I have another story with the same title; but this is an entirely different story. This is about a little boy named Travis; the other story is about a little boy named Reynaldo. Don't want to confuse the reader! :) SORry if I do!!
Just as the title implies. A mother recollects the time her son had a brain hemhorrage.
I don't think I will ever get through Travis' death.
It was on a Wednesday. A bright, sunny September day, September 11, 2002, one year after America had been savagely attacked by terrorists. Travis, our eight-year-old son, had been feeling rather puny and had a headache; but we just assumed that he was coming down with the beginnings of the flu.
He was in bed, asleep; I had just checked on him; and he lay under the covers, sleeping soundly. He looked fine; nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I was in the kitchen, making my youngest child a sandwich when I heard a loud noise from upstairs. It sounded like it had come from Travis' room.
I went running upstairs, to check on Travis--only to discover that he was lying on the floor, his entire body shaking in what appeared to be a grand mal seizure. His face was gray-blue in color, and he was jerking uncontrollably. I got scared; and I had our oldest child call 9-1-1 for an ambulance and told her to wait by the door until the paramedics got to the house. Meanwhile, I stayed by Travis' side, praying that he would stop seizing and would wake up.
The paramedics soon entered the house in what seemed like forever; and they were soon attending to my second-youngest child. I was never so scared in my life! They put an oxygen mask over Travis' face, and they started an I.V. line into one arm and hooked him up to a heart monitor; and they were talking to him all the time, as though he could hear them. They looked into his eyes and ears, and checked his reflexes; and they checked his breathing. They then put him onto a waiting stretcher and wheeled him out to the waiting ambulance that was parked outside.
The paramedics told me to follow the ambulance to the hospital; they were taking him to Nashville Memorial, they told me. We were there in a matter of minutes.
I went to enter the emergency room, only to be met by this tiny, dark-haired nurse; she told me to stay outside, and she said that she or the doctor would be with me after they had treated Travis for whatever was going on; but I knew by the grim expression on her dark face that the news didn't look good. So I went over to a couch, and I began to pray.
About a half hour later, the little dark nurse and a much taller doctor appeared in front of me. They both looked very sad; and I knew whatever news they had wasn't going to be at all good. I prepared myself for the worst.
"I'm sorry," the doctor said, "But we couldn't save him. He was just too far gone when he came in. He had a massive cerebral aneurysm, and it burst; he died shortly after coming in. It was that sudden. We tried everything, but we were unable to resuscitate your son. I am so sorry."
I don't remember much afterwards, but I do remember screaming, "NOOOO! NOOOO!" as I grabbed the doctor by his coat and started shaking him; and the nurse trying to calm me. Everything then went black.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It has been nearly six months since that horrible day; if Travis were still alive today, he would be in third grade; and he would have turned nine years old on Christmas Day. As you can probably well imagine, Christmas at our house was hell. I still can't bring myself to accept the fact that our second youngest child is gone; that he is no longer living. But the harsh reality of it is that he IS gone; and I have been filled with an incredible sense of dread and grief ever since.
It doesn't seem fair, that a young, vibrant, healthy little boy could die so suddenly, and so unexpectedly, like he did. There was absolutely NO warning whatsoever that he had the aneurysm in his brain; and that he could get so sick in such a hurry. It was all so unreal; and it still seems like a horrible nightmare. I can't even bring myself to go into his room anymore; to see his unmade bed or his toys brings on fresh tears each and every time; and I find myself blaming God for taking our youngest boy away from us.
It just doesn't make any sense whatsoever. How can a beautiful boy of eight years be taken from us so suddenly when there are people languishing or suffering in hospitals or nursing homes; and their suffering seems to go on for years? It goes against everything I believe in!
This is so sad, but so painfully a fact of life. Not all of God's children are meant to grow old and although we will never understand why God chooses some of us to stay a lifetime, while others are swept home much too soon, we must face it as God's will and try our best to move on with our lives.
Great job.
((((HUGS))))
Jill
*shivers* wow, this is intense...the death of a loved one, especially a child, seems so senseless...you captured the drama well. good write, karen! (((HUGS))) and love, karla. *tears*
A page-turning novel about a relationship between best friends that is interrupted because of betrayal , deceit, sexual promiscuity and pregnancy happens!
A page-turning novel about a relationship between best friends that is interrupted because of betrayal , deceit, sexual promiscuity and pregnancy happens!
