Hugs and prayers to you and your wife.
Don’t kid yourself, Tokyo - you are a hell of a powerful writer.
Your loss is also the world’s loss - it breaks my heart that no-one will ever get to know your beautiful boy.
I am glad you were able to say goodbye to him in the way you wanted - surrounding him with love.
-Lisa
Thank you for sharing your story. You are such a great writer.
I’m so sorry. I’m sitting here in tears, unable to think of anything to say to help you. My heart breaks for you and your family.
TokyoPlayer, you and your wife have my deepest sympathies. What an awful thing to have happen to you. I hope you both find some good way to cope with this loss.
My heart is breaking for you and your family, TokyoPlayer. May it go as gently with you and yours as it can.
Ian is beautiful. To think that he’s gone already, just when you met him, is unimaginable. It’s so very odd becoming a parent. On the night of her birth, I held my newborn daughter in my arms and whispered to her, “I’d die for you.” And I meant it, with every fiber of my being.
How can we bond with someone so instantaneously? Yet, it happens. I experienced it firsthand. And I know you did, too. What a privilege it was, and is, for you to be Ian’s dad, to be such a significant part of his tragically brief life. I’m so very sorry that your own father didn’t recognize how privileged he was to be a part of his children’s, and grandchildren’s, lives. He missed out on the very best part.
Oh, TokoyoPlayer, I am so sorry. RickQ and I really hoped your child would have the good outcome with hydrocephalus that he had.
Congratulations on your journey from fear to loving yourself and allowing yourself to love your wife and son. It is a hard journey and many falter along the way.
Has it been five days or five lifetimes? Did the sun and moon rise and set or did worlds come and go? I barely remember anything from before Ian came and left us. So much has happened, so much has not. Work was the least of my priorities and received the least of my attention. My wife, the highest and received the most.
In a custom not known to us Americans, “they,” the hospital, the funeral home, the system, permits infants to be taken home between the mother’s discharge – a merciful 2 1/2 days after birth – and the cremation which will be six days. Ian Pough has been home from Saturday morning and will be with us until tomorrow, Tuesday, morning. We’ve had to keep him cooled, and though there are the beginning signs of the inevitable; he is still in very good condition.
So, so many things I had dreamed of doing for my child. So, so little time to carry out. Dreams of barbeques, of building toys, breakfasts of omelets and pancakes, of puppies, and of golf. We did what we could with the all too short time permitted. I made a stand for his mobile. Steak and chicken were barbequed on the veranda. We ate the omelets and pancakes for him and gave a toy puppy and a play golf set. This was not for Ian for Ian is not with us. This was for us, the living, to symbolize what would have done, had fate not cruelly robbed us of our precious son.
In the English langue, one struggles in vain to find sweeter sounds or more meaningful words than “close friends.” In times of need and in times of joy. In times of love and in times of despair. Friends and family. What more would one need with these? Without, what matters? When Pooh-chan was celebrated yesterday, it was by his family and our close friends. As requested, no one wore black. We laid our tiny son on a quilt hand-stitched by his dear grandmother and surrounded him with objects of our love. His toy puppy stood by to guard and to comfort. The golf set at his little feet. Pooh toys and towels gently laid by his head. The mobile hung above and on the stand we draped the blue dress in which he will face eternity.
They came to our house, and, one by one laid flowers by his side. Wonderful intimates who loved him because they love us. In a foreign land, they are our flesh and our blood. Our brothers, our sisters, we share a bond so deep and tight that we will be together forever, in spirit and in love.
A few words were spoken. First by his father, the man who wanted so much to lead him though life. His mother talked next and no one could ever doubt the words of the woman who carried him for so long. The woman who sang him to sleep in her belly and loved him as no one else could. She claimed to be unhappy that so many features resembled me, but his heart was his mother’s and that means more than all the rest. My great friend spoke a few words. He spoke of courage and the courage which we all had. His father, this mother, but also Ian Pough himself. Our little fighter who showed us once again, what life is all about. My mother added some words of the deep beliefs of hers, of her thoughts of God and of heaven. It was short. It was long. We laughed and we cried. I decided that I would want no more than to be sent off in the same way.
We ate a feast which our friends cooked. A couple who took over and did all. Such a welcome, to not be burdened with this task at his time, and so delicious. We talked and we laughed. We cried and we shared. We drank and we ate and we knew that above all we wanted to be with each other and to share this precious memory. Finally, to let TW rest, our friends said their final goodbyes and left.
Then, for the first time in days, there was nothing to do. Each day had been so busy. Each action, so urgent. Now, we could rest and slow down.
Restful sleep, the stranger for weeks; who stayed away or was pushed aside. You see, sleep will not visit if worry or grief is there first. The nights, knowing that the world was about to end and the nights after it did. The dark times when TW held me as I sobbed and sobbed, and the times when I held her and her crying shook her whole body, from her heart to her hand to her feet. Restful sleep slunk away, but like the faithful dog who waits for the slightest sign of redemption from the angry master, she returned. I dreamed that my middle name was Pough, and so be it. I will carry that name, not on my passport, but in heart.
Tomorrow, at 10:00 am, Tokyo time we will let the flames consume his tiny body and return ashes to ashes. This is at 9:00 pm (Monday night) on the East coast and 5:00 pm on the West. (Sorry, I don’t know the times for other counties.)
Can I ask an indulgence? If you are free at this time, can you please think a kind thought or send a little prayer this way for our son, so when he departs it will be with the love of many in their hearts? It will mean so much to TW and I.
I go to bed now, to sleep one last time with Pooh-chan snuggled between his mother and I.
May peace be with all.
TokyoPlayer
Oh how sorry I am for your terrible loss! 
TokyoPlayer, your posts are beautiful and bring tears to my eyes. I will think of Ian this evening.
Good thing this lousy cold gives me a good excuse for teary eyes.
The story itself is terribly painful, but TP, your recounting is absolutely beautiful.
I’d like to send my best wishes for any other children that you and the TokyoWife ever get.
You are a beautiful writer.
I shall light a candle for your son today and think of all of you.
I’d just answered the OP. A bit more thought brought to mind a song that’s made me break out in tears ever since I was old enough to understand it. Excuse my poor translation.
The original is old enough to be free of copyright, AFAIK.
NEGRA MARIA
(L. de Mare)
Aaaaay… black, black
was María born, she’s in the cradle
she was born by day with no moon in sight
the mother will put away her white dress
and she’ll go dancing in a long fancy one
she’ll be the queen, when María turns fifteen,
we’ll call her Black Maria,
Black Maria, you opened your eyes during Mardi Gras
Big eyes will Maria have,
pearly teeth, dark color,
ay, her lips will be so red,
ay, what sway will her body have
She’ll love to dance, Black María,
black the mother, black the daughter,
they’ll sing for you
guitars and violins
and the complaints of the bandoneón,
we’ll call her Black María,
Black María, you opened your eyes during Mardi Gras
Aaaaaay! Black, black,
died María, she’s in her cradle,
she died by day having missed the sight of the moon
her mother won’t keep her white dress,
she won’t go party in a long fancy one,
she won’t be the queen when she turns fifteen
we’ll cry her, Black María,
Black María, you closed your eyes during Mardi Gras.
Ay, how sad your destiny,
dust angel, dark colored,
ay, how sad your destiny,
ay, how silent your body will be
The mother cries, the child sleeps,
Black one, they’ll bleed for you
guitars and violins
and the complaints of the bandoneon
we’ll cry her, Black María,
Black María, you closed your eyes during Mardi Gras
And a superstition that may be from Catalonia, both my mother and several other people from there that I know share it. They say that when someone gets to Heaven, God grants them the power for one message to send home. The nuns at my dorm attributed to that the good grades that every single student got the year one of them died during finals (usually all of us would get at least one “retake”, there were none that year). Mom says that Dad’s message was my brother and me getting good jobs within a month of his death. Like many religious/superstitious stuff it’s in the interpretation… but who knows, maybe Poo-Chan will be able to send a message with his love soon.
I think you accidentally switched your am/pm for the US: according to my PDA and the World Clock, 10:00 AM on 9/26 in Tokyo would be 9:00 AM on 9/25 on the East Coast, and 6:00 AM on 9/25 on the West Coast. In which case, we here in the States have already missed Ian’s service. I’m sure, however, that many thoughts and prayers will be with your family all day.
No, the time I wrote is correct. It’s 2:00 am now and this will happen in eight hours from now.
Thank you all for the courage which you’ve sent and for the love which you have shown.
I am so sorry for your loss and heartache. My wife and I have been through multiple losses including our son, Tommy, who was born much too early and only lasted a half hour in my arms. November will be four years he has been gone.
Ian is beautiful. Always remember him, speak his name out loud and celebrate his coming into your lives, no matter how brief a time it was. Remember September 21 as a special day when you finally got to hold your angel and look upon that lovely face. Send your wife flowers, give her a card on Mother’s Day. Keep his picture in your wallet.
Hold your wife, talk with her, listen to her, cry with her. If she needs someone to talk with then by all means make sure she does. The same goes for you. Too many men think they have to always be strong, keep it in. Don’t. It hurts you like an acid on the inside and hurts your wife to not see you grieve.
Never let blame come up. Don’t blame yourself for past feelings, don’t let her feel like there could have been more she could have done. Cling to each other. Turn to each other and hold on tight. Never let go.
The pain you feel now may seem insurmountable and infinite but it will lessen with time. The scar left in your heart is like the grain of sand in an oyster. You build around it, enclosing and protecting yourself from the hurt. Eventually you will see the pearl that was created by your son.
Two organizations we have worked with have been very helpful. SHARE is a US organization supporting people who have had miscarriages or early losses. I don’t know if there is a similar organization in Japan, but the people at SHARE have been wonderful.
Another group is INCIID . They are primarily for people who have fertility problems but they also have a great support network for people dealing with losses.
It might sound strange, but I envy you the chance to bring Ian home. We could hold our lost children in the hospital until the staff came to take them away and we never saw them again. We have photos and the blankets they were wrapped in but, after those few short hours, we could never touch them again.
TP, I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.
I am so sorry. If these words from strangers can give you any comfort then I will add to them. Ian is beautiful and I will say a prayer for him tonight. If it helps, think of all the people all over the world who are thinking of your little son and your family tonight.
May you and your wife find peace in each other. She is an amazing woman and your love for each other will be a source of strength for you. I don’t know what else to say except that I am moved by your writing and I hope it helps to get some of your thoughts out and know that Ian’s life impacted so many people.
I’ve been following your story and have expressed my sympathies as well as joined you in celebrating your childs brief and powerful journey.
I just wanted to take this moment to thank you for allowing us to share in your life. Your (and TokyoWife’s) strength and love is such a beacon of hope. Knowing now where you came from and what childhood was like for you, I am forever humbled by your dreams and intentions for your son.
Thank you for being strong for one another and thank you for sharing that strength with us. Your family is in my thoughts, tears and smiles.