Posted on by jparadisirn

It Will Be Good For All of Us

Chapter 77

Taking respite from these intense memories, I get up to refill my coffee mug. Through the kitchen window, I notice the tulip tree across the street is in bloom. Then, I notice my free hand resting at the base of my neck, the way it does when I’m at work, trying to figure out what to do next for my patient’s comfort.

I return to my armchair, and resume writing in my journal.

I remind myself that my parents were younger than I am now when Joel died. As a PICU nurse, I believe there are few fates, if any, worse than losing a child. Most parents I’ve encountered have told me they would do anything to take the place of their child in the hospital bed, and I’ve believed everyone of them.

For awhile, my parents were completely lost after Joel’s death, overwhelmed by their grief. I wasn’t allowed to go to his funeral, though I begged. Instead, I was left with a babysitter. I cried the whole time. My grandparents picked me up from the sitter’s house, and took me back home after everything was over.

In the weeks that followed, my father spent more and more time at work, earning overtime to help pay off the accumulated medical bills. My mother became a ghost of herself, spending much of her days in bed, barely speaking. My grandmother stayed with us another week after the funeral, getting groceries, making meals, and coaxing mom to eat. Before she left us, Grandma stocked our refrigerator, and made multiple casseroles which she froze for Dad to reheat when he came home from work. Often he was home late, however, so I made myself peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner. When Dad realized this was happening, he showed me how to heat in the microwave small portions of the casseroles that he put out in the morning to thaw. I tried to get Mom to eat some too, like Grandma did, but she never would.

Grandma came to visit often. She and Mom had long talks in her bedroom with the door closed. I couldn’t hear what they said, but often I heard either Mom, or both of them, crying.

Grandma taught me to make my bed, and how to dust. I hoped Mom would see I was taking good care of us when Dad was at work, and it would help her get better.

I was in 4th grade when Mom and Dad announced I was going to have a baby brother or sister. They made sure I understood that another baby would never replace our Joel, who would live forever in our hearts, but they felt that it was time to grow our family with the addition of another child. “it’ll be good for all of us, don’t you think, Niki?”

I didn’t know what to think. I hoped Joel wouldn’t think I didn’t love him anymore. I prayed, hoping he could hear me in heaven.

Posted on by jparadisirn

I Thought Only Old People Died

Chapter 76

“Can I refill your coffee, Dad?”

“Sure sweetheart. Thanks”

Dad and I are drinking coffee this morning in my kitchen. Mom was up before either of us, did her morning yoga and meditation, and is now taking a walk to the neighborhood park.

“How’s Mom doing, you think?”

“Well, the news you were held hostage at gunpoint in the hospital shocked both of us. Neither of us could handle losing another child. Thank God, it didn’t happen.” Dad pauses, and looks at the ceiling, but not before I see he’s blinking back tears.

“I think she’s going to be okay, Niki. Just give her time to process. You know how she gets.”

Yeah, I know how Mom gets.

Later, Mom is busy cleaning the kitchen, and Dad has gone to a gym. I sit down with my journal. The therapist suggested I write down my thoughts. This morning, my thoughts are about my parents, and Joel:

Like I said, I was six when Joel was born, and I adored being his big sister. He was named after my grandpa. Joel was cherubic, with pale skin, and blue eyes that lightened and darkened with his mood, like the sea. He laughed easily, and was almost always smiling.

When he cried, I would race to get to his crib before my mom. I wanted him to know I would always be there for him. I loved pretending he was my child.

Joel was walking, just after his first birthday. He grew and thrived until the middle of his second year. Gradually, he became fussy, and less easy to console. He was a picky eater, and lost weight. Mom took him to the pediatrician, who assured her his behaviors were part of The Terrible Twos.

A few weeks before second birthday, Joel fell while standing in front of the TV. When he stood back up, he wobbled when he walked. Joel fell again, and then he threw up. I was scared. I called for Mom, who was in the kitchen, doing dishes.

Mom called Dad at work, and told him she was taking Joel to the emergency room. He met her there. Then she called our neighbor, who came over to watch me.

I was scared. I prayed that God would make Joel better.

When they came home, my parents told me Joel had a cancer in his brain, and he was going to need surgery. They said they needed to stay with him at the hospital when he had the surgery, and I was going to have to be a brave girl while they were away. My grandparents came to stay with me.

When my parents came home from the hospital with Joel after his surgery, I thought everything was going to be okay. I was extra careful to be gentle with him.

But Joel wasn’t okay. There were more doctor appointments. He had chemotherapy and radiation appointments. At home, Mom held him almost all of the time, even while he slept. Dad took over cooking dinner when he came home from work. On the days Joel and Mom stayed in the hospital, Dad went there after work, and sometimes stayed the night too.

Grandma and Grandpa stayed with us a lot. They drove me to school, and back. Grandma made me bagged lunches in sacks decorated with cute stickers. They listened to me practice reading, and spelling. They bought me presents, even though it wasn’t my birthday.

I waited for Joel to get better, but he didn’t. Dad started taking me to the hospital with him in the evenings to visit Joel at the hospital. Sometimes I had to wear a mask to see him. He was puffy, and didn’t look or act Iike Joel. I closed my eyes when I was prompted by my parents to kiss him on the forehead.

One day, Grandpa picked me up from school. I chattered away in the car, and Grandpa would smile, but his eyes looked sad.

At our house, the living room curtains were drawn closed. The room was dark. Dad, who was usually at work, was sitting in his chair. Mom sat on the sofa. Grandma sat next to her, her arms around Mom. All of them were crying.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Dad said.

I was afraid, but I didn’t know of what. I knew something really bad had happened. I couldn’t move.

“Niki, come here,”

I walked across the room to my Dad. He put me in his lap.

“Niki, sweetheart, your baby brother, Joel, died at the hospital today. He’s in Heaven now, and he’s not suffering anymore.”

I burst into tears.

“But why did he die?” I was furious. “How did he die?”

“Niki, Joel was very sick. Sweetheart, you knew he was sick. You knew he was going to the doctor’s all the time. We took you to visit him. He had a brain tumor.”

“But I didn’t know he was going to die. I didn’t know babies could die. I thought only old people died. I didn’t know I was never going to see him again. Am I going to die?”

My father held me tightly, and cried into my hair.