Yesterday {previously posted, Samantha's B-day is Feb. 7th.} my daughter would have turned 14 years old, if she had lived. On June 21st. 1998, early in the morning, I was startled when my mother came to my bedroom door, as usual, I was awake already, behind her my son was jumping straight up and down with a look of complete terror on his little face, and as she leanded against the door jam trying to breath, as if to scream, I barely heard her whisper out that Samantha wasn't breathing. Everything happened within several heartbeats, yet it all seemed to be in slow motion. The words had barely left her lips and I was rolling off of my bed onto the floor, my bed was high off the ground and I am short. I hit the floor at a run. Past my mother and my son, I ran into the living room, fell over the coffee table, and never stopped, I kept running at a crawling position until I was standing again. I ran into the bedroom where she had been sleeping and my father was doing CPR. I knelt at her side and grabbed her hand, I will never forget how cold it was. I knew deep in my mind that it was too late, but as a parent, your heart and consciousness cannot grasp the reality of it, the finality of losing your child. I couldn't look my father in his face, I couldn't look at anything except my child lying there, one of her eyelids slightly open. Some how I ended up at her feet, it is strange what they mind does when you are faced with something so horrific. I can't remember if I yelled at him or not, but I told him he wasn't doing CPR right on her, I remember grabbing both of her ankles and pulling her flat onto the floor, I went to her side and raised her chin and began breathing into her. Her lips were like ice, and just like ice it seemed to spread through my whole body. *Sobbing here* I could hear a wheezing noise as I tried breathing for her, and I began chest compressions, not even for a second did I wonder if I was doing it right, I just knew she needed air, and her blood needed to be pumped through her body. In what spanned a lifetime and an instant all at the same time, suddenly there was a policeman there, he asked me if I knew CPR when I stopped and moved back, and I said no and just watched him as he began chest compressions. within a couple of seconds I yelled at him and asked him why he wasn't breathing for her, she HAD to have air, and he responded that there were people coming in right now who could do better than him. At that point I turned and looked as the EMS people walked through the door, and I moved sideways to the end of her bed. They began hooking her up to an EKG machine and putting in IV's, and at that point, right there in front of everyone, I began openly, what I had been doing silently the whole time, begging God to give me my child back. There was never a single doubt in my mind that he could do it, that he was real, that he could change it all and send my daughters soul back into her body. But my mind knew it wasn't going to happen, that it wasn't meant to happen, that what was lying on that floor was merely a shell, and my little girl had been gone for quite awhile. *Tears and keyboards don't go well together* I remember someone touching my shoulder at about the same time reality was consuming me, whoever it was said that maybe I should come out of the room so that I wasn't in the way, and with a voice that spewed forth my intension to murder anyone or anything that tried to force me, I remember saying, "DO NOT TOUCH ME!" So many small moments from that morning are missing from my memory, just gone forever. I remember walking just outside the bedroom door as they brought in the stretcher, and hearing the sounds of the EKG machine as they shocked her heart, still praying to God to take me, to let me die on that spot, just to bring her back. Within a couple of minutes they came out with her, all I could see was that her hand was hanging outside the stretcher and I kept thinking that they would hurt it when they tried to go out the front door, so I held it, still thinking how extremely cold it was, how strange that a body could get so cold, and I put it next to her and covered it up. They left with my child as I tried to get my shoes on, and told someone to get me a drink because my throat felt as dry as leather. As we walked out to our truck, I vomited, and just kept walking to get into the truck so we could get to the hospital as fast as we could. We went in and told them why we were there, and they told us to please sit down and wait, that was impossible, so I went out in front of the hospital and began chain smoking and pacing back and forth. A woman came out and as she was leaving, she told me she would keep us in her prayers, it never entered my mind at the time that she must have heard the doctors and nurses talking about my child being dead, because in my mind, I still had hopes for a miracle, dwindling hope, but hope none the less. Finally they called us back, and took us to a room and told us that the doctor would be right in, the doctors never come right in. We sat there for what seemed like an eternity until finally in came the doctor, and out of her mouth came that old, tired line that was so generic I wanted to puke, "I am so sorry to inform you, that despite our best efforts, your daughter has died." She couldn't even get it out and I was shaking my head "yes" like she was stupid and just asked her where my daughter was, that I wanted to see her. They made us wait again, which is torture as far as I am concerned. When they came back to get us, I was trying not to puke everywhere, and I wanted to scream so bad that I could barely stand it. They took us in, and there was my little girl, pale, her hair oily from being sick, swollen, and lifeless. I couldn't even cope with my husband, who was never there for me, it had always been about him, so I was left to cope with the emotions alone. I ran my finger through her hair, she was so cold I could feel it emanating from her body, and I just could not bear to touch her skin again. I looked at her, and in my mind, I told her how much I loved her, how much I would miss her, how so very sorry I was that I had let her down, how sorry I was that I hadn't been with her, and that I was glad that she had gone somewhere that she could be healthy and happy forever, and I said goodbye. I walked into the hallway, and suddenly it crashed upon me, how would I bury my child? No one expects to lose their baby, they can't, the thought is unbearable. Of course, they offered to call a pastor for us, and I was so mad at God by that time I said no, because I was afraid that I would kill the poor man just to piss God off. I finally had to drag my husband out of the room, telling him we had to let her go, when in reality I just had to escape, I had to get back to my other kids so that I could hold on to a reason to live, or I was afraid I would kill myself right there in that hospital. When we got home, all I could do was hold my kids, and smoke cigarettes. I briefly went into my room and tried to sleep because I felt exhausted, like I had aged 50 years in just that hour, but I couldn't sleep, all I could do was begin sobbing my heart out, so I forced myself to stop and just went back outside and sat down with my kids and began chain smoking again. The police came. I soon found out that when a child dies they have to gather evidence to take to the coroners, like the blankets and any other stuff they decide is necessary to investigate the child's death. I told them I didn't give a shit, just to get what they needed and leave. (I didn't find out until several years later that the police had already came back to my house and informed my parents that my daughter was dead) The next few days was a blur, most of which I don't even remember. I couldn't cope with raising the money for the funeral, or making the arrangements, so my parents did it all. My maternal grandmother came down {to California} from Washington state to help, she was always there when something bad happened to help all that she could, it was a blessing, I doubt that my mom could have managed without her and my father, she was basically having a nervous breakdown anyway. The funeral came, with the pastor being the father of some kids I went to school with from first grade all throughout high school. I had known him most of my life, and it was such a comfort to have him be the one to say what I couldn't. I sat there, with everyone else crying, and I was unable to shed a tear. I watched them all, knowing they they all expected me to go completely insane and flip out at any second, but I didn't, I just sat there feeling totally empty until it was all over, and then I took my other children home. It took my almost six months to find out why she had died. A few days before our first Christmas without her, I finally got the call, after having called the coroners office a hundred times trying to get some answers. My daughter had gotten parasites from eating the dirt. Over a year's time, they caused her to get a system-wide blood infection that attacked her heart, it weakened her outer heart muscle until it just couldn't do the work anymore, and it gave out. My daughter died from heart failure when she was six years, four months, and two weeks old. She passed six days after my twenty-fourth birthday. As agonizing as it is, as much as I hate it, life goes on. Nothing will ever be the same, I will never stop missing her, but that is life.
The following is a poem that I wrote about that morning.........
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Like fire and ice......
Terror ripples through every fiber of my being,
It tears through every sinew of every muscle,
It forces itself into and through every bone,
It grips my soul in a breath taking death hold,
Like fire and ice it consumes my mind in a flash,
Blindly running,
Heart beating so wildly it's sound pounding in my mind
With a deafening roar that takes my sight,
Fall down,
Cannot stop,
Like fire and ice............
Must reach her,
Kneeling by her side,
Lips touching lips so cold,
A cold that is like no other,
Like fire and ice......
Fear and faith flowing like blood through my veins,
Breathe into her,
Air whispering past my ears,
Mind racing,
Begging "The Father" to breathe her soul back
Into her through my lips,
Through my breath,
To take my soul,
Use it as a vessel to give her life again,
Like fire and ice.....
Breathing into her,
With utter faith that "The Father" can bring her back,
Begging..... Pleading,
Take me.... Her mother,
Leave my "Earth Angel" Father,
Take my soul Home,
Like fire and ice.......
People come,
Pump.... Pump.... Pumping,
Nothing,
Small hands so cold,
Pump.... Pump.... Pump.... Breathe,
Like fire and ice......
On my knees before man and "The Father,"
Pleading.... Begging,
I believe in thee my Lord,
Bring my baby back to me,
Like fire and ice.......
The answer comes to my heart,
The answer that has been whispering in my mind,
The whisper that has come to me many times before,
The message that I could not allow myself to hear,
Your "Earth Angel" has gone Home to sit with
"The Father" near his throne,
Her time here finished,
Her journey complete,
She has returned Home to rest,
Like fire and ice......
The men come out with her on a gurney,
Little Angel's hand is out,
Mommy takes it and puts it back next to her,
So cold this shell of my "Earth Angel,"
Ice remains where once such a bright flame burned,
Now only a cold shell remains,
Like fire and ice......
A gaping hole left in mommy's soul,
Where once was hope and light,
Now only darkness and despair remain,
Mommy will never see her "Earth Angel" again,
Left only to stumble blindly in darkness filled with pain.
By: April Scoggins
October 9th, 2003
Just.... Me
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