There is that moment every morning, half awake and half asleep, when you decide if you can go back to sleep or you have to get up. Parents of small children know this moment well. They must always get up. For me this is the most dreaded moment of the day, because every day I have to remember that Kiran is dead. You’d think by now I would have internalized this reality. Yet, it’s just as unbelievable to me today as it was one year ago. In fact, I want a new word as unbelievable couldn’t begin to cover it. Someone once asked me if “unacceptable” was a good enough word. Well, it’s definitely unacceptable but it still feels grander than that. How is it possible that we are alive and our child is not? It’s just…it’s just…well the word doesn’t exist.
Being the parent of a small child is all consuming. It takes up every moment of the day. Every detail of their lives is in your hands. Kiran had all the regular details in his life; what will he eat, what will he wear, where will we go. And then all of his medical details, which really were the markers for the schedule of his day. For some months after Kiran died I could still mark my day with what I should be doing with Kiran at that moment. Get ready for school/chest PT and nebs, bus picks him up, bus drops him off, nebs, stories and nap, play, dinner, bath, trach cleaning, play with dad, chest PT/nebs, stories and bed. I could plan what he would wear based on the weather, or what lunch I would pack for him to take to school. There isn’t a parent on/off switch. It slowly started to dissipate. But still, the other day I found myself in the grocery store staring at the soy yogurt that was his favorite thing to eat.
Over the course of the last month I can make out a fuzzy outline of the last month of his life. Little things, like there was a snow day from school, and big things like my family spent four days with us around Christmas. Everyday I try to remember what we were doing a year ago. The last few days are nearly impossible to really look at. Something akin to looking directly into a strong noon sun.
There are things I can’t believe happened. I really called Melissa and told her I needed help at the hospital, Kiran was dying. I really called my family to tell them to start traveling, hoping they would see him alive. I really did lie on my son’s casket.
I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemies. Not that I have enemies, just people I am not too fond of (those of you who really know me understand). It is a living hell to witness the death of your child and to survive it yourself. I have spent countless hours, nights awake, asking myself question after question. What if this…what if that? Positive that I can find a way to “undo” this.
But, I can’t.
#1 by Uncle Rob on January 13, 2010 - 1:28 pm
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Sharon and I were talking about last year this morning; remembering getting your call, the day at the hospital. It still seems like a dream to me even now.
We can remember his whole life and keep talking. I can’t think of anything else to do.
#2 by Katie on January 14, 2010 - 12:54 pm
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I think about you, Sekhar, and Kiran every single day, but I find myself here on your blog right now, as this was about the moment a year ago I got a call from Melissa at the hospital to tell me what was happening. I remember hearing her talking, and asking her to repeat herself because what she was saying was just too impossible to be real.
Although, because of our distance, I didn’t get to see Kiran as often as I wished, his smile and fun spirit is burned in my memory forever. I think of holding him the first time at your place in October shortly after he first came home from the hospital. To be honest, I remember being a little nervous about holding him, but once I did, feeling that anxiety melt into love for that beautiful baby boy. I remember the shock and joy I felt when I first saw him crawl in your mom’s kitchen, or later when I first saw him walk in her backyard. I remember how he loved bubbles and how he wanted to “go go go” during our day at Niagara Falls. I can’t picture his face with seeing those soulful eyes and incredible smile.
That little boy touched so many hearts in the short time that he was here. I’m so glad he touched mine.
All my love to you today and always.
#3 by Melissa on January 16, 2010 - 12:22 pm
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I can go back to that day that you called me in an instant. I can hear your voice on the phone and remember driving to the hospital in disbelief. I truly can’t believe a year has gone by as all of the details are in my head as if it were yesterday.
Kiran was such an amazing, happy, inspiring little boy. Thank you for sharing his beauty with all of us.
I love you so!
#4 by Cheryl Paquette on January 17, 2010 - 9:38 am
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I am looking to your words for some comfort as Bryant’s 1 year date approaches. I feel every thing you feel and agree about still not believing it. I understand it happened but it just still seems so unreal. I see him everywhere though ~ and like you ~ find absolute joy in the years we had him, realizing the incredible gift he has given us. Sending along big hugs to you and your family. I am considering contacting Compassionate Friends ~ I did early on but never really connected.