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The pediatrician danced around the question, not giving her a definitive yes or no answer. “His lungs are inflamed due to an infection. Rest assured that we're doing all we can to save your son.”

“
To save him?
” repeated Charles. He swallowed hard. “Is his situation grave?”

Sullivan didn't wait for a response before attempting to get up. “Get out of my way! I'm seeing my child.”

Charles held her down in the wheelchair. “Sullivan, let the doctors do their job in there. We'll do our job in here. God has our son in the palm of His hand.”

Sullivan tried to wriggle out of his grip. “Charles, you're the preacher. You pray, but my son needs me right now! Let me go!”

Angel tried to assuage her. “Sully, there's nothing you can do for him. Don't get in the way. Let the doctors do their jobs.”

“We're giving him oxygen therapy and doing all we can,” said the pediatrician on his way out. “I'll update you as often as possible.”

“I need to go!” insisted Sullivan, tearing up. “He needs me. He needs his mother in there. He needs to feel my presence and my love almost as much as he needs those doctors. I may be the only one who can save him!”

“Sweetheart, God is the only one who can save him,” Charles reminded her. “This isn't the time to panic. We need to activate our faith and speak life over our son.”

“Come on, Sully. Let's pray,” urged Angel. “You see what our prayers did for you. They can do the same for Christian.”

They all joined hands in a circle, and Charles led them in a fervent prayer on Christian's behalf. He ended the prayer by asking that the Lord's will be done. Sullivan silently prayed, asking that her son be saved, whether it was the Lord's will or not.

“It's not okay....
I'm
not okay!”

 

–
Sullivan Webb

 

“It was bronchopulmonary dysplasia,” Angel explained to Sullivan's mother, Vera, an hour later. Both Sullivan and Charles were too grief-stricken to be pelted by Vera's inquisition following the pronouncement of Christian's passing. “It's really not uncommon, especially with preemies who have RDS, or respiratory distress syndrome.”

Vera hiked Charity up on her hip. “Angel, I don't know what that means. I need to know in plain English why my grandson died!”

Angel spelled it out as best she could. “He had a very serious lung condition. Since he was born so early, his lungs didn't develop enough surfactant, which is a liquid that coats the inside of the lungs and helps them stay open so the baby can breathe. Without it, the lungs become infected or inflamed and can collapse.”

Vera was visibly irritated. “Then what was the breathing machine for? Why was he hooked up to all those tubes if they couldn't help him breathe?”

“Vera, a machine can't do everything,” reasoned Angel.

Vera couldn't accept that explanation. “So who fell down on the job, then? Who do we need to cuss out, then sue?”

“Nobody, Vera. This isn't anyone's fault,” said Kina.

“Somebody fell down on the job! A baby is dead, and somebody's gotta take responsibility! Where's this God y'all are always talking about?” Vera scanned the room. “Why didn't He come down and do
His
job? See? That's why I don't believe in nobody, nothing, and no God! What kind of God will just sit on His throne and watch a little baby die?”

“God was with Christian then, and He's with him now,” replied Lawson. “He's with Sully and Charles too, and He will get them through this.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sullivan lifted her head from Charles's bosom. “You know, it's not often that I agree with my mother, but she has a valid point this time. Where was God when my baby was dying, huh? Where was He when I had the accident? Can anybody tell me that? Where was He then?”

Charles tried to console his wife. “Baby, don't talk like that.”

Sullivan pulled away from him. “Don't do what, Charles? Tell the truth?”

Charles tried to put it in perspective for Sullivan and Vera and for himself as well. “The truth is that God didn't take our son away. His condition did. Even in the midst of grieving, though, we can still praise Him. We can be grateful that we have Charity and each other and all the people who care about us. We can thank God that Christian is safe in His arms, not hooked up to a bunch of machines and suffering anymore. We still have a lot to be thankful for. It's hard right now, but everything will be okay.”

Sullivan was emotionally charged and directed her frustration at her husband. “Charles, can you just be human for one minute
please!
Our son is dead!
He's dead!
I don't want to hear about the so-called goodness of God or listen to another scripture or none of that. Our baby is gone, and I'm not going to stand here and act like it didn't happen or that it doesn't hurt like hell. I'm angry. I feel cheated, and I shouldn't have to pretend like everything is okay. It's not okay.” Sullivan pointed at herself. “
I'm
not okay!” She broke down, crying again. “It's not okay, Charles! It's not okay. . . .” Charles folded Sullivan in his arms. Sullivan cried, clinging to her husband and trembling. “Christian is gone. Our baby is gone,” she wailed.

Tears slid from Charles's reddened eyes, and he allowed himself to have an honest moment of grief. “I'm not okay, either. You're right. This hurts.”

“He was my baby, and I never even got to hold him,” whimpered Sullivan.

Vera stood by idly as long as she could. Though she had the maternal instincts of a pet rock, seeing Charles and her daughter in pain moved something in her. She was not one to show emotion. Without warning, she stepped out into the hallway and flagged down a medical assistant she spotted walking toward them. “Hey! You—yeah, you! Hey, we need some help in here!”

Angel was mortified. “Vera, what are you doing? A little tact please!”

The young blond assistant came to her aid. “Can I help you?”

Lawson offered a friendly smile, hoping to diffuse the situation before Vera created an even bigger spectacle. “We're fine.”

Vera pointed to Sullivan. “My daughter didn't get to hold her baby. Somebody needs to get him. She needs to hold her baby.”

The medical assistant was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“He died. Y'all had him hooked up to a bunch of machines that clearly don't work, and he died. She never got to hold him. I want y'all to let her hold him before you do whatever y'all gon' do with his body.”

The medical assistant was as confused by the request as she was by the person making it. “Umm . . . let me see if I can get a doctor over here.”

“Look, what's your name?” asked Vera testily.

“Christy.”

“
Christy,
please believe me when I tell you that I will turn this hospital upside down and back round again if you don't find me somebody who will bring my grandson to his mama! I really don't want to have to ask twice. You understand me?”

Sensing that Vera was very capable of keeping her word, Christy uttered, “Yes, ma'am. I'll see what I can do,” and made a hasty exit.

“You're gonna get yourself thrown out of here, Vera,” warned Angel.

“That's all right. They can do what they want to me, but Sullivan is gonna hold that baby!”

A few minutes later, Christy beckoned Charles and Sullivan and led them into a private nursery. She sat Sullivan down in a rocking chair, and a nurse came in with Christian swaddled in a blanket no larger than a cloth diaper.

She placed the child in Sullivan's arms and smiled. “We wanted you to be able to hold your child.”

Sullivan's heart melted the second she received his tiny body. He was so small that he could practically fit in the palm of her hand. Unable to express her gratitude and every other emotion overwhelming her, she simply said, “Thank you.”

“How long can we be in here with him?” asked Charles.

Christy smiled. “Take as long as you need.” She and the other nurse slipped out quietly.

Sullivan drank him in, studying every fold and layer of his body. “Look at him, Charles,” whispered Sullivan, marveling at seeing Christian for the first time without any wires and tubes attached to him. “He's so beautiful, like a little baby doll.”

Charles stroked Christian's face with the tip of his finger. “He looks like he's sleeping. He looks peaceful.”

Sullivan rocked her lifeless son in her arms, singing to him the songs she would sing to him while he was in the womb. She spoke quietly to him, telling him all the dreams she'd had for him and apologized that he'd never get to celebrate a birthday or ride a bike or fight with his sister or know how much his mother loved him.

After thirty minutes, Christy reappeared at the door. The eye exchange between her and Charles signaled that she'd come to take their son.

Charles kneeled down next to his wife. “Sullivan, honey, I think they're ready for him. It's time to say good-bye.”

Sullivan continued rocking and humming to Christian, as if she hadn't heard him.

Charles spoke a little louder. “Sweetie, they've come to take the baby. It's time to let him go.”

“I need a few more minutes,” pleaded Sullivan. “Please, Charles.”

Christy didn't say anything as she took slow strides toward them.

Charles leaned into Sullivan's ear. “Sullivan, I don't want anybody to come take this baby out your arms, but they will if you don't voluntarily let him go. Please, sweetheart, give him to this nice lady. Have faith that we'll see him again.”

“When, Charles? At his funeral?” cried Sullivan.

“We'll see him when we get to heaven. He shall wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there shall no longer be any death; there shall no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain; the first things have passed away,” said Charles.

Sullivan refused to release him.

Charles spoke to her in a caring but firm voice to snap her out of her desolate state of mind. “Sullivan, we have another child waiting on us. She's probably scared and confused. She needs her parents to tell her that she's safe and that they love her. We can't stay here. Charity still needs you, baby. We've got to go.”

“I'll take good care of him,” Christy assured them.

Sullivan looked up at her through watery eyes. “I know he's just another carcass to you. You see death every day, but this is my baby. Don't just toss him aside like a piece of garbage!”

“I won't,” vowed Christy.

Sullivan took a deep breath. “Good night, Christian. Sleep well.” She kissed him one last time, soaking his blanket with her tears. “Mommy loves you. Mommy will always love you.”

She gave the baby to Charles, who kissed him and said he loved him before turning him over to Christy.

Sullivan followed the retreating figures with her eyes, knowing Christy wouldn't turn back, but hoping against hope that she would.

“Come on. We should go. I'm sure somebody else needs this room.” Charles tried to help Sullivan out of the rocking chair.

She sat firmly in place. “No, I want to stay.”

“You can't do anything for him here. He's gone.”

“Charles, just leave me here. I need a minute to myself. Can I have that much?”

Charles yielded. “I'll be right outside the door.”

Sullivan waited until Charles was on the other side of the door to look at her now empty hands. There was nothing there except the memory of what it felt like to hold her child. She passed her hands over her vacant belly. To look at her, no one would even know she had been pregnant and carrying a precious life a few weeks prior. It was as if Christian had never existed, and she knew intuitively that a part of her had stopped existing the same time he had.

“It should take longer than an hour for your whole world
to come crashing down.”

 

 

“It all feels so surreal,” said Angel, standing in the hallway outside of Sullivan's hospital room with Lawson, Kina, and Reginell as they waited for Sullivan and Charles to return. “It wasn't even an hour ago that we were laughing and everything was fine and now . . . It should take longer than an hour for your whole world to come crashing down.”

Lawson agreed. “I've known Sully a long time, and I don't think I've ever seen her this broken. I pray that she can move past this and accept that God's will takes precedence over ours.”

Kina shook her head. “Sullivan can't hear that right now. All she knows is that she prayed and that her precious baby died, anyway.”

“We all knew he was a preemie and there was a chance that he wouldn't make it, but he seemed like such a little fighter. I wanted to believe that he'd be a miracle child,” admitted Angel.

Reginell sighed. “How am I supposed to go into surgery tomorrow with this on my mind?”

Lawson hugged her. “You'll be fine, baby sister. This was just one of those things, you know?”

Desdemona approached them, carrying a bouquet of flowers. “Hey, I know you all don't know me that well, but when Kina texted me and said Sullivan's son died, I had to come.”

“That was very thoughtful of you,” replied Angel. “I'm sure Sullivan will appreciate the flowers.”

“How is she?”

“She's devastated,” answered Lawson.

They looked up and saw Charles wheeling Sullivan back to the room. Sullivan seemed to look right through them through vacant eyes. Her face was ruddy from crying. Neither she nor Charles said anything before disappearing into the room.

“Whoa!” uttered Desdemona. “You can look at her and tell she's really going through it.”

“They both are. They were so excited about this new baby, and Sullivan had been praying for a little boy,” relayed Angel. “It's heartbreaking.”

“I think we should get out of here and give them some space and time to grieve,” suggested Lawson. “It's clear they aren't up for visitors right now.”

The ladies agreed and began to disperse.

Kina noticed that Desdemona was lagging behind them. “Aren't you coming?”

“I really want to stay and talk to Sullivan,” she confessed.

“Why? You don't even know her.”

“But I know what she's going through. I've been there. I think it'll help to know she's not alone.”

“That's very kind of you.” Kina slung her purse strap over her shoulder. “I'm going to head out. Call and let me know how it goes with Sullivan.”

“I will.”

Kina left. Desdemona waited outside of Sullivan's room until she saw Charles leave, presumably to take Charity to get something to eat.

She knocked softly on the door. “Hello, Sullivan.” Desdemona crept into the darkened room. “I'm so sorry to hear about the baby. How are you?”

Sullivan sat up, startled. “Who are you?”

“My name is Desdemona Price. We met briefly a few days ago. I'm helping Kina write her book.”

“Oh . . . I remember now. If you're looking for Kina, she's not here.”

“I was looking for you.” Desdemona set the flowers down on a table near Sullivan's bed. “Listen, if there's anything I can do, please let me know. If you ever want to talk—”

“Why would I want to talk to you?” interrupted Sullivan. “I hardly even know you.”

“Sometimes it's better and easier to talk to a stranger. I have no history or preconceived notions about you. I'm not here to judge.”

“So, what? Are you a therapist too?” asked Sullivan, cagey regarding any unsolicited advice.

“No.” She moved in closer to Sullivan. “I'm just a mother who knows the pain of losing a child.” This made Sullivan tune in. Desdemona went on. “I lost my daughter five years ago. She was fourteen.”

“I'm sorry . . . really, I am. What happened?”

“She was at a party with some friends. A fight broke out, and a couple of guys started shooting.” Desdemona struggled to recount the painful ordeal. “A bullet tore off half her chest. The guy who shot her was only sixteen years old. They even took a class together at school. He said he had never intended for her to be struck by the bullet, but what does that matter? He took her life, whether he intended to or not.”

“That's awful. My heart goes out to you and your family.”

“Thank you.” She squeezed Sullivan's hand. “I know right now it seems like you're going to feel sad and empty forever, but I can tell you from firsthand experience that it does get easier. Now I cry only on her birthday and sometimes during the holidays. Mostly, I think about the joy Madison brought into my life, not the fact that it was cut short.”

“At least you have memories of your daughter to comfort you. I don't even have that. All I have is this.” She opened her hand to reveal the pair of tiny socks Christian was wearing when he died.

“You still have that beautiful little girl of yours. Besides, you're young. You can try again.”

Sullivan shook her head. “No, this was it for me.”

Desdemona offered up a smile. “Give it some time. You may see things differently six months or a year from now.” Desdemona reached into her purse. “I want to give you my card. You can call me if you feel the need to talk to someone who's been through what you're going through.”

“Thank you.”

“I know you have a strong support system and a great group of girlfriends. They mean well, but they can't always relate to your pain. I can. Now, you get some rest.”

Sullivan curled up into a fetal position and wrapped the blanket tightly around her body. She sank down into the bed and shut out the rest of the world.