Noah's Road

 Only five days after the trial ended – just enough time to let me rest a little – Avry burst into this world and was placed on my chest screaming. When I looked at him for the first time, this baby with bright pink skin under a silky layer of white, I was in utter shock that he was mine – no, ours. I had worked with Mike to prepare his room, to buy diapers and wipes, and to organize Noah’s old baby clothes. I had felt him kick and roll in my belly for months, but I hadn’t ever taken the time to prepare myself for the avalanche of emotions that would follow after bringing another baby into our small, chaotic life. I was in such denial that day that I was in labor (my contractions were irregular until the end) that I didn’t even give Noah the million kisses I should have. Mike practically pushed me out the door, my hospital bag in tow – which I had only just packed – and only four hours later Avry was stretched across me. That night, as Mike was home getting some much-deserved rest, I curled into Avry as he snored next to me. I didn’t sleep much. I just kissed his pale yellow head, feeling the red, downy hair beneath my lips. In the darkness of that hospital room, taking in the scent of my new son, I felt something I’d almost forgotten: joy.

 My entire stay at the hospital felt like a vacation. As I lay in bed all day, my food was brought to me. There were no courtrooms, no lawyers; there wasn’t the face of woman who I had trusted so many, many months ago. The sun shone into my room and everyone who visited beamed with happiness, not the weight of heartache. No one felt the need to tread lightly around me. My baby cooed and hiccupped, burped and breastfed. He was new, new and perfect.

 But my experience with perfection is flawed: someone shook the perfection right out of my first Noah. And once I was home with Avry, the winds of our chaotic life nearly blew me over, my short-lived bliss rushing right out the door. The first night we were home, two Peruvian journalists rang our doorbell, wanting an interview. Unfortunately, Mike had answered the door and I had to pull him back into the house without letting him say a word; nothing he could ever say to them would make a difference. The Peruvian community has made up their mind about us. After they left, as Mike sat stewing next to me, I held Avry and bawled. The simple joy of bringing my baby home was tarnished.

 In the weeks that followed that turbulent first night home, I have watched in amazement as Avry smiles and laughs in his sleep, weeks before he will be able to do so while awake; and I have cried and buried my head in my hands as I watched Noah have 30 seizures in one day. I have tickled Avry’s tiny, pink toes; and I have sprinted across the room to catch Noah, with crocodile tears streaming down his face, after he has fallen, either from tripping on his own feet while walking or from a seizure knocking the balance right out of him. It is terrifying to watch, utterly helpless, as Noah suffers. It is hard to know he wasn’t born that way, but he was born perfect like Avry.

In the midst of one of the snowiest winters that Virginia has seen in nearly a century, I am buried under a mountain, struggling to balance the light and the dark, the good and the bad. I am ready for the snow to melt and the weight to be lifted. There are times when I have wanted to bury myself into the snow and hibernate. But no matter what, when I awake, nothing will have changed. I will still have a husband who loves so deeply and fiercely that he can sometimes barely breathe because he aches so much for Noah; I will still have the most gentle-spirited son, a boy who I love more each second of every day, a boy who has seizures and is developmentally delayed because he was shaken by his daycare provider; and I will still have my wrinkly and beautiful new baby, still untouched by the cruelties of this world, thank God.

 I would be remiss if I closed on such a somber note, because I still believe in our future. This has been a terrible winter, with inches upon inches of oppressive snow burying us in our houses, and the cities around us nearly shutting down. But warmer days will come. The snow will melt and we will trudge through the mud. Once the mud dries and the air smells of the early blooming daffodils and tulips, life will become a little sweeter. I believe this is also true for my Noah and for my family. We will get these seizures under control; we will not rest until we do. And someday the four of us will be barefoot on a beach, laughing and romping through the surf. We will find joy. And we will hold onto it tightly.

Noah has a little brother….  A blog will be here shorlty.

God Bless You All.

Last Monday, nine months after our daycare provider admitted to shaking my happy, innocent baby and forever altering each of our families’ lives, we began the long and tedious process of the criminal trial. In total, testimony lasted for five full days, with closing statements finishing up this morning. Though I sat in a small witness room outside the courtroom for more than 90% of the trial, Mike and the rest of our family sat in anguish as they listened to both the prosecution and the defense experts’ and witness’ testimonies. From my little room with bare white walls, I watched my mom and Mike’s mom rush from the courtroom to the bathroom to cry; I heard the faint voice of Trudy testifying on the stand, unable to hear the words she was saying about my son; and each night over the last two weeks, collectively, we have barely slept. Quite simply, we have been shackled with anxiety, exhaustion and fear.

Though we knew a conviction wouldn’t change our daily struggles, and certainly, a conviction won’t heal our fighting angel, we have understood from the beginning the gravity of this court case: it is not only about justice for Noah, it is about setting a precedent for all cases in which a defendant is charged with shaking a baby. It is about protecting and fighting for the infants who have no voice.

I write tonight from my bedroom, Mike and our family downstairs, and Noah asleep – no doubt drained from the emotional turbulence that has rattled his world for the last couple weeks. I write with a heavy heart but with a great weight lifted off my shoulders: the jury has convicted Trudy Munoz Rueda on both charges lobbied against her.

The first phase of justice for Noah is complete. Sentencing will follow. Because we have fought so hard and so long for this, and because my son deserves justice – as does every victim of SBS and abusive head trauma – I am at peace, finally. And yet, I must temper my emotions. Shortly after the verdict, I witnessed Trudy’s daughter cry, her father consoling her. A beautiful 13-year-old girl watched as her mother was convicted of nearly killing my son. Her world, just like ours, has been shaken and shattered. My son deserves justice, and God willing, he will get the full extent of it when Trudy is sentenced, but in the interim and into the future, the fact remains that two worlds were destroyed on April 20th.

We lost the baby we once knew, though we thank God every single day that he is still here with us, that he can laugh, that he can wrap his arms around us and pull us tight. But Trudy’s children have lost the mother they knew. That’s the thing about Shaken Baby Syndrome and the people who commit this atrocious crime; they aren’t inherently evil people. Mothers and fathers confess and are convicted of this child abuse even more than daycare providers. Mike and I know this, as will our son when he can someday understand what was stolen from him. After today, Trudy’s daughters also know this.

By sharing Noah’s story and by educating yourself and your friends about Shaken Baby Syndrome, you are not only doing your part of saving the fragile, innocent lives of babies, but you are ensuring that no previously happy family will be ripped apart because of a moment of sheer desperation and cruelty.

Of course we can’t disclose any details about the trial, but I wanted to let everyone know that the trial is continuing next Wednesday the 20th at 9 AM in room 4J of the Fairfax County Courthouse. It will likely last the remainder of next week. We’re exhausted, but have our hearts fully committed to this fight. If you want to come support us, you are still welcome.

Justice for Noah!

Please understand that as a family we are hurting and have been hurting since April 20. The trajectory of our son’s future was altered swiftly, and his innocence was taken from him. I know that over the last nine months my husband and I have shared the myriad emotions we have gone through with the thousands of people who have read our site. Of course we are angry. We are heartbroken. We confront hatred and try to suppress it every day; that is a simple truth that I think many parents can understand.

However, Noah’s Road was also created to harness love, support, and prayers, and with the overall dream (yes, sometimes it feels like only a dream) of having our son completely healed. It’s been a long road already, and yet it has just begun. It will continue for the rest of our lives, but more importantly, for the rest of Noah’s life. We are selfish, sure, in that we continually ask for prayers and well wishes to heal our son. We are desperate for it.

But we are not desperate in any way for Noah’s Road to become a forum of nasty words and name-calling. How can that help our child – or any other victim of Shaken Baby Syndrome? We look at Noah smile and hope only for joy in his life, for light and compassion.

Thank you for reading about Noah’s story. It’s an important story. But please don’t use Noah’s Road as a medium to express your hatred or anger to the woman who we believe in our hearts has done this to him. Please also don’t use this forum to express your hatred to my husband or me for believing she is guilty, or for asking for prayers for our son. All cruel comments will be deleted.

Sincerely,

Erin Whitmer

To those of you interested in attending the trial is set for January 11 until the 13th, with the verdict hopefully being called on Thursday the 14th; here is the address:

Fairfax County Judicial Center

4110 Chain Bridge Road

Fairfax, Virginia 22030

Room J4

The courtroom is open and large, you may come and go as you please, but only if you do it quietly.

We are asking that those people who come to support us, but mostly to support Noah, dress appropriately. We believe the courtroom should be treated with respect. Anyone wearing a shirt that has any profanity or images of Noah will likely not be allowed into the courtroom, as it can be argued that it will taint the jury.

Thank you, all of you, who have continued to support us. Thank you more than we can even say for the number of prayers you have said for our dear boy. As I write this, Noah is asleep beside me. We are sleeping together, as his newest anti-seizure drug is making him sick, just another reason my heart breaks every day, and we are seeking justice next week.

My apologies, again, for not keeping up with the blog. The holidays are a crazy time for everyone, but in the midst of holiday chaos, I also finished my thesis – I am now an MFA – and both Noah and Mike had a birthday. It’s so hard to believe our fighting angel is now a year old. He enjoyed his birthday cupcake, though thanks to the sugar, he refused to go to bed that night! This year has flown, a year with more ups and downs than I ever thought possible. Mike and I are humbled by the love we have for our son, and we are even more humbled to be loved by him in return.

Unfortunately, Mike and I are also preparing for trial. Though the case has been continued three times – each time more frustrating than the last – the date is finally approaching. Now, with the trial only two weeks away, we are inundated with thoughts of justice, truth, and hopefully, closure for this one chapter in our long, long journey. We are anxious and frightened. We are determined that the truth be known. My Noah deserves no less. As we all know, he deserves so much more.

The trial is scheduled for Monday, January 11th, and we expect it to last three days. It will be held at the Fairfax County Courthouse in Fairfax, Virginia. We encourage our faithful prayer warriors to attend the trial and show your support for Noah. Should you not be able to attend, we ask only that you continue to pray for Noah. Pray for justice. But more than anything, pray for him to heal (his eyes and his brain), so that regardless of what happens in a Virginia courtroom, Noah might again have the future he was born with.

Today I began my morning with an eggnog latte from Starbucks. For me, it’s something that reminds me of all the sweetness life has to offer, one of those simple, simple things that makes me smile. When the eggnog latte hits Starbucks, I know the holiday season has begun. Sure, by this time there are Christmas songs being played and people have begun to decorate their houses, but there’s something about that first, hot, frothy sip, that hint of nutmeg: winter, Thanksgiving, Christmas. And yet, after the first sip, I felt like walking around and asking people to pinch me. Is tomorrow really Thanksgiving? How could the happiest and saddest year of my life be nearly over?

Last year, two days after Thanksgiving, Noah burst into this world red and screaming, with a head full of sloppy black hair. I watched in utter awe as he was wiped down on the plastic hospital bassinet, the bright warming hospital lights shining down on his long, chunky body. At 8 pounds and twenty-one inches long, he was already strong, already our little fighting angel. We just didn’t know it yet. As I lay on the hospital bed, mystified by this loud, magnificent creature that I had brought into the world, Mike took hundreds of pictures.  The room flickered and flashed; it felt like the Academy Awards.

We had all we had ever wanted: we had the baby we had dreamed about. Only Noah was better than the dream. He was more than we could ever have imagined.

As we cuddled and kissed Noah for the first time that day, we could never have imagined the road we would begin to travel, the road we continue to travel. About 360 days later, so much has changed. This year has flittered between joy and devastation. But. We are moving forward. Noah will turn a year old on Sunday the 29^th. What a miracle, what a blessing. We are thankful for him in so many ways that I can’t possibly begin to say – even for a writer there are times when heavy silence says more.

But tomorrow, we won’t be silent. We will sit down to a giant meal, prepared by so many loving family members, with Noah in his highchair beside us. We will thank God for what he has done for us. We will thank Him for Noah. And we will thank Him for the baby growing inside me, who has a grand name to live up to and big shoes to fill. Then we will feed Noah all the first Thanksgiving foods that, eight months ago, we thought he might never eat: stuffing with gravy, candied sweet potatoes, green beans, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie. If he’s anything like his mommy he will eat until he’s green in the face. And then he’ll probably eat some more!

On Sunday, Noah’s first birthday, Mike and I will wake up with glee. We made it! No. Noah made it! We will kiss him more than a million times. We will kiss him until he takes his pudgy hands and pushes us away. He will eat his first cupcake that I will have probably taken hours to decorate, though I doubt it will look it. We will listen to him laugh. And we will revel in it.

We have so much to be thankful for. Even in our darkest hours, we still have Noah. God bless all of you on this Thanksgiving. Remember your blessings as we remember ours.

-From Mike-

I would also like to give thanks this year for all of you. Without you, this would be a darker and less up-lifting Thanksgiving.  I would personally like to thank God for the loving and supportive people of our community, all of whom have bonded together to help heal our son through prayer. Thank you, also, for praying for all of those other children out there who have suffered for one reason or another.

Please help us continue to raise awareness and shed light on the FACT that shaking a child DOES have dire consequences and is NOT without repercussions. 

It is only after careful deliberation that I have decided to post again on Noah’s Road. And though there are still reasons why perhaps I shouldn’t write and share our life with the world again, in light of recent news, it seems that reaching out for support and prayers for my son, despite this debacle of a legal process, is the best choice. In fact, there are moments when I truly ask myself, “What the hell can we lose now?” We have already lost so much: my son has lost the future he was born with, his innocence was stolen from him, and my husband and I have lost the ability to go through one day without crying or screaming, without asking God why our new family was chosen to struggle like this. Yes, we believe in His plan, but it doesn’t always make the days easier. And now, after seven months, we have lost confidence in our legal system: the woman who shook my son – who is here illegally – is now out on bail. She is with her family, smiling again.

And we are heartbroken. Our son nearly died and is now fighting to achieve all the milestones that other babies and their parents take for granted.  We are reliving the nightmare over and over because the trial has been continued once again. And now we must live with the knowledge that we may pass this woman on the street – or, even worse, that she might flee the country and we will never see justice for our blue-eyed boy.

Noah turns one year old in less than two weeks, on November 29^th. We will no doubt be celebrating with every ounce of faith and hope we can muster – after all, our son is a survivor – but we will also remember how dark life sometimes feels. I won’t be able to show a slideshow of Noah’s first year without everyone in attendance crying at the images of him before he was shaken. We will remember on that day that Noah still has brain damage and that he’s on anti-seizure medications. When we put his first cupcake in front of him, we will wonder what he sees, as there is permanent optic nerve damage and his vision is far from normal.

Though we will be celebrating my fighting angel’s life, we are still shackled by the tragedy our family has had to endure at the hands of a woman who is now walking free.

I have written in the past about the incredible friends we have made during those long, dark days when Noah was at INOVA hospital. One of my first posts was about two children whose families we have grown to think of as our own families, as we have shared so many tears and we have rejoiced in the tiny and big gifts we have each been given.

I write today with sad news, and as always, a request from all of you amazing readers and loyal followers of Noah. I know for most of you it’s no longer a habit to check on Noah, as you know we’re not posting personal information at this point, due to the upcoming criminal trial, but I am asking that on the off-chance you are reading this that you spread the word and this blog as you have done so many times in the past.

Below is an update on Carter Harris, who we all lovingly refer to as Carter-Man. Carter is now six years old and has been bravely fighting a brain tumor for nearly a year. He has been in and out of the PICU at INOVA, he’s been getting radiation and chemo treatments, and in spite of everything he still has the cutest dark smile you’ve ever seen. If only you could have seen him as Noah sat on the end of his hospital bed a couple months ago. Noah might have been more interested in Carter’s Yota doll, but Carter was all grins. 

Carter’s family, with their unique humor and optimism that I have learned greatly from, have even coined the term “thinkin’ shrinkin.’” Collectively, they were thinkin’ shrinkin’ every time Carter went in for another MRI. For months it was all positive news; the tumor hadn’t grown.

In the last couple weeks, Carter came down with two strains of the flu, one of which was confirmed as H1N1. There are no jokes on this blog about getting the “pig” flu, as such people have inappropriately joked. Healthy children have recently died in the INOVA PICI of H1N1; the fact that Carter was admitted to the hospital with the flu and with his underlying and very serious medical condition has made the road back to health very rocky.

Yesterday, after communicating that he was in terrible pain, an emergency MRI was performed, and this time, Carter-man’s tumor did not shrink. It had grown. It has grown to the point that there is nothing left for the amazing medical team at INOVA, nor Carter’s brave and vigilant parents, to do.

I am writing – trying so hard to stay as strong as Carter’s family has been for us in the past – and I am asking all of you to pray, send loving thoughts, good vibes – whatever it is you do – please do it for Carter and his family. Pray for a miracle. Pray for comfort. Pray for strength for his tender and beautiful mom, his father who has rarely left his side, and his little sister who still has so much to learn from her brother’s journey.

To read more about Carter and his story, to stay updated on his progress, and to offer words of encouragement to his family, please visit: http://carterharris.blogspot.com/

With eternal thanks for the community we’ve created and all that, together, we have been able to accomplish,

Erin and Mike