’re still awaiting results of an autopsy. In the meantime, there was sad work to be done.
Courtney and her fiance, Mark, moved out of their apartment to stay with family. They couldn’t bear to see the tree they’d painted on the wall next to Noah’s crib, a sad reminder for the first-time parents who’d happily tackled the project as Courtney’s pregnancy progressed.
They made plans for a memorial service. They chose to cremate their son, rather than bury him. Courtney couldn’t endure shopping for such a tiny coffin. Instead, they held a ceremony for him Sept. 24 at a beach in Florida, where they live. They released balloons in his honor.
I know these intimate, personal details because Courtney divulged them in a small, private Internet forum we belong to. I haven’t met her in the conventional sense. We’ve only talked online and over the phone. Yet our bond — and grief — could not be more real.
We met last year on Babycenter.com, a Web site for parents. We joined a group for expectant mothers due between June 1 and 10.
The women in our group hail from all over the United States. One member is in Argentina and another in Dubai. We are a diverse group: single, married, military, stay-at-home, working, rich, poor and everything in between.
Throughout our pregnancies, we weathered morning sickness together, worried about miscarriage and kept in contact even while we were in labor. We are just starting to celebrate our babies’ milestones as they reach their fourth month, which made Courtney’s news all the more heartbreaking and unreal to us.
Like the other mothers in the group, I hugged my own baby a little longer and a little tighter that night before putting her in the crib. As I watched her round tummy move up and down with each breath, it was hard to pull away.
In the days following Noah’s death, Courtney confided that we were the only ones she could turn to because we — more than anybody — could fathom how she felt, given that we all have 4-month-old babies of our own.
More Top Picks Best Aviator Sunglasses For Small Face Women
“We’ve been through our whole pregnancies together,” Courtney told me over the phone. “No one could comprehend where we were coming from. When it happened, I was like, ‘I have to get on the Internet.’ I knew everyone would care.”
Indeed, our group of 158 mothers rallied around her. We organized and sent flowers. Many sent cards. And our group leader, Emily, compiled pictures of us and our children honoring Noah with balloons and candles into a video tribute for Courtney and her family. You can see the video at
http://www.vimeo.com/15412169.
Our response, Courtney said, has helped her survive her darkest days.
“It’s like cope or die,” she said. “You wake up and your heart still beats and you’re literally confused. Why is it still beating? It’s shocking that the world still goes on.”
It’s been two weeks since her son died. And she recently posed another question for us. Is it OK to already be dreaming about having another baby?
“I feel like I have all this love to give and no one to give it to,” she wrote.
Our support could not have been more clear.
“I say go for it,” wrote April, one of our members. “Children have the unique ability to make you smile, and I think you need to smile again.”
We wanted her to know that she’ll always be one of us.
“Please don’t think that you are not a mother anymore,” April wrote. “You are just as much a mother today as you were when Noah was alive.”