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Why Does God Allow These Things To Happen?: A Grieving Mother's Story ~Part One~ by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
Rated "G" by the Author.
A mother grieves over the unexpected death of her little boy, Quinn Patrick, who was only three months old.
This very thing happened to a neighbor in the apartment complex we live at last night: her baby girl died despite paramedic's attempts to revive her after she stopped breathing. She was only two months old; just found out about it today, and I am devastated.
I am so upset I haven't been able to sleep, eat, or keep anything down in my stomach. I have been crying uncontrollably, and I have been throwing up, too. I still can't believe that this is real, that it happened to me, and I can't believe that my baby boy is now no longer with us but is now in Heaven, with Jesus.
My name is Tessa Elaine O'Donoghue, and my baby boy, Quinn Patrick, is dead. He was all of three months old. He seemed fine all day, but he seemed crankier than usual, and so I put him down for a nap, and when I went to check on him later, I found him in the crib, not moving. He also wasn't breathing. His little chest wasn't moving, and his little lips and face were a blueberry blue; and it scared the hell out of me.
I had my husband, Patrick, call for the fire rescue squad, and I tried my best to try to wake up my baby, but to no avail: he remained limp and uneresponsive. I got more frightened by the minute, especially when Patrick took little Quinnsie from my arms and attempted to do mouth-to-mouth-and-nose resuscitation on him. I knew the situation at hand was dire, and I never was so scared in all my life.
I started crying and praying as we waited for the ambulance and firetrucks; and soon, we could hear the sirens in the distance, and they grew louder and louder as they approached closer to our place. Soon, we could see the flashing white, orange, and red lights, and the ambulance and firetrucks soon came into view. A police car was behind them; and its blue and red lights were flashing, too.
At the sight of the rescue vehicles, Patrick ran outside, Quinn still in his arms, and he was shouting at the paramedics and firefighters, "IT'S QUINN! OH, SWEET JESUS, HE'S NOT BREATHING!! HE'S NOT BREATHING!!"
Soon, the paramedics were working on our little boy, calling out his name, shaking his foot, rubbing his chest, shaking his arm, or pinching him, anything to try to get him to respond; but he continued to lie there, unmoving and unresponsive. They were doing CPR on him, which meant that his heart had stopped beating: they were pushing on his little chest and then breathing into his mouth and nose; and while the paramedics and firefighters were doing that, the policewoman started asking both my husband and I questions regarding issues of abuse or past health crises involving Quinn, or if he had any sort of trouble like this before. We told her no; and we told her that this was the first time he had ever had anything like this; he had always been a very healthy, happy baby, and he had just learned to smile and hold his head up. I told the policewoman that he had seemed a little fussier than normal, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary when I had laid him down for his nap, and when I went to check on Quinn later, I found him like this: limp. Blue. Not responding. Eyes closed. Chest not moving.
I looked at the paramedics and fire personnel; they were still at work on Quinn. They had slipped some sort of silver tube into his mouth, and they were now squeezing a small, black rubber bag every few seconds; and they still continued to push on his chest in a rapid, rhythmic manner; and they had inserted an I.V. line into one chubby arm; and had pasted electrodes attached to wires that went to a machine to his chest. On their faces were a combination of concern and fear for the little baby; they were afraid that he wasn't going to make it. Soon, they picked up Quinn, and they quickly, but efficiently, took him to the back of the ambulance and loaded him into it; and they soon shut the door, and the ambulance then took off towards the nearest hospital.
The firefighters and policewomen remained behind, still asking us more questions about Quinn; and all I could remember thinking was: why did it happen? Why to US?? Why does God allow these things to happen??
At the hospital, we were met by Dr. Jack Emmons, M.D., Quinn's primary pediatrician; and from the sadness etched on his strong, chiseled visage, we knew the worst: Quinn Patrick had died; he didn't make it, even despite vain attempts to save his little life. He didn't have to tell us that Quinn had died; we knew instantly, and I collapsed into my husband's arms, crying hysterically.
So there you have it. The story of what happened.
I have yet to call the funeral parlour and make arrangements for our little boy to be buried; and I also have to have Patrick call our families and tell them the devastating news. We are both numb with shock, and it seems all we both have done ever since finding out is cry or walk around like zombies. The full impact of little Quinnsie's death hasn't really hit us, but when it does, it is going to hit us both hard, and we are going to have to deal with it and deal with the fact that our little baby has gone to Heaven, to be with Jesus.
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I am so upset I haven't been able to sleep, eat, or keep anything down in my stomach. I have been crying uncontrollably, and I have been throwing up, too. I still can't believe that this is real, that it happened to me, and I can't believe that my baby boy is now no longer with us but is now in Heaven, with Jesus.
