Kenny

Submitted by Jeremy (Kenny’s dad)

The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindsides you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

Those words were never truer than on Wednesday December 12th 2018.

I sat at my desk, a normal morning at work. I am reviewing flight data we had taken out on Lake Ontario the day before.

To be quite honest I don’t know if I had been more worried or less worried about Kenny being born, since we had our miscarriage about a year or so before. Kenny had been healthy the whole way through the pregnancy. A strong boy. Nothing to make us think that we would have any issues this late in the game. Both Jill and I chalked up the miscarriage as something not healthy with the pregnancy and the baby and that’s how we lived with that in our hearts and mind. And honestly, I was very sad about it, but I didn’t give it much thought until we lost Kenny. Even now, I barely remember those days, seems like such a fog.

I’m proud to be a Dad. Always have been. Since the day I held Soph. She was perfect, well almost. I jest, but she had acid reflux like none-other. She cried all the time. I held her all the time. The only way she slept was if she was laying on my chest in a chair. She’s ‘grown’ now, 11. I miss those earlier days. Just her and I. Something about those serene moments when she finally slept, that if I could choose, I’d go back in a heartbeat to those days. As sleep deprived as I was. Two years passed and then we had Zachy, wow! What a change. No acid reflux and I could actually sleep, a little. The best part of him being born, was Sophie being there. She was so excited to meet her new brother. She makes the best big sister, as bossy as she is, she only looks out for his best interest.

Zachary loved to sleep. I’d swaddle him up tight and he’d fall right to sleep. As much as it was nice to have him be a good sleeper, I can’t help but say I wish I had those times where he slept on my chest like Sophie did. I guess that’s something Sophie and I will just share. I’m fine with that!

Jill calls.

“Hey, what’s up?” I say.

“I’m not sure, I’m not feeling very well. I have my students watching a video and I’m having pains in my belly.”

“You think it’s contractions” I say.

“Doesn’t feel like contractions, I’m not really sure. After class I’m going to go down to the nurse. Can you meet me here at school?”

“Sure, I’ll let them know I’m leaving. I’ll be over in about 20 minutes” I say

I tell my boss that I’m leaving, and that Jill may be having contractions. Everyone in the office wishes me good luck. Kenny is early if he’s going to be born today, but only by about two weeks. Nothing medically to worry about if he is.

I’m nervous, though. Not because Kenny is early, but I was always on the fence about having a 3rd child. Financially, logistically, emotionally. But I have a lot of love to give. I can definitely love another addition to the family. Jill and I can do it. We did it with Sophie and Zachary. Kenny will be no different.

I don’t remember much on the car ride over to the high school. Mostly because I think this is routine labor. So just more worried that Jill is comfortable.

I walk into the main entrance. Liz our neighbor (who is also a teacher at the high school). Meets me at the foyer.

“Well, I think he’s going to be coming today!” She says jubilantly.

“It’s too early I say, he’s not due for another 2 weeks and Jill was pretty much on time with Zachary and Sophie” I say skeptically.

She leads me to the nurse’s office. Jill is on a gurney with two ambulance drivers attending to her. “What the hell is going on?!” I say.

A nurse in the office tells me that Jill was feeling lightheaded, so she called the ambulance. Thank God for that, I will find out later.

Jill is feeling very faint and can barely keep conscience. I’m now starting to panic, but I’m not showing it yet.

“Ok! So, what’s the hold up? Why is she not on her way to the hospital?” I ask urgently.

The one ambulance driver tells me that Jill wants to wait until the bell rings, she doesn’t want to make a scene with kids in the hall.

“To hell with that! This does not look like labor to me! We need to go now!” I reiterate this a few times, without being a total dick and ensuing any panic. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime my words are finally heard and they take Jill to the ambulance. I follow to the hospital. I barley remember the trip, just remember staring at the back of the ambulance. Precious cargo aboard.

They take her to emergency. Word is they are taking her to triage in the birthing area of the hospital. I know the area well. Been there twice before. I’m not allowed to park at emergency. I park on the opposite side of the hospital. I’m in a virtual panic at this point, trying to not let it get the best of me. I have no problems getting to the maternity floor. I go to talk to the nurse at the station off the elevator and she doesn’t say a word and just points down the hall.

I run/walk to triage and the nurse has Jill hooked up to the heart monitor frantically looking for a heartbeat. They think they find it and we hear a heartbeat, but it’s Jill’s. Her stomach is now enlarged and hard. Not soft like it has been the whole pregnancy.

“What’s going on?” I say, a lot of concern now.

“I’m not sure, there seems to be some blood in her uterus and I’m having difficulty getting a heartbeat” Says the nurse “I’m going to get my supervisor”

Moments later a small woman, with glasses walks in swiftly! “Let’s see what’s going on, honey.” She says sweetly

She frantically moves the monitor around, whispers something inaudible to another nurse.

They bring in a portable ultrasound. They whip the stick back and forth along Jill’s stomach. Searching…..searching….searching. Other nurses have started to come in, now. I start to feel hot, I begin to sweat. I’m about to say something…..

“Honey, I’m sorry, but you lost your baby. He’s gone. Do you understand what I am saying to you?” The supervising nurse says, rather curtly, leaning over Jill. Jill is crying. I’m shocked, stunned. Not sure what to feel. Like the floor has been let loose from underneath me. She said it so curtly. But how, how do you say something like that in the heat of the moment, in any tone and not have it totally destroy you? I can’t say if I admired her professionalism and ‘courage under fire’ but I guess there is no easy way to tell you or someone that your son is dead.

A doctor walks in, I think I’m sitting down now, but I can’t remember.

“We need to get her to surgery stat.” He says. I really don’t remember what exactly he said, but I’m pretty sure he said stat.

“She’s bleeding out right now and we have to get the hemorrhaging to stop, otherwise it will be catastrophic” Catastrophic!? I blink. You mean I could lose Jill, too!? I didn’t speak. I couldn’t speak.

“Yeah, Doc, whatever you need to do” I say, my voice horse and my throat dry. I squeeze Jill’s hand. She’s taken away to surgery. The room is empty. I sit there for I don’t remember how long. A nurse comes in.

“Oh, honey, we need to move you to another room. You can’t stay here.” Out with the old, in with the new, I guess.

She takes me to a large, dimly lit room. A ‘birthing’ room. What will be our ‘recovery’ room for the duration of the hospital stay. I sit there for what seemed like forever. Time literally stands still, but feels like it extends on forever. I really have no concept of time at this moment. I think of my Dad, right now. I don’t know why, but maybe because I remember a similar feeling when he passed. I think of what he may have done in a situation like this. I want to cry. But I can’t, the tears don’t come.

A lady walks in from the hall. She speaks some words, introduces herself. I don’t remember fuck all on who she was. Only that she’s a Chaplin. She sits down, takes my hand. I take it back. She says some shitty platitudes that I don’t remember.

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I need some time here. Can you please leave.” I curtly say. Inside I was boiling. I’ve never been able to be rude to strangers, one of my faults, perhaps? Not that it was her fault my son died. But ‘comfort’ from some stranger, who’s a Chaplin, when right now I’m not sure I believe in A God anymore after the last……what day is it now? Is not something I needed.

I sit by myself. In a dark room and it fucking suits me just fine. I find comfort in that dark, not sure why. My thoughts race, but I can’t remember what I was thinking. I snap back for a moment. Holy fuck, the kids! What time is it!? 11am? Honestly I can’t remember what time it was only that I got some time before I need to get home to meet them off the bus. A bit of relief, but only for a second. Holy shit, the kids….what do I say to them!?……I start to cry.

“Mr. Paris!?” A doctor walks in from the bright hallway.

“We have your wife stabilized, she lost a lot of blood, had to transfuse about 4 pints of blood……and your son, well I’m very sorry about that……just wanted to let you know, though he’s a perfect boy.” I fucking lose it. Full on water works now.

“Fuck, Doc, don’t say that to me.” Is the only words I can muster.

“I’m very sorry about your son. They’ll be bringing your wife up shortly” The doctor leaves. I asked the nurse how long until they bring her up. They tell me in about 10-15 minutes. I tell them I need some air. I don’t remember much after that. I think I went for a walk.

I come back up to the recovery room and press the door open, I stopped and looked. Jill had her back to me. Lying in bed in a yellow hospital gown. I walk around to the other side, she’s still ‘asleep’ from the anesthesia. I sit down. I take her hand for a minute and just look at her. We’ll survive this.

We’ll do it together. Just like we took care of Sophie and Zachary together. We have to. This is too big a burden to carry all ourselves. Looking back now, I may have been a bit naïve.

My memory is a fuzz from then on. I remember nurses in and out checking vitals, machines beeping. I remember leaving for a few brief moments to take walks. I remember calling my Mom. Not much to say except her grandson didn’t make it. She’s very sympathetic and compassionate, most likely in shock. I think it’s an abstract thing for her. For all who didn’t get to hold Kenny. Some people think stillborn and that it means that there was something wrong with him health-wise. But in all reality, he was healthy up until he died. And maybe that is the hardest thing to take, that he was fine…..until he wasn’t. The problem was that Jill had a placental abruption. A separation of the uterine wall from the placenta. Even if it had happened at the hospital, it was highly unlikely that he would have survived.

I drove home that day reluctantly, as horses, dogs and other animals needed taking care of. I also needed to meet the kids off the bus. The kids…..how do I break this to the kids? I dreaded it. I dreaded breaking their little world, with the harsh outside world. We work so hard to insulate some parts of the world from them. To introduce the harsh realities of life in some sort of spoon-fed way, as to how we as parents, think they should be exposed. The real reality is that none of us are actually insulated from life. We are always exposed.

I destroyed the kids’ world. I did it as gently as I could, without sugar coating it. They asked where Mom was; I stalled for a brief second. They asked again. I told them to sit down. I told them that Mom had to go to the hospital as there was a problem with their brother. I told them that I was so sorry, but their brother had died. We hugged and cried. I think that is the hardest thing that I have had to do as a parent. To break their world. To comfort my children, when I too needed comfort. So hard to put your needs aside in this sort of turmoil and attend solely to what your children need. They tried to comfort me too. We comforted each other. I’m proud of them.

I’m not a religious man, I don’t know if I believe in a God in the traditional Christian sense (both my parents did/do) but I am very spiritual. I feel like there is a spark in all of us, a soul perhaps. The very essence of the universe is really in all of us. So sad that we can be disconnected from that. I do remember on one of my walks coming across the hospital chapel. I walked in. It was empty. Jesus on the cross at the front of the room, a few pews and an altar. I remember sitting down and telling God to go fuck himself. That how could everything I had been told about a loving God, could he ever let something like this come to fruition. If he exists, him and I will have words when I get there. How could he take my son?

The next few days were a blur, even though I was at the hospital at all hours I could be there. My Mother was able to take care of the kids. I remember taking walks, a lot of walks. Especially when Jill was sleeping. We held Kenneth when we could. As much as I wanted to hold him, it was so incredibly painful to know that I would never know the color of his eyes. Never hear him cry. Never be able to have him sleep on my chest or wrap him in a tight swaddle. I remember the weight of him when I held him; like I remember Sophie and Zachary and how they felt when I held them. Funny how your instincts as a parent kick in at that time. I knew exactly what to do and how to care for my boy. Except this time, I didn’t. I didn’t know how to grieve a dead son. I still don’t.

The hospital asked what we wanted to do for arrangements. We decided to have him cremated. Well, Jill made the decision on that. I didn’t argue. They gave us a list of places to call. I feel like a coward now, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t make the call to have the arrangements done. What kind of father am I? Can’t even call for your own son’s arrangements? I guess if I did, it would have made it feel more real, more final. A regret, now looking back.

The day that broke me was the day we were supposed to go home. I remember being overwrought about it all. Crying in the car on the way to the hospital. Breaking down when I met Jill in the hospital room. We were supposed to be going home with our big guy. Instead, we were going home with a box. How is a human life supposed to fit in a box like that? It was the consolation prize for all we went though. “Sorry your son died, but here have this!” I remember the last time we held and saw him. I kissed his forehead, said goodbye. I remember them wheeling him out. I wanted to scream– my heart broke. That was the last time I’ll see my son. A few hours later we got on the elevator to go down to the car. It was crowded. We could barely fit. People talking about their day. How could they talk about their day when we were going home with nothing!? I have never felt so empty and gutted.

I came to the realization that the world just keeps spinning. Just like when my Dad died, like when my father in law died. The world didn’t care that they were gone or that Kenny was gone.

It’s hard to say how I see the world now. Somedays I’m angry and I hate that this beautiful place can be so cruel. Otherday’s I’m softer. I go back and forth as to if this event has hardened my heart or softened it. Somedays I can’t tell. I try to honor my son the best I can. I fall short many times. I’ll always wonder what kind of boy and man he would have been. I look at Zachary and see what could have been. I feel bad about that, only for Zachary, as he’s his own person. I hate making the comparison, but it’s all I have to go on. I think Kenny would have been a good brother. I think Sophie and Zachary would have been great siblings. They honor him quietly. In their own way. It breaks my heart when I see them struggle to make sense of it. I struggle to make sense of it. I don’t know if it will ever make sense.

Crazy how such a little life, like Kenneth’s can have such a profound impact on our lives. And then I realized it was because he is my son. He’ll always be able to do that!