Anastasia Marie Backstrom

Today is the tenth anniversary of Anastasia's death. I created this page in an effort to honor the life she had and to possibly start the healing process for myself.

As we grow old we see life and death around us. We see our parents and know that one day they will die. As we mature, we realize that we too are mortal. However, most nineteen-year-olds don't have a sense of self-mortality let alone that of their six-month-old child. I came to that harsh reality on that cold January morning.

Anastasia was born on July 12th, two months premature of my wife's September due date. Although she spent some time in the hospital because of being premature, Anastasia was a very healthy baby girl. As a child I suffered from severe allergies. I was very glad when it appeared that Anastasia was going to be spared from the same. My wife and I were so very happy when we were finally able to take her home from the hospital.

We shared the normal trials of having a new baby in the home - the dirty diapers, the midnight feedings and such. Anastasia was full of life and a pleasant handful too. We both loved our daughter very much and the days seemed to just pass on by.

My wife and I were a young couple and had a very hard time of making ends meet. We received a holiday care package that included a small plush toy that looked like a cartoon Sun. Anastasia loved that toy and we simply named it "Sun" for her.

On the morning of January 15th, I woke up and was running a bit late so I rushed to be able to meet my ride to work. I kissed my wife good-bye and decided not to wake the baby by going into her room. Although I've been told and believe that there is nothing that someone can do to prevent SIDS from happening, I still regret that decision to this day. You see, Anastasia was still alive when I left for work. I would not have known what was about to happen or been able to stop it. It just would have been one more time that I could of held her in my arms or kissed her tiny head.

The call came while I was still at work. I got called into the office and was told that there was a problem at home and that Anastasia had been taken to the hospital. Once on the phone, the Officer told me not to rush but that I needed to go to the hospital as soon as possible. My boss let me off work and had made arrangements to have the co-worker that I rode with, take me there.

At the time we lived about a mile from the hospital and since it was on the way, my ride drove me by there. I was given no indication as to what happened and in my naivety of youth I never suspected what was the truth. There still were several police cars at the house as we passed and continued on. I was beginning to become very worried.

We arrived at the hospital ER and the events that followed were and still are very blurry. I do remember seeing my wife crying. She told me what happened and I was in complete shock. The words she said seemed to be spoken in a foreign tongue. They bounced around in my head looking to make sense but my mind wouldn't allow it. I don't remember who called my parents but when they arrived at the hospital, they knew.

One of the hospital staff asked us if we wanted to see her. When we arrived at the room she was lying on the exam table with a blanket wrapped around her. The nurse asked if I wanted to hold her and I agreed. I took the cold lifeless body of my daughter into my arms and cried for the first time that day. As I looked at her blue face I noticed that her eyes were partially open. Her eyes seemed so dark and empty compared to the sparkle that normal shone in them. Inside I felt as dead as the infant in my arms.

The days leading up to the funeral are still unclear in mind. People wanted to know if we were going to bury Anastasia or have her cremated. I couldn't stand the thought of my baby being burnt and opted for a burial. As I said before, we did not have a lot of money and we needed assistance in order to bury Anastasia.

We had a very unpleasant experience with a man at the cemetery while picking a burial plot. As my young wife and I sat there in grief with my parents at our side, this man has the audacity to explain to us how cemeteries are a recession-proof business. I don't know if my anger was just at him or if it was compiled with everything else but I began to hate him then and there - I still do.

The memorial service seemed small. Honestly I couldn't tell you who was all there. We had a showing prior to the service and I guess people said good-bye in their own way. After the service, we proceeded to the cemetery and had another small graveside service. Our Landlords were there and they placed a rose on top of the tiny coffin.

My daughter was buried on Monday the 20th of January 1992, with a single white rose and her Sun. I miss her.

This time of year always seems so cold.