September 9, 1984 and it’s about 2:00am. You woke up for an unusual feeding, you normally slept through the night. You were such a good baby. There we were, I remember it so well. I’m rocking you, you’re drinking your bottle and I’m talking to you. I was telling you how much I loved you when suddenly you stopped eating and gave me the biggest most beautiful smile I had ever seen. You were so pretty. It definitely was the most precious gift anyone has ever given me. That moment is burned into my memory and when I need it, it shows up. Thank you.
September 10, 1984, I’d been to the laundry mat so I had clothes all over the living room. I laid you down for the night, but you didn’t like it and were crying upstairs while I was downstairs folding away. Your dad’s mom told me about 30 times over the last 6 weeks, “If you don’t let her lay and cry you’re gonna spoil her!” I’d give just about anything to have not taken her advice that night. Finally, you stopped crying so I sneaked upstairs to check on you; for over a week I’d had an obsession about checking to be sure you were breathing while sleeping. You were fine so I went back to folding clothes.
September 11, 1984, 6:30am the alarm goes off. I hit snooze and laid there with your dad until 7:00am. I rolled out of bed and before my foot touched the floor I knew something was wrong. I bolted over to your makeshift bed in our bedroom. I wanted you near me so I had you fixed up in our room. How ironic, I wanted to get to you quickly if you cried during the night and needed me.
There you were, face down on the flat pillow I had on top of your baby mattress so you’d be comfortable. I picked you up and turned you over; immediately everything slowed down to barely moving, it was as if time was literally standing still. Our voices got louder and dragged out; our movements slowed down so much it’s hard to comprehend even today. It was just like something out of the movies. Time really does stand still.
“Oh my God Rob! Call 911! She’s not breathing!” I immediately started CPR but it was so awkward on the water bed, I wasn’t thinking. I’m pretty sure I tried CPR with you on my lap too. I kept telling myself, “Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm! Think, think, think! You know how to do this! You learned in 10th grade! Oh my God! Stay calm! Don’t panic!” I laid you on the floor alternating breaths and tiny little pumps on your chest; I didn’t want to hurt you. Then as I picked you up, a gurgling sound! “Yea! I saved you! You’re breathing!” No, it was the fluid built up in your lungs. Devastation set in once again. There’s the fear, I was so afraid. “God, stay calm! You panic, you lose her! Breath!”
I’m still unable to believe how many different emotions, thoughts, and actions or processes a brain can do at the same time. It was so odd how many of them were happening at the same time. All at full capacity, at the same time. I was fully aware of every moment, every emotion, every action. How is that possible? If I hadn’t experienced it, I’d think it was impossible.
Your father, your poor father. Standing against the door trying to relay information and instructions between 911 and me. His fear, his panic. I remember feeling so sad for him. If I didn’t save you, if I lost you, if I didn’t make you breath again…how would I tell him? “It’s up to me! I have to save you! Breath! Why the hell do you feel like a Stretch Armstrong doll?”
I should have known it was too late, you’re beautiful little face was a grayish color, your eyelids were purply blue just like your little lips. The pinkish maroonish spots on your face should have told me too. Your fists were so tight I mistakenly thought that was why your little finger nails were purple. My mistake. Nothing made sense. You couldn’t be dead, that was impossible. “Breath! Don’t panic! Fast tiny pumps! Breath! This can’t be happening! Let’s wake up now! Let’s wake up! Let’s wake up! Breath! Oh God, please breath Britt! Why do you feel like a Stretch Armstrong doll?”
I grab you up and rush downstairs to the couch, breathing for you the entire time. How did I not fall down? I didn’t want you to have brain damage when the medics got there and made you better. It seemed like an eternity for help to arrive; I’m sure it was just a few short minutes. I can still see the paramedic’s face. It was obvious later he knew it was too late; you were gone. I screamed at him, “Why are you taking so long? Why are you moving so slow?! HURRY UP! Do something!” He quickly realized I hadn’t accepted it yet and jumped into high gear. It didn’t matter though, you were gone. I took you back and just sat there helpless. I’d never felt so much pain. I’d never known a heart could feel that way. I just sat there rocking you. Hugging you. Kissing your little face. Telling you how much I loved you and begging you to come back.
I don’t know how long I sat there, and I don’t know when the police arrived. I didn’t care, NO ONE was gonna take my baby from me! Not even the police! Those poor cops, it took them quite some time to convince me to let the paramedic take you. I didn’t want to let you go…I’d never get you back. The inevitable happened and I handed my little bundle of beautiful joy over. I followed the medic outside and stood behind the ambulance while they placed you inside. The medic climbed in back with you and shut the doors. I stood there, watching the ambulance drive away, with my baby girl. Dead.
Life without Brittany has been a nightmare in more ways than a person who has never lost a child could ever know. It was especially horrific over the first year after she died. Imagine spending a life time trying to forget such a horrible day. It’s been torturous to say the least. I’ve learned to live with it and feel lucky I don’t feel the pain daily. July 25th through September 11th I’m a grouch and even a bit bitchy the closer 9/11 gets. Thank God I have the memory of Brittany’s smile from that night. It’s always been there when I need it.
I hate Stretch Armstrong Dolls. I hate carnations, the smell reminds of my baby girl in a coffin…I HATE CARNATIONS!
“If I had just 5 minutes with you today Brittany, I’d hold you close, rock you, and give you tiny little kisses all over. I wish I had known I only had you for 6 weeks and 6 days. I would have cherished every second and done things so differently. Mommy loves you so much. Thank you for the 6 weeks and 6 days. Thank you for being my baby girl. Thank you for the smile. Thank you for watching over your brother and sister.”
“I’m so sorry, but I didn’t know.”
Brittany Nichole Farrow
July 25, 1984 – September 11, 1984
God Bless…I miss you…you are my heart…I will never forget.
Infant CPR, learn it.
