In thirteen days, it will mark 4 years since Catherine died. How it can seem like it happened both yesterday and a lifetime ago continues to puzzle me. Four years later and I still struggle with accepting that it wasn’t my fault and that while I want to believe that I could save her, I’ve learned that I’m just not that powerful.
With this terrible milestone approaching, I sit here angry and doing everything in my power to not rage at parents that are spitting in the face of science and the experts that are desperately trying to save lives all because they believe they know what is best for their child. Sure, as parents we believe we know what is right for our children but we also rely on doctors, scientists, and research to ensure we are making the right decision. We are currently faced with a pandemic that went from affecting the older population and those with underlying health conditions a year ago to now affecting our children. I still see the same people saying that it is just the flu or that it doesn’t affect the children. Everyone is very emotional about it and since that is what people seem to understand these days, I’m going to get a bit emotional with you.
Here is what happens when your child dies. This isn’t science. This is real life. This is my life.
When your child dies, and God forbid they die in your home, 911 is called and they send police, fire, and medics. You may find yourself standing in the front yard, screaming at the 911 dispatcher because they aren’t sending someone fast enough. You are asked to wait outside while you desperately wait for someone to tell you that it is okay. If you are lucky, the police officer standing at your door, the one preventing you from running into your house, will tell you with their eyes that your child is gone. The detective will then show up, allow you to enter your home with your deceased child still there, and ask you a million questions. It will be a cold and impersonal interview. When done, they will assure you that they will be in touch, and then leave. You then wait for the coroner to arrive to take your child out of your home. They will ask if you have a preference for a funeral home. They will ask you if you want to step away while they wheel your precious child out of your house on a rickety gurney, not draped in a white sheet like you see on television, but zipped up on a body bag. I chose not to walk away and stood there as they took the absolute love of my life away from me.
Soon people will arrive to your house and you will be forced into “hostess” mode. There will be calls that have to be made to family. How do you tell someone that your child died? You haven’t had a chance to process what happened. The food will arrive in droves but you won’t be hungry. The food is for the friends and family that come to comfort you. If an ambulance came to your house, the hospital will not delay in contacting you for insurance information. The bill for them to arrive to my house and verify she was dead; $5,000 and they want that bill paid. While you are trying to process what just happened, you will be asked to make final plans for your child. Cremate or bury? If you choose to cremate your child, know that there isn’t a line of urns that are youthful. They are all large and ornate, meant for your grandmother or great uncle. The funeral home director will have you fill in the blanks for the obituary and you will hopefully remember all the relatives and people you want to include. The visitation will be scheduled and the funeral planned. And then you wait for that day to arrive.
If you are lucky, you will get to see your child before they cremate or bury them. Catherine was laid out on a “bed” covered in an antique quilt. At first glance she looked like she was sleeping. But then you get closer and realize that there isn’t enough makeup to make your child not look gray. Despite their best efforts, you will probably see the stitches from the autopsy. You will reach for their hand, the same hand that grabbed your finger moments after birth, the same hand that held yours while they crossed the street, the same hand that they grabbed when they got scared, and you will find that the precious hand you loved so much is ice cold and rigid. I simultaneously gasped and recoiled from the shock. You won’t get much time with your child before they wheel them away. It will be the last time you see your child.
Everything is a blur and you will realize that days have passed and you haven’t eaten or slept. Eventually you turn off your phone because the constant notifications will drive you mad. You put on a brave face for the visitation and in my case, fight for the right to speak at your child’s funeral. People will be amazed at how well you are holding up when the reality is you are numb. And then everything is quiet. People stop calling, stopping by, and dropping off food. Then the hard part begins. The reality is, we needed people more in the weeks after the funeral than we did in the days before. I continue to be so incredibly grateful for everyone that supported us during that dark time. Especially the ones that kept coming weeks later.
A few days after your child’s funeral, you will get a call that their ashes are ready to pick-up. They will hand you a box that holds the remains of your child. I retreated to our home and didn’t want to leave. The first 5 days after Catherine died were actually the easiest. It was after that when it became impossible. Raising your surviving children and struggling to fight the demons in your head that tell you that it is your fault your child died. You will check on your surviving children throughout the night. I haven’t had a good night’s rest in almost 4 years. Just last night I found myself going into the boys’ rooms at 1am to just make sure they were okay. You will be trying to find the balance of managing your own grief and trauma while doing the same for your surviving children. If you are lucky, there will be amazing teachers and friends that will help you carry the load. You will find yourself aging rather quickly. My hair has thinned and the creases in my face continue to get deeper. I forget how to genuinely smile.
When your child dies, going into public will be a nightmare. People will either see you and walk the other direction, they will see you and give a sympathetic nod, or they will see you and ask you the most intrusive questions. How did your child die? Did they do an autopsy? Did she have any health conditions? When will you know the exact cause of death? Catherine’s death was not my fault but I still received a ton of judgement from people. Imagine if you are in the same scenario as me except your child died of COVID-19 because YOU didn’t believe in vaccinations or mask wearing. Imagine you have touted yourself as being pro-life but didn’t take the precautions to save the life of your child. You will be judged harshly. You will want to hide because you will know it is your fault. You will know it could have been prevented.
And you will spend your days watching the friend’s and peers of your child continue through life. Prom, graduations, going off to college, getting married, having kids, and all the other milestones that you will see on social media. You may be invited to some of those things and the smile on your face will be forced as you cheer for their success while the hot rage and jealousy streaks through your body. If they were in high school, don’t count on the school remembering them at their high school graduation, no matter how involved they were in their school. You will want to talk about your child often and people won’t mind the first year or so but then they get tired of hearing you talk about them. You talk about them because you don’t want them forgotten. But people will start asking when you plan to move on and not focus so much on your dead kid.
If your child dies due to COVID-19, you will spend so much time blaming yourself because you had the tools to save your child and you chose not to use them. The “what-if” scenarios that you constantly ask yourself will drive you mad. At one point it almost drove me to end my own life. You may lose count of the number of times you have seriously considered ending your life because the torment you face on a daily basis is sometimes too much to handle. People you thought were your friends may drift away and new people will drift into your life. You will think of yourself and who you were before your child died and who you are now. I have grieved the loss of not only my daughter but also who I used to be because that Erin no longer exists. I have grieved the last four year and will likely grieve the rest of my days on this earth. It never gets better or easier, it just becomes different, a dull ache that never goes away.
I would do ANYTHING to go back and save my child. Instead, I spend my days watching people flaunt their own children’s safety. I want my daughter back and I’m pissed that so many of you are taking it all for granted. Your child is traumatized because they have to wear a mask? A mask that could save their life? Do you know what is traumatizing for children? Losing a parent or sibling. THAT is traumatic. You are upset that they don’t get a “normal” year and still refuse to do all the requirements to make this pandemic end. You are giving up one year of “normal” so that you can have a lifetime of memories with them. Vaccine hesitant? Fine. That is your right but don’t be vaccine hesitant because of some anecdotal story you heard about your neighbors’ cousin’s stepdad that got sick from the vaccine. I don’t care if you don’t have compassion for others but at the very least, have some compassion for your children.
You have a choice. Possibly live in torment for the rest of your days, grieving the loss of your child or do everything in your power to keep them safe. This choice is yours. I wouldn’t wish child loss on my worst enemy.
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