I worked in (adult) ICU and one of the most heartbreaking things I witnessed was this. A man was driving some acquaintances to their car; he had a car seat for the baby, but since he was only transporting these people a block or so, and there really wasn’t enough room in the car, his wife held the baby on her lap in the front seat.
Sure enough, they were broadsided by a couple of drag-racing teenagers. The baby died shortly after arriving at the hospital. The wife suffered a broken bone and some major lacerations, but was essentially okay. The husband had a spinal injury, but by the grace of modern medicine, he wasn’t paralyzed. All of the acquaintences were unharmed.
Ironically, the baby had been named for the man’s little brother, who had died in a car accident years before.
Have you ever had to tell a parent his child is dead- especially when the child’s death is his own fault? Nightmares, nightmares, nightmares.
On a lighter, but much more morbid note, my friend had a baby who was born with trisomy 18- a terrible and fatal birth defect. Knowing the baby was going to die, they got on a plane to go back to their hometown, where the baby would die and be buried. Some asshole in the airport accosted my friend, telling her what a bad mother she was to take a baby on an airplane. (Didn’t she know it would hurt the baby’s ears?!?)
She calmly told him that the baby was going to die any day, anyway, so the flight wouldn’t make much difference. She also showed the man her baby’s ears, which were terribly deformed. I hope he still has bad dreams about it.
When the baby did die, at ten days old, my friend and her husband drove her to the hospital. Ignoring the carseat, my friend held the dead baby in her arms. Laughing and crying, she said she almost hoped they’d be pulled over for having the child unrestrained. “But, officer, she’s already dead!”
I need to go to bed now.