Charlotte Day
Today is one of the most emotionally complex days of the year. Here's this year's version of me talking through it.
TW: Miscarriage, Infant Loss
Today—February 26, 2021—is “Charlotte Day.”
This is an extremely special day in our household because it’s the day that Erin and I became parents for the first time. Just after 7:30 P.M. on a cold Sunday night in late February of 2017, Charlotte James Messel was born into the arms of a waiting team of NICU staff who were prepared to fight for every second of her life; who had been working with and preparing us for any number of potential outcomes, all of which stemmed from the fact that she would be coming to meet us so much earlier than we anticipated. At 23 weeks gestation and change, we didn’t know if her tiny lungs would be able to sustain any sort of life. That our little girl came into this world with a squawk of a cry at all is something of a miracle in itself. That the doctors and nurses were able to intubate her and whisk her away to the downtown campus of Children’s Mercy Hospital is a whole other miracle entirely.
For these reasons, Charlotte Day is also a day of intense anxiety and—to some degree—post-traumatic stress. I didn’t know, four years ago, just how long I would actually be a father to a living child. Would it be minutes? Hours? Days? For the rest of my life?
As we’ve talked about before, the exact number of days sits just shy of three weeks at 19 days.
That my daughter’s birthday sits at the tail end of February is poignant because February is—with the exception of this day in particular—my least favorite month. I’ve often said that February is so short because it is often packed with misery. So much of the worst moments of my life have happened in February. Failures—both professional and personal—and tragedies litter its days. But this solitary, bittersweet bright spot conjures up the memories of an emotional and physical rollercoaster that we barely made it through intact.
On Charlotte’s birthday we usually buy tiny cakes to celebrate. In recent years these have been our favorite flavors from Nothing Bundt Cakes, which are delicious. Sometimes I’ll treat myself to other gifts, like a new record or pair of shoes. On her first birthday, Erin and I went shopping as a way to get out of the house. Last year I “treated” myself to a visit to the cardiologist, a work outing to Main Event, and a wrestling show that night where I got to see one of the best matches I’ve ever seen live. But I also spearheaded a charity drive at work that week to provide happy kits for caregivers of patients at Children’s Mercy. I nearly cried with joy at the enthusiasm and commitment from just about everyone I worked with as we gathered money and donated supplies to build something like 75 of the kits, which can go a long way at providing a moment or two of distraction for parents and patients alike.
The days at a NICU bedside are long and often exhausting. There are conversations with doctors, social workers, support staff, and the ever-present nurses who become something like temporary friends. It’s this last group that I think about often, especially these days, when the anxieties and stresses of caring for the sickest, tiniest babies are magnified tenfold with worries about COVID-19.
Last year’s Charlotte Day “festivities” and activities were actually the last normal week I had prior to the beginning of the pandemic. The following week, my wisdom teeth were removed and I had my final in-person tabletop game session of the year before we moved everything online. I took two days off the week after my surgery to recover some more, and when I came back to work that following Wednesday (the 11th) it was the last “normal” day before it became painfully apparent that we would all need to upend our lives to get through the winter...and spring...and summer..and fall...and winter again. I’d been hoping to do something bigger for Charlotte Day this year, to continue to build it among my coworkers as a charity effort until it got large enough to outlast even my tenure, but the pandemic had other plans.
I’m preoccupied with the idea of COVID quite a bit these days for obvious reasons, but both Erin and I decided last year that we couldn’t imagine having a baby in the NICU while also dealing with a pandemic. I can’t even comprehend the additional stresses that it would cause; I have a small window into it with friends whose babies were born in 2020 and who spent time in various NICUs, but I would never want to live through that experience if I didn’t have to, let alone on a good day.
This year that kind of ideation is even worse, what with the pandemic stretching on into an entire year’s worth of misery. Parenting is hard enough on the best days, but the added stressors of dealing with pandemic-induced milestone delays and experiences missed is something else entirely. The idea of not being able to visit your children in the hospital is anathema; the fear of not being there for something important—like Charlotte’s last breaths, which she took in my arms—would haunt me for the rest of my life.
I am grateful that my son Benji—who spent a month in the NICU after he was born, although much further along—has more or less caught up linguistically thanks to his enrollment in daycare three days a week. That’s a roll of the dice on its own, putting him (and us, as well as Erin’s parents) at risk—however much it’s been mitigated by the daycare’s protocols—of COVID exposure.
But there is so much that he has been unable to experience fully—such as learning how not to be a real asshole in a public place—that I wonder how things will go when it’s finally time to reintroduce him to the joys of “dining in chain restaurants” and “going to the mall.” Hell, I barely remember how to do the latter sometimes, given that my aversion to standing near people or dealing with crowds is at an all time high. Will we have raised an entire generation of agoraphobes by virtue of generally keeping our preschool children cloistered in our homes?
When I think about these things, I often pause and ponder Charlotte; how the experience of being her dad influences so much of how I love and care for her brother. About all the moments with her that I feel robbed of, and the ones I absolutely must push for when the time comes to safely experience them with Benji.
The Charlotte Test
Back when Benji was little—a potato, we like to say—and a few months after I started working for my current company, I gave a Friday inspiration presentation about my experiences as Charlotte’s dad. Being with her nearly every day in the hospital, holding her close on that last day of her life, and really understanding just how fragile things are—it all brought clarity and a reminder to zone in on what really counts, when it counts. They helped inspire me to take better care of myself and to focus on what brings me joy and serves my needs. It’s why I have zero patience for jobs I don’t want to do, experiences that aren’t fulfilling, and books I don’t want to finish. I don’t feel obligated to do things that aren’t enriching anymore, either professionally or personally, because time is short. If it’s not something I’d be proud to share with Charlotte—the eponymous Charlotte Test—it’s not something worth doing.
Of course, I say this having developed a recent affinity for watching TikTok for literal hours on end (and even trying to come up with videos on my own). The Charlotte Test, like all aspects of self-improvement, is always a work in progress.
Something that I want to be more intentional about throughout the rest of 2021 is setting up a solid foundation for the rest of my life and that of my family. Cutting down on ridiculous spending habits, debt, and really living out the values that I’d want both of my kids to have—reckless compassion, patience, kindness, charity, hard work with purpose. Benji is getting older, and (as we’ve recently discovered) he’s a damn good mimic when it comes to everything from curse words to mannerisms. He is also ridiculously funny, and that kind of unbridled joy is something worth pursuing.
I don’t often wish for revisionism, but I do wish so badly that my kids could meet and play with one another. I often wonder what that would be like, even knowing that one would not exist without the other. I have a complex relationship with the idea of the “rainbow baby,” but I am so thankful for the presence of both of my children in my life; past, present, and future, their being here is a reminder that there is good worth pursuing in this world. That there are things worth fighting for. And the best thing I could do to make them proud would be to follow their example and fight joyfully to make the world a better place.
Required Reading
Here’s the thing: I’ve been really bad at reading books the past two weeks. I started four books on Saturday, got through five pages, and chucked them. I just couldn’t get into them. And we’re not talking trash, we’re talking well-respected pieces of modern literature. The Poisonwood Bible, another Richard Russo novel, and a couple others. I honestly am really bummed out that so many of the books I want to read right now are unavailable via the KCPL (because they’re already checked out). I placed holds, but waiting 20 weeks for more books isn’t gonna fly. I still have that copy of Bird by Bird on my bedside table, though. I should probably get my shit together and finish that one. But anyway, here are some really good things I’ve read this week.
Please Don’t Call My Daughter a “Pregnancy" Loss” – Jessica Wolff
Oh, man. This one hits hard. Erin sent it to me Wednesday night—while I was downstairs working through some data for a client—and it just rocked me. Jessica Wolff cuts to the heart of the matter and says something that all of us who have lost children—especially kids so young—want others to understand:
When we, bereaved parents, share with you information, a story, or a picture of our child, we are sharing a piece of our soul. It is your privilege to know them, and more so your privilege to pass judgement on our choices when you have never walked in our shoes. When we open our hearts to you, instead of silence, here are some ways that you can support us:
Acknowledge that you don’t know what to say. Tell us that you want to offer support but don’t know where to start. We’re learning as we go as well — it’s a relief to know that you’re willing to join us as we navigate life without our child.
If you haven’t had enough grief for one day, please read the rest of her essay.
Here are some other things that have resonated with me lately.
Luke O’Neil discussing how badly Texas’s GOP government fucked up last week
Dan Sinker pointed out that there are no good parents right now; we’re all just getting by
This interview with Patricia Lockwood about her new book, which is one of the books I have on hold
My friend Ella’s piece about being slapped in the face during sex is raw and powerful, but you have to be a patron to read it. Go sign up. She’ll even write you a handwritten thank you if you pledge enough.
This article from ProPublica made me want to throw a brick through someone’s face because no NICU parent should have to worry about bullshit like medical expenses or trying to work through paperwork, but apparently this woman did to the tune of almost $900.000. And her employer—the hospital—apparently didn’t give two hot damns about helping her out at all, which is great, and not at all a reason to scream in the face of her HR department.
Musical Interlude
I made this playlist last week when I started writing my new novel/novella, and it’s all over the place. I’m not even going to jinx the progress I’ve made by telling anyone what it’s about, but here’s the playlist which started with one mood and is going in a whole other direction by the time I got five or six songs in. It’s made for some really interesting scenes so far.
BONUS PLAYLIST!!!
I made another playlist this week after a friend and I were discussing the joy of Merril Bainbridge’s 1994 song “Mouth,” which got massive airplay in my neck of the woods thanks to 89.1—the Bash! It’s a completely inappropriate song for a pre-teen to sing, and yet I used to know every word. It also has Jann Arden’s “Insensitive,” which is another great tune.
Final Thoughts
One of the things I’ve been most grateful for throughout the course of the pandemic is the flexibility and willingness of my company to pivot to working from home. I’ve had some really candid conversations over the course of the past few weeks with several members of corporate leadership and management as I’ve sought out personal and professional growth. While it sucks that we’re not in one place (trust me, I really fucking miss my coworkers), I know that this whole trial by fire is going to make us all better. But part of that appreciation is also reserved for my direct boss, who knows how fucking rough February and March can be for me on any given day. She’s a compassionate person who really listens and takes things to heart and really understands that sometimes shit gets messy and work and life bleed together. We should all be so lucky to have people like that in our lives.
If you’re feeling inclined to be charitable, consider giving to Children’s Mercy. One of the most surprising elements of our stay there with Charlotte was the realization that we wouldn’t be responsible for any bills—presumably because we were not able to bring her home. The only reason for that generosity (which, frankly, was much needed) is due to the benevolence of donors. If you’re in a position to help make that happen for another person, please do so. And feel free to make your donation in Charlotte’s name (a nakedly selfish request to help us keep her memory alive, I’ll admit).
Anyway, next week I’ll try to get back to our regularly scheduled garbage and not be so much of a downer. Cheers!