SHARE Atlanta

Carla Baird's Story and why she wishes to support others.

On a morning like any other many years ago, my first-born son died suddenly in his sleep. It was my second day back to work after a 3-month leave of absence. I had dropped him at the home of a childcare provider I selected after an extensive search. Tyler was exactly 100 days old (3-1/2 months); I was 37 and just married. It had been a long and winding road leading to his birth which seemed all the more worthwhile once he arrived. Tyler had been the perfect answer to many hopes and dreams.

In the midst of learning what it is like to be a new mom, juggling feeding schedules, work commitments, child care logistics and life, everything came to a jolting halt. I’d just begun my lunch break at work, having walked next door to grab a sandwich to bring back to my desk. It was a gorgeous, sunny day. I remember thinking that it was all falling together - this new juggling act - in spite of a sleep-deprived night with a fussy baby, my husband on the road and a desk full of things to do.

I got a call from the Fire Dept explaining that my son was not breathing, and that they were doing CPR and all they could. I didn’t immediately understand that it was the 911 ambulance crew calling (picturing instead my condo on fire). But, when the voice asked if I could get a ride to the hospital, I knew something was terribly wrong in a way it had never been before. My mind pictured what ‘not breathing’ looked like. All I could think of was a kid being knocked out on the playground. But Tyler was a baby. A happy, healthy baby who was just getting over a cold. Surely this was a bad dream. It was then that a miserable knowledge and numbness descended.

Not until 2 hours later were we officially informed that Tyler had died. I waited for what seemed like forever in a room at the hospital until they could get my husband on the phone. That required someone to pull him out of a meeting and make sure he had support there.

The preliminary diagnosis was SIDS. Chris (our provider) had checked on Tyler when he didn’t wake up from his morning nap only to find him unresponsive. She did CPR and called 911. EMT was unable to resuscitate. I remember being told there were no signs of foul play and that if it was indeed SIDS, there was nothing anyone did to cause it. Even though hearing those words provided some comfort, there was nothing anyone could say to convince me that I wasn’t somehow responsible. My only child was dead. How could I have let that happen?

I recalled only vaguely the term SIDS in a brochure from the hospital and assumed after glancing at it that it wasn’t meant for me. I didn’t smoke and followed every guideline for prenatal care to the extreme. Tyler was full-term and completely healthy. Neither of us had any risk factors. *

The days following his death were surreal and slow motion. I’m grateful for the shock which allowed us to get through it. But the real challenge began when it was time to get back to ‘normal’. As many who’ve been there before will tell you, it just isn’t possible. There is no more normal in the old sense. But, with a bit of courage and support and perhaps a bit of luck, you can reach a brand new kind of ‘normal’ where you begin to let go of the pain.

I was lucky enough to find support in many places, but it was a trial and error process. Sometimes the places you try at first don’t seem to help. During the first year after Tyler’s death, I went to support groups, read books, pored over the research, enrolled in a grief class and signed up for therapy. I was desperate to get through the grief. And without any other kids to focus on, I had time to focus on my grief. I also spent lots of time at work. I realized after awhile that trying to distract myself from the grief worked only for short periods of time and eventually backfired.

I had decided at the hospital the day Tyler died that being a parent was way too hard, and that I didn’t want to ever try again. At 37, the biological clock was looming. I felt the message from the universe was that I just wasn’t meant to be a parent. Apparently those were the words I used at the hospital. Even in the initial part of my grief, I was anxious to get to some sort of acceptance and bypass some of the pain.

Such is the path of grief. It is intense and personal and unlike any other experience in this lifetime. I am happy to say that after delving so intensively into my grief and journeying through a few detours along the way, I went on to have two subsequent children. They bring me great joy today. My hope for any parent who must endure the tragic experience of losing a child is the strength to struggle through this difficult terrain in order to find what works. That unique combination which is so different for each and every one of us.

Organizations like SHARE Atlanta can be invaluable. We welcome you here if you want to share your thoughts or ask questions of those who’ve walked a similar path. But whether or not you choose to join this particular discussion, continue to search for what works for you and what you need. It is out there. Working through your grief will allow you to eventually reach a new ‘normal’ that makes it worth all the effort. Carla Baird 11.2007

* This was in 1992 just before the Back to Sleep campaign began. Tyler died while sleeping on his stomach under a blanket in a portable crib in a room slighter warmer than the rest of the house. We now know that sleeping on the stomach and warmer room temperatures are risk factors for SIDS.