ZEKE'S GIFT | ‘Hi. This is mommy’

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“Do you want some skin-to-skin contact, Jess?” asks Dave.

She nods. One tear rolls down her cheek, then another.

Dave and a nurse pull sheets down so Zeke is lying on Jessica’s sternum. She smiles at feeling his little body.

She’s dreamed of this moment from the day she learned she was pregnant. She dreamed and prayed that she’d have time with her little boy before his life passed.

But too soon, she sees Zeke is leaving.

His cheek, when touched, doesn’t respond with a flush of pink. It’s turning sallow, then a shade of blue.

And Jessica knows.

“No, no, no,” she cries. Softly at first, and then with a deep, sobbing grief, wails of pain. And every person moving or whispering or writing stops. The quiet is solemn.

Dave breaks down in his mother’s arms.

To confirm what Jessica already knows, a doctor listens for life.

Nothing.

“He’s done,” the doctor says. The digital clock reads 5:58.

Gently, Dave takes Zeke and hands him to a doctor. She weighs and stretches a tape measure along Zeke. He weighs 6 pounds, 9½ ounces. He is 19 inches long. She carefully wraps him once more and returns him to Jessica’s arms.

After a time, Dave places little Zeke in Jacquelyn’s arms so he can wrap Jessica in his. Her family surrounds her, holding her hand, touching her shoulder, touching Dave’s back.

Off to the side, Jacquelyn rocks little Zeke back and forth.

Jessica is wheeled into a large birthing room. Zeke is placed once more in her arms.

Mothers whose babies have died are allowed to hold them and be with them as long as they wish.

Family members gather around her bed. A prayer is offered, and then one by one, after Dave kisses his wife, everyone goes to Jessica. Her father drops to one knee at her bedside; her mother whispers in her ear.

Jacquelyn bends down, looks deep into her sister’s eyes but says nothing. Her expression is enough.

Then, it’s Patti Lewis’ turn.

“We all have handicaps,” she whispers to Jessica, as she caresses Zeke’s hair. “We just keep them hidden. And he is perfect. There’s nothing wrong with him.” Jessica nods.

Her belief in God eases her sadness. With all her heart she believes she will see her little boy again, whole and perfect, in heaven.

“Look at her,” Dave says. “She’s got a peace in her. It’s settled down and I can just feel it. There’s a real acceptance there. I know she’ll have some difficult times in the future but, you know, I can see her doing OK, and that makes me feel OK, too.”

The fatigue and grief and drugs of childbirth are wearing Jessica down and her eyelids begin to flutter. But she wants to bathe Zeke’s body, and dress him in the little blue outfit.

The door opens. Tori runs in and reaches for her mother.

“Hi, sweetie!” Jessica says. Tori peeks at the little baby in her arms.

“This is Baby Zeke. Would you like to see him?”

Her face is tender as she watches her daughter. Tori won’t remember this day, but they will tell her.

Jessica looks around the room and smiles at her family. “If you guys would like to hold him, you can,” she says. “But if you don’t want to, it won’t offend us. If you’re not comfortable, don’t worry about it.”

Each person does hold Zeke, whose body is now a purplish hue, whose tiny hands have curled into fists, whose tiny ears are perfect miniatures of his father’s, whose hair is dry, with spiraled curls a reddish brown.

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To reach Lee Hill Kavanaugh, call (816) 234-4420 or send e-mail to lkavanaugh@kcstar.com. To reach Allison Long, send e-mail to along@kcstar.com.