stumblewyk

First off, holy hell, I'm old enough to have a 19-year-old child.

Second off, yeah, the dead kid part: So, I've been over this elsewhere, in very exhaustive detail, so I'll try to be a bit concise here. My son, Aaron, was born roughly 16 weeks premature in 2006. At first, everything seemed great. He was responding to treatment, initially gaining weight and giving us a lot of hope. We were also warned, and extensively so, about the NICU “honeymoon period.” Lots of kids start off doing really well before other health issues start to show up. That's what happened with Aaron.

He had to undergo a couple of procedures. One, to install a picc line so that his meds could be more rapidly and effectively administered. And two, a procedure to diagnose and treat a necrotizing loop of intestine found in his abdomen. As you can imagine, that's a lot of wear and tear on a baby roughly the size of a 1L bottle who honestly isn't quite fully formed.

When it was all said and done, the shock of the procedures left his kidneys in a bad way. He stopped processing fluids, and water just started building up in his tissue. Eventually, it was all too much for his tiny heart to manage and on May 31st, 2006, my wife and I made the difficult choice to remove him from life support. When he passed, he was in her arms, surrounded by family and friends. He was only alive for 33 days, but he loved excessively during that time.

19 years later, his mother and father have found a lot of ways to honor and remember him. We've raised money for the NICU he spent his entire life in and for the March of Dimes. We've collected toys and craft materials, baby hygiene products, formula, and clothes for community infant medical centers. We've advocated for care for grieving parents. And we've done a lot of work on ourselves to regain some sense of normalcy and mental health for each other and for our family.

Last year, we struggled to find a “purpose” for honoring Aaron. He was turning 18, he would've technically been an adult. We've always tried to find mission that made sense for the age he should've been, with different degrees of success. But 18. Who would he have been? What would he have loved or been interested in? How could we know?

Well, you know what almost everyone loves? Ice cream. So, what if we ask for help raising funds to just...buy kids ice cream? We did it. It was awesome. We raised over $2,000, and bought ice cream four separate times last summer. “Ice Cream for Aaron,” was a smash.

So. we're doing it again. If you'd like to help us buy a bunch of ice cream for kids in our development, at my son's school, at a local park, whatever and wherever, here's my Venmo. Just stick an ice cream emoji in the comment so I know what's what.

Finally, if you, or someone you love has lost anyone recently, but especially if they've lost a child, take the initiative. Don't just ask them what they need – do what you think they need. Because what they really need, more than anything, is people to love them, remembered the one they lost, and remove as many mundane responsibilities as you can for them. Make them a meal. Bring them coffee. Use their child's name. If they're quiet, be quiet with them. If they cry, cry with them. They need you.