This personal story of HOPE was written by Derilyn and Tim Byrne in memory of their son Griffin. The article first appeared in the Spring 2004 New HOPE newsletter.
It was early in the morning about four a.m. as I stood in my kitchen. My contractions weren’t bad but enough to keep me awake. I was just waiting to wake my husband and three year old son who were peacefully sleeping. Inside I was so excited that the day was finally here. It was a long nine months and I just couldn’t wait to see our new baby. My dream of having two children was about to happen. We didn’t know the sex of our baby but I always wanted two boys.
The day seemed to go as planned. I labored for about twelve hours but I wasn’t progressing enough. My water had already broken so the doctor decided to do a repeat c-section. I was happy because in just a short few minutes our baby would be here! As they wheeled me into the operating room, I was nervous, happy, and anxious. The operating room was very loud; the nurses and doctors were joking about the upcoming Halloween.
Then suddenly there was a quiet that came over the room; a quiet I had never heard. Then there was chaos. Our son was born. My dream had come true. He was quiet; so very quiet. I looked at my husband in terror and said, “Why isn’t he crying?” I lay there strapped to a table, helpless. “Why isn’t he crying”, I kept saying over and over again. Then I heard the doctor say, “Get the crash cart”. This is a nightmare. All I hear is 1…2…3..breath…1…2…3…breath, get the epi…1…2…3…breath.
There is a crowd surrounding our son trying to breathe the life back into his. My husband and I watch helplessly. Then after thirty minutes of the longest minutes of my life the doctor turns to us. The room is still so quiet. I see it in his face as he says, “We did everything we could”. Then the quiet ends. The room is not filled with a soft baby’s cries but of my own screaming and crying. This can’t be happening to us. “What went wrong?” “Please someone help.” I wish I could just wake up from this. It must be a bad dream. “Please, help!” I feel as if I am drowning with grief.
This is the beginning of what I call my life now. All is different; my hopes, my dreams. A piece of me died in that room along with my son. The silence will always be with me. It’s an eerie reminder that in seconds a life can be taken. Today, sixteen months after we lost our beautiful son, Griffin Robert, the pain is still there but easier to suppress. We have new dreams and new hopes and life is good!
Thank you to everyone at the HOPE Group for helping me through the darkest days and letting me remember our son.