There is only one beautiful child in the world and every parent has them.
The first time was August 27th at 2:10 – one of two days I will never forget! It happened in sequence. As I stepped through the door with my 3 year old, all thoughts of preparing for another day back at work, my wife yelled down at me that the “something’s wrong with the baby!” Bounding up the stairs, I immediately saw, my once vibrant son, flopped over my wife’s shoulders as she frantically tried to dial our midwife for direction. I snatched him up and yelled for her to call 911, because he was going into shock. With my wife screaming in the background, trying to get the dispatcher to over stand her direction, my son hanging off my leg, thinking we were playing, yet yelling what’s wrong, as toddlers will do! I tried to perform CPR on my baby, while trying not to panic. It was hard…he was only two weeks old. He was so tiny, so perfect, so pale. Gasping for breath he started shutting down, dying right in front of my eyes. There was some blood leaking from his right nostril, my chest tightened and the world got smaller. I grabbed the phone and yelled at the dispatcher…”my fucking child is dying, why are you fucking around?” “Where is the fucking ambulance?” As she assured me one was coming, I heard them running up the stairs, I relinquished my baby to the professionals, they will save him. But they couldn’t revive him, not with oxygen and CPR, so they took him to the ambulance where they injected him with adrenalin to jump start the heart. I waited outside the parked vehicle, hoping, praying that they could save him. As my wife came down stairs screaming her head off, my 3 year old in tow, screaming just as loud, I turned to one of the rescuers waiting outside and asked, “what’s happening?” A simple question. “I don’t know but they are trying their best.” A great fist took hold of my heart and squeezed all its contents into my throat… and I cried. In the middle of the street, in the middle of the day, with rush hour traffic honking and rubber necking, I cried. I demanded to go with them to the hospital, I allowed me. I rode to the emerg., and I watched as the shaved his head and hooked him up to every fucking piece of wire, probe, IV and needle, they had in the joint…at least it seemed that way. My wife came by about an hour later police had detained her for questioning. What the fuck? They had sealed off our home, they were looking for foul play. As she cried, I held her. I held my son. I didn’t hold my 16 year old daughter. She had just kissed her baby brothers goodbye that morning as she went off to three day music camp. She didn’t know. That night the Dr. on call, an Asian woman, looked us straight in the eye and told us, that our son would not make it through the night. That he had suffered massive oxygen loss to the brain and one chamber in his heart was weak, so we needed to accept that. Fucking cold hearted bitch! But my son came from a line of fighters… on both sides! He lasted 17 days. During that time and during our grief, we were stymied by hospital politics and expediency. They had him on ventilator, they wanted him off, we said no! Not until we gathered enough information on the care being given. We needed to know because they felt he was using up bed space. They urged us to accept, we asked what’s the rush. Every night I went there, we took turns day and night. We massaged his feet, the lung and heart region of his palm and sole. We played classical and nature music, in hope of stimulating any dormant cells in his brain. We talked to him, I sang to him. We battled the hospital, they wanted to know why my 3 year old had bow legs, did we have poor diets? Oh! You’re Vegans? Are you getting enough calcium? It could be Genetic; can we take some blood for testing? I research about coma. I researched about Hypoxima. I researched about recovering from coma. I found out that all medical information is inconclusive, based on the results from a recent world health symposium. I found out that anything under a month would be to soon. They delayed in giving us all the critical care information. My son showed encouraging signs and responses. They said it was nothing, because they measured his progress by their calibrated machines. They never measured the spirit. They urged us to think of his feelings and not make him suffer. I asked, “but you said he was brain dead, how can he feel?” I thought the crying was over. I was battling for a chance to see him survive. I had cancelled work on September 12th, to do something nice for my wife. She deserved it. She had been through a lot. However, they called me as I was talking to her and told me that my son’s heart was failing. By the time I got there, the ventilator was off. They machines where off… and my son was dead.
[When your parent dies You have lost your past, But when your child dies You have lost your future.]
I cried by his bed, I told my wife on the phone and cried when she cried. How do you deal with the loss of a child, any child, must less one only a month old? What is the best way to deal with this kind of pain? But…there are no best ways, there are only alternatives. Yet even in our grief, we had to deal with the politics. By invoking the unknown cause clause, the hospital brought in the coroner, who told us it was the law to medically desecrate my baby’s body to find out the cause. Even though I contested, refused to give consent, they forged ahead. More pain! More hurt! More tears! Today is September 15th. We are now preparing to do what every parent dreads. Making funeral arrangements for your child. It’s a hard road ahead. I think about him, and feel weak. Feel like tearing up. I try to think of the short time he was here, but drift back to that fatal day in August. And it hurts! I love my son! I love all my children, I tell them so! But he was just a baby, so I love him different! Every day I try to remember to show gratitude for the gift of life I have. Show gratitude for all that was bestowed on me… and I thank my baby for spending time with me.
Our joys will be greater Our loves will be deeper Our lives will be fuller Because we shared your moment.
I figure he wasn’t ready to grace this place fully with the beauty of his essence. So I ask him to come back again, when he was ready. This is my main hope. I had stopped writing for awhile. It wasn’t as important. But I enjoy writing, so this will be therapy. I seek therapeutic release through writing. The alternative is rage, anger and more tears. Today friday the 19th, I bury my youngest son, my baby! He was born on a friday, he made his transition on a friday and he is being buried on a friday. Such is the way of things. Things done in three’s have symetry to it. It brings a lot of knowledge, light and progress in this world. It is supreme mathematics, so is the lot he will be placed in, it is the number of foundations, achievement, earth (the element), and succes. My son was a happy child! His prescence and passing heralded a new world view for me. I want to remember him in that state of mind.