Authored by Holly Sitzmann, Vice President & Co-Founder of Don’t Kiss the Babies.
Recently, I tuned into the latest episode of The World With Nate to listen to a story I’d been so eager to hear.
Dalles Jacobus, former Iowa Hawkeye football player turned country music star, spoke about all the things in his life that led him to where he is today. I related to him as we both grew up in Cedar Rapids and are about the same age. It’s likely we knew many of the same people growing up, but our paths never crossed. He comes from a die-hard Hawkeye fan family and so do I. Much of what he described his Hawkeye-viewing experience to be as a kid was very similar to mine. It’s pretty well known that Dalles wrote a song about his time playing football at Iowa for the Hawkeyes. But this song isn’t your typical “get pumped up for gameday” song (cue “Back in Black” or “Enter Sandman”). There’s a much deeper meaning behind this particular song and I’d been so anxious to hear about how that came to be. I won’t spend all my time here talking about Dalles – I hope everyone takes time to listen to his story for themselves on Nate’s podcast. What I’d like to discuss is a different perspective of Dalles’ song, titled “We Wave”.
To preface my viewpoint, I’d like to paint a brief picture for those that may be unfamiliar with what “The Wave” is. The Iowa Hawkeye football team has a longstanding gameday tradition that occurs at the end of the first quarter of each game. The University of Iowa Stead Family Children’s Hospital was built to overlook Kinnick Stadium, where the Hawks play football many a fall Saturday. At the end of the first quarter, the entire football team, coaching staff, media crew, and all the fans turn and wave at the children and their families up on the 12th floor of the children’s hospital.
The kids who are up there, waving back with their families, may be facing any number of debilitating illnesses, ailments, or life-threatening experiences that prevent them from being able to be in the stands to cheer on the Hawkeyes, or do many of the things that their peers outside hospital walls are able to do. Quite possibly the best part about all of it is that the Hawkeyes aren’t the only ones who wave at those kids. The opposing team, coaches, and fans do it, too. For a brief few moments, everyone sets aside their differences and rivalry and comes together as one united front for the kids and their families. It’s a sensation we all must see to truly understand the emotion
that washes over us when we experience it.
Today, I’d like to share the perspective of someone on the other side of “The Wave”.
My husband, our children, and I have been up on that 12th floor. We never thought we’d be there, physically and emotionally speaking, but life has thrown us some curveballs that ultimately placed us in that position. The position of someone with a child who experienced a life-threatening illness.
My family’s perspective is a unique one- one that most families do not have to endure. I’ll never know why we were chosen for that path, but we’re still continuing to figure out how to navigate it. Some days it’s clear where we’re meant to go. Other days, we’re lost and overtaken by the thorns of grief. But we’re doing the best we can, and this is our story.
On July 14th, 2019 our daughter Eleanor (Ellie) was flown via helicopter life flight to the Stead Family Children’s Hospital in Iowa City. She was not breathing well on her own and as her parents, my husband and I found ourselves frantically searching for answers. Ellie was only 9 days old when she was life-flighted, and we spent a total of 3 days in Iowa City as she fought for her life.
On our second to last day at the hospital, around dinnertime one evening, my husband and I made our way up to the 12th floor. There was a meditation room up there and we felt limited as to how we could help our daughter; so the only thing we could think of was to sit in silence together and just pray. We made our way up to the top and walked around for a few minutes, stopping to take in the view that looms over Kinnick Stadium. Because it was July, the stadium was obviously void of any football players, coaches, or fans. However, standing up there, looking out over the empty field, we felt so moved. How incredible, I thought, to be able to experience unconditional support and love from thousands of strangers.
It was one place where, during those 3 horrific days, we felt at peace. For one brief moment, I could close my eyes and picture my family, looking out over a crowded stadium waving, acknowledged in return with so much love by complete strangers.
That next evening, almost exactly 24 hours later, our sweet Ellie took her last breaths and passed away in the PICU on the 3rd floor. We held her as long as we could, gave her a bath, and then had to let her go for the very last time. She was only 12 days old.
As I reflect back on it now, the whole thing seems as though it were a premonition of sorts. The outpouring of love and support we received from friends, family, and strangers all over our community after our daughter died just filled me with awe. The feeling I had during the days and weeks that followed completely emulated what I felt as I imagined “The Wave” in my mind. In fact, it still does, even years after her death. To this day, when I watch it happen, whether I’m there at Kinnick in person or watching from home on TV, I’m transported back through time to the day before Ellie’s last day on earth. It moves me to my core.
A few months down the road, we experienced something unfathomable.
Although we had just endured every parent’s worst nightmare, our rocky journey was not yet over. On October 29, 2019, our son Emmett (2 years old at the time) went into respiratory failure and was also flown via helicopter life-flight to the children’s hospital in Iowa City. This time, the outcome was not a tragic one- something that we thank our lucky stars for, again and again, day after day. However, we did spend a full 7 days in the PICU while our sweet boy recovered from the viruses that ripped through his little body and witnessing that was traumatic in itself.
On our 5th day there, he was just beginning to gain back his strength. We practiced having him stand and even walk a little bit. We were able to, thanks to our incredible nurse Molly, go up to the 12th floor and we took him around for a little wagon ride. Still hooked up to his IVs, oxygen and other medications, we took things slow. When we reached the area of the 12th floor that overlooks Kinnick, we were able to walk with him over to the window ledge. He looked out over the field. It wasn’t a football Saturday so the field sat empty, but it was certainly in the middle of the season. As we stood there, on the window ledge, we watched Emmett’s face as he scanned the field, the seats, the scoreboard, the press box; all of it. He was taking it in as we were reliving the experience that we endured just 4 months prior. We felt ourselves experiencing the actual “Wave” and remembering how much our family was loved and supported, even if there was no one out on the field at that particular time.
Since our time at the children’s hospital, we’ve been able to connect with so many other families who have either lost children or have had a child experience a significant illness or injury and have also found themselves up on the 12th floor. Whether you’re up there to participate in “The Wave” or just to do some soul searching, it’s something that is quite unlike anything else. There’s a “wave”, so to speak, of emotion that washes over you as you wander around on that top floor. You feel the emotion of so many families that have walked those halls before you. Whether they had a happy ending or one that ended in loss of life, it’s a way that so many of us are all connected.
In Dalles’ song “We Wave” he sings from a variety of perspectives; the football player, the sick child on the other side of the glass up on the 12th floor, and the family who has suffered the loss of a child. Our son witnessed his experience from the perspective of the sick child that Dalles refers to in his song. Toward the end of the song, Dalles refers to the patients who can’t wave any longer because they’ve gone to heaven. He sings about how they (football team, coaches, and fans) wave for those kids and for their families, promising that they’ll never be forgotten. Hearing his words and pairing them with our children’s adverse experiences has touched my soul in ways I can’t even begin to put into words. Dalles, if you ever read this, I hope you know just how inspired we are by your own perseverance through adversity and your compassion and empathy for others. You are a gift to this world in so many more ways than just your music. My husband and I established a nonprofit organization in the summer of 2020 in memory of our daughter and in honor of what our son went through. We founded “Don’t Kiss the Babies Foundation, Inc. (DKTB) together and established a board of directors. Our mission is to advocate for the health and well-being of babies and young children, educate parents and families on the signs of viral illnesses in the weeks following birth, and provide empowerment and support for parents of babies and young children everywhere.
Specifically, we provide what we refer to as New Parent Awareness kits to new parents in hospitals and clinics. We are currently partnered with MercyOne in Waterloo and are working on finalizing another partnership in the Cedar Valley at this time. Any and all fundraising that takes place on behalf of DKTB goes directly to the creation and distribution of these kits. I was able to sit down with Nate late last summer to record an episode of his podcast where I told our story, for the first time from start to finish, and talked about how our foundation has grown into what it is today. Visit The World With Nate Podcast to listen to the Don’t Kiss The Babies episode.
Having the opportunity to share our story on The World With Nate has helped us grow in personal ways and professional ways. First, personally as a mother and as a person in general, I have grown. I’ve grown in my confidence to be forthcoming in sharing our story and holding no emotion back. It’s also helped us to make connections not only with other guests who have also shared their stories on the podcast, but also with listeners and followers of Nate’s podcast. That opportunity has helped to grow our foundation and make connections with others locally who want to help support us as we continue to pursue our mission. To Nate and his amazing wife, Kristi, who helped make our dreams become a reality, thank you from the bottom of our hearts.
For more information on Don’t Kiss the Babies Foundation, Inc. or to learn about how you can get involved, please visit www.dktb.org or visit our page on Facebook.
