Born April 11 ,1981
Died: August 1,1981
This picture is of Cliff at his Christening.
Peter was Cliff's Godfather.
The lady in the background is Anna, Cliff's Great-Oma.
This baby was absolutely doted on by all and sundry.
I was a first-time Mom, and was absolutely clueless.
My own mother was in the States, so I depended on my ex's family for baby advice.
Too funny, sometimes.
Cliff had those "milk pimples", oooh, they were gross.
Tante Frieda would bring over creams and say, "Use this.".
Oma Anna (Grandmother Anna) would bring over powders and say, "Use this.".
Oh, gods, making sure the right stuff was out at time of visit!! grins...oh, gods.
Eventually, I gave up and called the American Military Hospital.
"Use soap and water", they said.
"Eureka!"
Instant cure!!
Tante Frieda brought creams; Oma Anna brought powders.
The poor baby's skin was stripping!
Seemed like it anyway.
Call to the American Hospital...use soap & water!
To this day I am a firm believer in the attributes of plain ole soap and water.
It ain't a cure-all, but damned close in my mind!!
these pictures were taken 20 years ago.
It doesn't feel like yesterday,
but then it doesn't feel like 20 years, either.
Gods, I'm old.
How does a person deal with the death of a child?
In all honesty I don't have the answer.
I found both Cliff and Heidi.
(Gee, thanks, Whoever is paying attention.)
Oh, crap, let me back up here.
This is not easy.
There were 350+ pictures of Cliff when he died.
This baby was doted on.
I'm having a hard time with this.
OK, Cliff was exactly 16 weeks old the day I found him dead.
I was a young GI in Germany, and should have gotten up at 4:30a.m.
in order to take the laundry to the laundrymat across Nuremberg.
I didn't wake up until about 6:00a.m.
("What if..." ring any familiar bells out there?)
Cliff's bassinet was on my corner of the foot of the bed.
I came back from the bathroom, picked up my baby,
and the smell of him, the color of him, the "him" was all wrong.
I screamed, "Nooo!".
I lost consciousness and by that I mean I have a break
in my memory of a few seconds.
When I "came to" I was down at the foot of the bed holding Cliff
and then my husband (at the time) took Cliff and started CPR.
He also called the German Emergency Services. (My "ex" was German, that's what he knew.)
They came, they tried, they left carrying my son out in a black plastic bag
for all the world as if he was garbage they were taking out.
(I just got gut-kicked, hold on a sec.)
I remember the Coroner or someone to that effect
placing a pillow over Cliff. His little toes were sticking out
and they were SO COLD.
My First Sergeant and Company Commander somehow made it to our place.
I couldn't find any clean clothes and so put on my fatigues/uniform.
That is the only thing that kept me from completely falling apart.
I was a soldier, and pulled on everything military I could to keep from getting lost.
We buried Cliff in Germany and my entire Unit, 501st S&T, showed up!
I didn't know a thing about Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.
It was my First Sergeant who gave me a diagnosis/cause of death.
I didn't understand the grief process either.
I thought I was losing my mind.
I'd get in the car to go one place and end up in an entirely different place
with no memory whatsoever of the drive.
It's amazing I didn't kill anybody.
My First Sergeant and Company Commander eventually sent me to a psychiatrist
which only reinforced that I was "going nuts'.
The young Psych Tech did give me a little information
concerning the grief process,
but it just didn't register.
Life got real ugly in the marriage department.
I won't go into it, suffice it to say, REAL ugly.
I requested and received a transfer back to the States.
I was finally allowed to grieve for my baby boy, but...
I don't know. It was just tough.
Due to a monster amount of begging &
"I love you, I'll never do that again"
from my ex, we reconciled and he came to the States.
Not my brightest move, but, hey...extenuating circumstances, you know?
Anyway, Harry and I stayed together seven very long years,
and I whelped three more childeren.
Michelle, whom I had a terrible time trying to bond with.
I was terrified of her!
I'd slam open her bedroom door in order to startle her awake.
She stayed practically naked the first year of her life.
So I could watch her little chest and tummy move up and down.
I wanted to be able to look and SEE her breathe.
She also lived in a carrier on my back.
Poor baby. We both survived. She's 18 now.
Heidi, who died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.
And David. My beautiful son, David.
Heidi's Pictures are "Next"
"Back to Entrance Hall"