One Year Ago Today....The Sad Call That Changed Our Lives

I remember it like it was yesterday.  I have been dreading today for quite some time.  The first anniversary of his death.  I just want to put it behind me.  It was the day after MLK day, 2010.  I had trouble sleeping the night before; maybe it was some strange intuition that something horrible was about to happen.  On Tuesday, I had a very important morning meeting, so I got up, showered, grabbed my computer and drove off to Worcester to meet some colleagues before my presentation.   At this point, not everybody knew about our intentions to adopt, and most didn't know about Tamirat.  So on this day, I brought pictures of our little guy, to share and boast about.  I shared our news with 4 colleagues, and showed them his adorable pictures that I had received the week before from a traveling Mom.  God, he was a cutie!  Of course, everybody was incredibly happy for us.  The presentation went as planned, maybe even better than planned.  I didn't stick around, and decided to head home.  I hopped in my car, and called my pregnant colleague to chat about work, babies, and stuff.  I stopped at Panera to get bagels for Doug and I, got back in the car, and started to drive.  It snowed that weekend, and I specifically remember driving by the elementary school in town and thinking, "Wow, next year, little Tamirat will look so adorable playing in the snow!"  I drove another 3-4 minutes, pulled in my driveway with a BIG smile on my face, and walked in the door.  I took one look at Doug and knew something was very, very wrong.  I glanced around the room, and saw our dogs, Abbey and Ellie, so I knew they were okay.  Before my brain could process anything, Doug looked at me with tears in his eyes, and while his voice cracked, he somehow managed to get out, "Tam died."  I couldn't believe it.  There was no way he could have died.  He looked great in his pictures, his updates were positive, it just couldn't be.  I dropped my bag.  I dropped the bagels.  Nothing came out.  My body became limp as I made my way to the couch.  We didn't have any details.  WHFC called Doug (the poor guy was home alone when he got the call, and my Mom instructed him not to call me in fear that I wouldn't be able to drive home) to tell him the news.  Something that, thank God, they don't have much practice in doing.  I called WHFC.  I wanted to be sure.  And still, no details.  I don't think they knew what to say or how to act.  I called my Mom, and cried with her.  I called my Dad, and cried with him.  I called my brother, and cried some more.  Before I knew it, my Mom and step-dad were over, my Dad drove in from Connecticut, and my brother picked his wife up in Boston and came over to our house to be with us.  I tried to sleep that night.  I couldn't.  It wasn't because I didn't want to, because I did.  I was so stuffed up from crying all day, that I couldn't breath.  I remember going downstairs, opening up the sliding door, stepping out onto a cold, snow filled deck, and screaming.  I was pissed.  How could this have happened to him?  And selfishly I asked, how could this have happened to us?  His room was ready.  My heart was more than ready.  I already loved him so very much.

It was probably the most surreal day of my life.  People I didn't even know from the adoption community sent us flowers and cards.  The WHFC board was so supportive, and I can't thank everybody enough.  I am not sure how I wouldn't have gotten through without their support.  I also connected with another family who lost their baby boy 4 days before we lost Tamirat.  They were with another agency, but to be able to go through what I went through with somebody who knew exactly how I was feeling was something that I think we both needed.  I found support in people, like my previous manager, who lost a child too.  I found support in my family, and in my friends. 

Five months later, we traveled to Ethiopia to meet our children.  I met Sister Tirhas, who cared for Tamirat, and we cried together.  A driver brought us to his place of burial.  There wasn't a stone, hardly a plot.  My mom placed a bright pink flower on the spot where we were told he was buried, and I cried again.

I continue to cry, but I do so in private.  I don't want our children to question, to wonder why Mommy is crying.  Not yet anyway.  We removed all of his pictures from our house before their arrival.  Someday, I plan to share our story.  To tell them about their little brother, an angel, who chose them both especially for us.

I love you Tamirat.