Part II - 6/15
June 15, 2004. I could hear Caleb getting louder and louder as I came further and further out of sleep. He was in his crib, about four (4) feet away from the foot of my bed. Jumping and playing, like he did every morning.
This wasn’t like every other morning though.
Aiden, who had awoken earlier that morning, was in his bassinet at the foot of my bed. For a moment, I wondered why he wasn’t up yet. I suppose this is what prompted me to check on him.
I rose from my bed, trying to shoosh Caleb as his baby brother was still sleeping. I went to the bassinet, and there he was. My son, my Aiden…. Eyes partially open, not moving, not breathing. His skin was grey.
Even thinking back on this moment, I am brought to tears. My mind cannot explain to my heart that image. The image of my son, dead. The image that will never wash from the confines of my brain. The image that will haunt me in my nightmares. The image I will wake up to every morning.
I screamed. I didn’t know what else to do. I screamed again. My mother, who was on the third floor, heard me. She ran downstairs in a panic. The phone – it was on my bed. I grabbed it. Dialed 911. Screamed at the operator on the phone that my son wasn’t breathing. I needed help. Someone had to save my son. Why was this happening?
I sank to my knees in disbelief. This wasn’t happening. At any moment I would wake up and snuggle with my boys. At any moment, I would be changing diapers, making bottles, and putting Aiden is his favorite swing. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
I sat there, on my knees, unable to process. My mother was screaming as she attempted to do CPR. “JES, AM I DOING THIS RIGHT?!?!?!!?! JES, SNAP OUT OF IT!!!”
I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything.
Caleb sat there, in his crib, quiet now. He wasn’t jumping. He wasn’t playing. I guess, he too, was trying to process this as well.
The EMT’s came in. They took my Aiden. They held him, like I did. They rushed him up the steps and stayed in the ambulance working on him.
Caleb had a onsie on. My mother was in a panic. Rushing around. I stood there. I didn’t understand any of this. I remember her shaking me. In the hallway by the kitchen. Grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. “Jes, you need to get it together. You have Caleb. He needs his mother, right now!”
We piled in my mother’s car and followed the ambulance at lightning speed. They put us all in a little room; a little grey room with generic blue furniture. I needed air. I needed a cigarette.
I went outside where they bring the ambulances in and sat on the curb. I remember my father and step-mother showed up. I had never seen my father cry, until he walked up to me and waved.
I’m not sure how long I was outside for. It could have been seconds, it could have been minutes.
I went back in to the little room with the blue furniture. A doctor came in with his very, crisp white coat and sat down across from me. “I’m sorry,” he said. After those two (2) words, anything else he said is just a blur.
My mind left. It went back to yesterday when Aiden and I were sitting on the front steps at my mother’s house experiencing the sunlight and playing patty-cake.
Next thing I know, my mother grabs my arm. She tells me to go see Aiden. I follow Dr.Crisp-White-Jacket back through a set of double-doors and into a hospital room.
There he was lying there… on this big, huge, stretcher. His skin was pink. I thought he may be sleeping. He had a white blanket covering his belly and legs. I sat there. I put my head on the bed next to his tummy. I needed him to wake him. “Come back to me,” I thought. I stroked his hair. His eyes were closed. I stared at him, waiting… waiting for a miracle I guess… waiting to see his little belly rise and fall… waiting for my Aiden to come back to me.
My Aiden wouldn’t be coming back to me.
This wasn’t like every other morning though.
Aiden, who had awoken earlier that morning, was in his bassinet at the foot of my bed. For a moment, I wondered why he wasn’t up yet. I suppose this is what prompted me to check on him.
I rose from my bed, trying to shoosh Caleb as his baby brother was still sleeping. I went to the bassinet, and there he was. My son, my Aiden…. Eyes partially open, not moving, not breathing. His skin was grey.
Even thinking back on this moment, I am brought to tears. My mind cannot explain to my heart that image. The image of my son, dead. The image that will never wash from the confines of my brain. The image that will haunt me in my nightmares. The image I will wake up to every morning.
I screamed. I didn’t know what else to do. I screamed again. My mother, who was on the third floor, heard me. She ran downstairs in a panic. The phone – it was on my bed. I grabbed it. Dialed 911. Screamed at the operator on the phone that my son wasn’t breathing. I needed help. Someone had to save my son. Why was this happening?
I sank to my knees in disbelief. This wasn’t happening. At any moment I would wake up and snuggle with my boys. At any moment, I would be changing diapers, making bottles, and putting Aiden is his favorite swing. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
I sat there, on my knees, unable to process. My mother was screaming as she attempted to do CPR. “JES, AM I DOING THIS RIGHT?!?!?!!?! JES, SNAP OUT OF IT!!!”
I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything.
Caleb sat there, in his crib, quiet now. He wasn’t jumping. He wasn’t playing. I guess, he too, was trying to process this as well.
The EMT’s came in. They took my Aiden. They held him, like I did. They rushed him up the steps and stayed in the ambulance working on him.
Caleb had a onsie on. My mother was in a panic. Rushing around. I stood there. I didn’t understand any of this. I remember her shaking me. In the hallway by the kitchen. Grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. “Jes, you need to get it together. You have Caleb. He needs his mother, right now!”
We piled in my mother’s car and followed the ambulance at lightning speed. They put us all in a little room; a little grey room with generic blue furniture. I needed air. I needed a cigarette.
I went outside where they bring the ambulances in and sat on the curb. I remember my father and step-mother showed up. I had never seen my father cry, until he walked up to me and waved.
I’m not sure how long I was outside for. It could have been seconds, it could have been minutes.
I went back in to the little room with the blue furniture. A doctor came in with his very, crisp white coat and sat down across from me. “I’m sorry,” he said. After those two (2) words, anything else he said is just a blur.
My mind left. It went back to yesterday when Aiden and I were sitting on the front steps at my mother’s house experiencing the sunlight and playing patty-cake.
Next thing I know, my mother grabs my arm. She tells me to go see Aiden. I follow Dr.Crisp-White-Jacket back through a set of double-doors and into a hospital room.
There he was lying there… on this big, huge, stretcher. His skin was pink. I thought he may be sleeping. He had a white blanket covering his belly and legs. I sat there. I put my head on the bed next to his tummy. I needed him to wake him. “Come back to me,” I thought. I stroked his hair. His eyes were closed. I stared at him, waiting… waiting for a miracle I guess… waiting to see his little belly rise and fall… waiting for my Aiden to come back to me.
My Aiden wouldn’t be coming back to me.
