Good afternoon, my dear readers! I hope you are having an awesome day! I expect mine to be hard. This is a challenging blog to write today.
There will likely not be many jokes or much goofiness. In fact, it’s very much the opposite. It’s heartbreaking, soul crushing, and just completely unfair that I have to write this to begin with.
Today let’s talk about loss.
CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNING: This is a very personal matter that deals with a very painful and impactful death I have experienced. If you are not able to read about that for any reason, I hope you have an amazing day. This isn’t specifically BDSM related, and I hope it’s not something that triggers people, but if you’ve been through it too, I understand how it can be a trigger. If you’ve been through this, I’m sorry. I hope you’re doing ok.
I’ve mentioned and possibly teased in a few blogs that last year was hard for me but I never explained why, instead saying it’s for a future post. Well, that’s happening now. It’s a post to publish in the future, being written in the present, about the past. Time is strange.
Only a very select few from this site know this, and I can count that small number on like 2 fingers. But a year ago today (Feb. 27th) I became a father for the first time. It was a surreal experience because things went so wrong in so many ways.
For the backstory, me and a friend of mine were hooking up a bit during late 2021 because it was hard to date during the Covid times and sometimes you just have to get creative. We were smart and careful, always using protection and everything.
But even protection isn’t 100% guaranteed. A broken condom later and I find out she’s pregnant. We don’t really know what to do, but we decide we are going to try to raise the baby together and be the best parents we can be. We shift from a friends with benefits type arrangement to actually dating.
There were a few scares that really made things stressful for us both, but things were progressing smoothly. Around Thanksgiving we had a gender reveal. I was going to have a son! I was elated and so excited! I didn’t care what gender it was, but knowing made it more real for me.
The gender reveal was very early, but she was excited to find out. So we did.
December was full of happy thoughts about the future as our son grew. There’s an app you can get that relates how big he is to different things to give you an idea. When we got it, he was the size of a poppyseed. And the name “Poppyseed” stuck with us and it was our favorite nickname for our little bundle of joy.
January was largely uneventful and things were going as smoothly as one can expect.
February was when all hell broke loose. On February 16th, her water broke. We had no idea what was happening. There was blood everywhere and we were completely terrified. I call an ambulance and I haul ass to get to the ER to be with her and the baby. At this point, my son is 21 weeks old. I’ve never been so scared in my life.
She doesn’t give birth though. Which is good. A baby isn’t generally considered viable outside of the womb until 23 weeks, although there is a growing movement to have more care for babies at 22 weeks. It’s hard because technology can only go so far and the babies are so tiny, so it’s a hard change to make.
The hospital we were at essentially told us flat out that if my son is not at least 23 weeks old, they won’t even try to help him. Panic sets in. How could it not? But of course, I have to be strong for him and his mother.
Through research and talking with doctors over the next few days, we learn she suffered from something called pprom (preterm premature rupture of membranes) and at this age, it’s very uncommon. Our chances are not good. We have a less than 10% chance of this going well.
We move to a different hospital that would actually help our son if she goes into labor prior to 23 weeks. They even have a really good NICU, and it was just the right call. The longer we wait, the better our chances, but the more likely that there will be major birth defects because a baby needs a sack of fluid to develop properly. They can’t do it right just… laying on a weird meat bed.
On February 27th, an infection sets into the placenta and it causes labor to begin. We are at 22 weeks, 6 days. The doctors are as nice and comforting as they can be, but set a very real expectation that if Poppyseed isn’t moving or reacting after he comes out, they will wrap him up and hand him to us. There’s nothing they can do.
Labor takes place and I’m terrified, shaking, trying and failing to hold back tears. I already know what’s going to happen. After the third push, he’s here. He’s so tiny, so it didn’t take much to get him out. The doctor hands me the scissors and asks me to cut the cord. I’m so scared to hurt him or his mother that I have to try to cut it four times before I’m successful.
I look up to check on him. He’s moving. And my heart has never been more full of hope in my life. They immediately take him and start working on him, hooking him up to so many machines and things. The NICU team works miracles and they deserve so much more credit than they ever get.
I follow them with my son to the NICU. His mother is told that she can see him as soon as she’s able to walk. The epidural is making it a challenge. But she busted her ass to work through it to be able to walk to see our son. As you would expect.
He was born late evening and by the time I made it back to delivery to be by his mother, it was close to about 10pm. She can walk by 11, so we go back and just watch him. He’s so small and beautiful and perfect. We stay about an hour before we go back to her room so she can rest.
The next day, less than 18 hours after giving birth, she’s released from the hospital and we move to the NICU because we aren’t going to not be by our son.
We spend the next 3 days in the NICU, watching. Waiting. Hoping. Praying. Some doctors are more optimistic than others, some have already given up hope. I want to choke the ones who gave up. Stupid fucks.
Finally… after 3 days, my little boy, my beautiful Poppyseed loses his fight. The overwhelming pain and heartbreak are indescribable. I truly hope that none of you are ever in this position, my loyal readers. I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone.
I wrote something that I shared online back when I still used Facebook that only some people had a chance to see. And I want to share it now. It’s the hardest and most emotional thing I’ve ever had to write. I wrote it the afternoon after he passed.
“This morning at 2:14, Poppyseed lost his fight. His body was just too tiny to keep going, although he tried so hard. But after such a long and hard fight, he was able to pass peacefully and pain free in our arms.
54 hours and 1 minute. That’s how long you were with us. That’s 3,241 minutes. During that time I felt the full spectrum of emotions. There was overwhelming joy and happiness when you joined us. I was so happy I struggled to cut your umbilical cord. It took your old man 4 tries to get it right. What can I say? I didn’t want to hurt you.
After a couple tense minutes, you were taken away from us so that you can start getting the help you needed. It’s such a big world, and we needed to help you grow big and strong so that you could enjoy it.
We came to you as quickly as we could though, baby boy. You’re mother and I wanted to be there every step of the way. We never wanted to leave you on your own. So the next couple of days, we were there. Right beside you. You were always on our mind, in our hearts, and just a few feet away. We got to touch you and your mom even got to feed you. You should have seen the happiness in her eyes when she told me that!
But a few hours later, you started to get sick. You were struggling and in pain. We made the hardest decision we have ever had to make. We had to let you go. The good news is that it meant we could finally hold you!
And hold you we did. We made sure you were warm and cozy in our arms. We kissed your soft little head, and there was a calm in all the chaos around us. You being in our arms was right. That’s where you should have been. And I’d give anything to have you in them again now.
After a few minutes, we were able to give you a bath and help wipe all the medical stuff away and washed you and then rubbed you with a soft sweet smelling lotion. Our baby boy needed a little pampering after all you’ve been through.
After you were cleaned and looking fancy, we held you again and took a lot of pictures. You were so handsome! Even though you have that little (my last name) nose. Once we had held your for a while longer, we kissed your beautiful little head some more, and we laid you down so that you could get some rest. You needed it. You’ve been through a lot.
3,241 minutes. It was nowhere near enough. There is no number that would ever be enough. Just know how much we love you, Poppyseed. You are truly the best part of me, which I guess is why you were so perfect and amazing.
You will always be our beautiful baby boy, Poppyseed. We will always love you, and we will always be with you, just as you will always be with us. I’m sorry we didn’t have time for the more fun things we talked about. But I am so thankful for the time I got to spend with you. All 3,241 minutes of it.”
I’m sitting here crying as I read that. Of course I omitted his name as well as my own last name, but you get the idea.
As expected, I struggled a lot in the coming months. His mother and I split up and everything was just crushing. But it’s been a year.
Today, my buddy turns 1. Sure, it’s not how I would have ever wanted it to go, but it’s still a milestone. To celebrate, his mother and I are going to get together for dinner and to go make some random kid very happy.
We are going to an arcade and we are likely going to spend a bunch of money for tokens. And when we’re done, we will be giving all of our tickets to some cute kid. Last time we did this is was over 70,000 tickets that we gave away. Go big, right?
I am here on a BDSM site making a blog about the loss of my son. I never expected to tell this story to a public group like this, but I have to admit it is freeing and quite cathartic.
And to be honest, I can see ways that this experience has changed me and made me a better man, a better Dom, and may make me a better father in the future.
Personal growth through trauma is a very real thing. I just hate it had to be this thing.
Obviously I skipped a lot of details because some stuff is too hard to write. But this is my story. This is arguably what shaped me into who and what I am today.
There are a few people I have met on here that really helped me through all of this, even if you didn’t know I was going through it. I won’t drop names, but just know that if I have interacted with you, laughed with you, or even just made silly jokes, you helped me when I needed it most. And I can never thank you enough.
From here, I keep growing. And I keep smiling. I have things and people in my life that make everything better in so many ways. So I hope you don’t pity me or anything. I don’t want that. This is purely about me releasing my own thoughts and emotions in a way that I can’t otherwise do.
Thank you, my dear amazing and loyal reader. If you made it this far, know that I love you and I hope that no matter what life throws at you, that you handle with grace and some badass kung fu moves because you can handle this shit!
