Beam Me Up by P!nk

As time passes and my human reality is reestablished, the thought of what William would look like passes through my mind often. Toward the end of his life, the head full of dark brown hair he was born with, was showing blonde. Blonde with a little bit of strawberry warmth in it, which confused and tickled me as a hairstylist. William was also BIG when he was born. That’s actually the first thing I said when they put him on my chest, “my God, he’s huge” I huffed out of the exhausted smile that was spread across my face. When they took him to weigh him, I closed my eyes and took deep breaths before hearing my mom repeat how much the scale said, 

“Did you hear that? 9 pounds, six ounces, Steph! He’s perfect.”

So, I imagine he would be a big strawberry-blonde kiddo who’s big, blue eyes (he got those from his dad) would make people melt as he got older. I know that would happen for sure, because his eyes captured everyone in his hospital room when they were open. He had a way of commanding attention with the side-eye he gave everyone, letting them know he was aware of them. Letting them know that he loved them or didn’t want them to even breath in his direction.

I imagine that he would’ve been opinionated as he grew up (he didn’t hide when he was upset here) and he would be “too smart for his own good” (I could see that he knew more than we thought when I locked eyes with him.) Those along with his strength… man, his strength would be unmatched. That is another one I know for sure. He showed us that every time he made it through one of his open-heart surgeries.

I will never forget hearing that the Ross Procedure (link below for more info) at William’s age (about three weeks old) was less than ideal; it was very dangerous. There was something like a 40% chance that he wouldn’t make it back up to his room. This was the second open heart surgery he had. Alex and I waited surrounded by a few people we love (and who love William) while very little breath was intentionally going in and out of our lungs. We went through the motions and then, when they called and said he was coming back up soon and he had done “well,” our lungs could relax a tiny bit.

Seeing him again after surgeries was very uncomfortable, at the same time it was the best feeling. To see the numbers on the screens show that his body was still working was a relief, but to see his puffy, pale body with new scars was incredibly difficult. Alex and I would whisper to him, “you did so good, buddy. You did so good.” Then, the next day, or the day after, when he would open his eyes and seem comfortable with the level of his medications, it was the most amazing sight. He had not only made it through, but he was also awake and locking his eyes on mine or Alex’s. That happened so many times, in so many different situations. And as his mom, the person who had known him and the feeling of him since his conception, I could physically feel his strength. So, I don’t really have to imagine that part of it.

I do find comfort in the imagining. The made-up ideas of what would’ve been, although it is quite painful to realize the same visions will never actually be. We’ll never know if he would’ve been a small kid going to kindergarten or if he’d learn to walk quickly or what his first word would’ve been. The imagination is a gift though because it’s a reminder that I did know him. He was here with us and in a sense, he always will be. 

When I hear P!nk sing, “…blades of grass on tiny bare feet, I look at you and you’re lookin’ at me,” I can truly see it all with William as the beholder of the tiny bare feet. I imagine Alex and I sitting in the backyard on a blanket, our dogs Miles and Max circling the three of us, William learning to walk from one of us to the other. Music playing from the patio table, sun shining, just enough to make it comfortably warm, and Alex and I giggling along with our sweet William. 

I also imagine William actually “beam[ing] me up” too. 

I truly don’t know what I would say, just like P!nk. Like the song says, I would be “happy just to be there holdin’ [his] face.” My hands on either side of his round face, his blue eyes looking into mine without the pain he had while he was on earth, but with the wisdom I mentioned earlier. I imagine he would smile at me and I would feel that feeling. The one I would recognize even if I was asleep. The one I get when I see a butterfly up here in Minnesota in the fall- when we’re not supposed to be able to see them anymore. It’s the same feeling I get when I take three deep breaths before journaling in the morning; the one I had when I called my best friend, Jenna a week after he was conceived (I just knew I was pregnant) and the feeling I got when I watched him move around on his due date.

I think that’s the message I get from this song… William is not here physically anymore. He never will be again, and that’s tragic. For more people than just me. And I have the privilege of the unique feeling I have as his mom. While it is definitely a gift to be his mom, the pain of it is also really heavy to carry. The lyrics of this song say, “Let me be lighter, I’m tired of bein’ a fighter, I think a minute’s enough. Just beam me up.” Somedays, I’m tired of being a fighter. On those days, I remember looking into his eyes after the surgeries; the strength he taught me in those moments will keep me going… push me to keep being a fighter until I finally get to wrap my arms around him again.

Learn more about the Ross Procedure here:

https://www.heart.org/en/health-topics/heart-valve-problems-and-disease/understanding-your-heart-valve-treatment-options/ross-procedure