They put the wrong time of death on James' death certificate. It doesn't really bother me. Heck, they gave him credit for an extra 15 minutes. I will probably always be fixated on that. One of the things that is so astounding to me is how long he went between his last breath and when his heart stopped beating. Grown-ups (the patients I'm used to seeing) tend to die quickly once they stop breathing. Little James lasted at least 10 minutes (see: fetal hemaglobin) from the time of what was clearly his last breath until his heart stopped. It was weird to hold him when he had clearly passed on, but still had a heart beat.
I wish there were new moments and new photographs to see; I love looking at what we have, and seeing new pictures taken by different people. But I have already seen them, even if it's a new angle, I've already seen those moments. No new ones are coming. Sometimes I kick myself and wonder, "what if." But that isn't going to help me or anyone else.
We are trying to take advantage of the time while my body heals to make some other memories as a family. However, I can't help but think of how I'd rather it had all turned out differently. But we are still having fun. Moving forward is weird.
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