My Son's Passing

To begin, I was a single mother of six children. Five of those children living with me due to my oldest being taken to Florida by who MAY be his father while I was at the doctor's. (I will elaborate on the subject in another story.) I lived in my grandfather's home with him, my children, and my boyfriend at the time. I was working for $8.50 an hour as a medical assistant in a doctor's office...horrible money for my position. But I still took care of my family and helped my grandfather pay the bills. The boyfriend wasn't working, two of my kids were in school, and the rest stayed at home because I couldn't afford daycare. So, the boyfriend watched them, or I would drive them to the next town to stay with their grandmother until I got off work. Okay, done with a bit of the back story.

My youngest son, Logan, was 16 months old. He had a fever on May 31, 2011. Not eating, but still drinking plenty of fluids. Now, knowing this is normal seeing as how he was my 6th child, I still called the doctor for his advice. It was after hours, I left a message, and the doctor on-call returned my call. I was giving Logan Children's Tylenol, but the doctor told me that I should give him Children's Ibuprofen and the dosage for his weight according to his last exam, which was just a week prior. The doctor said that as long as Logan was having wet diapers, then he was plenty hydrated and it was normal for them not to eat when they have fevers and don't feel good. Of course, I knew that given my job title, not to mention that he was baby #6. However, it was still reassuring to hear it from a doctor.

I loaded up all my kids in the truck about 6:45 which is about the time that I got off the phone with the doctor. My boyfriend and I went to Walmart to get the Ibuprofen. He sat in the truck with the kids while I ran into the store for the medicine. When I came out, I gave Logan the dosage the doctor instructed me to give, right in the parking lot. By the time that we had gotten home, Logan's fever was already coming down. I got all the kids ready for bed, and laid them all down. Xander and Willow had school the next day, and I had work. Logan stayed up in my bed for a bit so I could keep an eye on him. I let him watch Scooby Doo, which was one of his all-time favorite cartoons. I filled his cup with Pedialyte and juice, and he laid down to watch tv. About 8:30 PM, Logan started yawing and I asked him if he was sleepy, and ready for night night. He shook his head yes. I carried him and his cup to his bed and laid him down. By morning, my whole family's life had changed...for the worse.

The sun was coming up, and Xander was waking for school. He came into my room to get his clothes that were ready for him. I asked him to go feel Buddha's head, (we called Logan "Buddha," it was his nickname), to see if he felt warm, and if so I would wake him up to give him more medicine. Xander comes running back into my room in a panic, and says "mommy, Logan's eyes are open but I don't think he is breathing!" I did not even given it a second thought when I jumped up, grabbed the phone and dialed 9-1-1 as I was entering the boys' bedroom. I just knew, as soon as I laid my eyes upon my child, that he was gone. I lifted him from his bed, and laid him on the floor. I was completely hysterical! My boyfriend ushered, quickly, all my other kids into our room so they wouldn't see what was happening. It was bad enough that Xander had to see him that way.

I couldn't stop crying and hyperventilating. The lady on the phone from 911 was talking me through CPR. I was certified to do it, however, in that moment...it was MY child. MY baby! I could hear sounds escaping from his tiny mouth with every compression. CPR was pointless at that point. I knew it. He was cold, and somewhat stiff. His eyes were open and lifeless. I was a shell of my former self.

A police officer showed up first, with ambulance crew behind him. The police office felt for Logan's pulse, looked at the ambulance crew, and shook his head no. I completely lost it, again. They wanted to take me from the bedroom, but I didn't want to leave. I fought them. I wanted to stay with my son. I told them that he needed me. They drug me kicking and screaming out of there.

The medical examiner showed up. By then, I was outside sitting on the side of the house with my other kids and boyfriend. I called my mom. She was on her way to work, but she turned around and came to me. I called my stepmom. Her and my sister, Amber, both came. My sister, Alecia, came. I was blank, a ghost. I had so many emotions running through my head that I was just blank. The medical examiner brought Logan out in a body bag, and on a stretcher. I lost it, yet again. (I can't write this story without losing it.) My stepmom, mom, Amber, and I'm not sure who else was even there, but they went over to say goodbye to my son. I didn't want to do that. Goodbye means forever. Seeing him in that bodybag made it real. This really happened to MY child, my family, me. My stepmom persuaded me to say my goodbyes. I did finally. I gave Logan a kiss and told him that I am so sorry that this happened to him. That I should have stayed awake all night, and kept him in my room to watch over him. After that, I collapsed on the concrete in front of my house, right beside the stretcher where my son lay passed away.

The next day, I get a call from a homicide detective at the state police barracks. They want me and my boyfriend at the time to come in for some questioning. We were both questioned about how we think Logan died, the events that led up to his passing, what he was given, etc. The detective made it seem like he was trying to get me to admit to something I didn't do. He made me very uncomfortable, and I was already depressed. He was making me sound like a bad mother. I hated that man in that moment. I know that he was doing his job with the questioning, because parents are always the first to be question. However, don't ever make me feel like a bad mother, nor try to make me admit that I hurt my own child. My children are my world.

An autopsy had to be done on Logan. A town cop stopped by on a day that we were going to stay the weekend at my boyfriend's mom's house. He wanted the Ibuprofen that I gave Logan. Sure, no problem. I gave it to him. Then rumors started going around the police station and the fire station that I overdosed my own child. I found out because my aunt was part of the Ladies Auxiliary. She put a stop to the rumor very quickly. I then had people, that I THOUGHT were my friends, calling me a baby killer. Sending me messages on Facebook. Calling my phone. Talking behind my back. My kids's sperm donors (fathers). I won't mention their names here, though. I was very depressed for a long time, and I wanted to die. I thought about suicide. I thought about different ways to do it. I thought everyone would be better off without me.

I decided to have my son cremated. My grandfather said he could be buried in the same plot with him because he was being cremated, too. So, that was saving me some big money. After picking out his urn, and the cost of the funeral expenses, I didn't know what I was going to do. My grandfather handed over his credit card to the funeral director, and said to put it on there. I am forever grateful for my grandparents. They did so much for me. A day or two later, I was in Walmart with my boyfriend and his mom. I received a phone call from Parsell Funeral Home. When I answered, the funeral director started telling me that my grandfather's card would not be charged, and the cost of the funeral expenses and urn would be taken care of by Mr. Parsell himself. I broke down and cried right there in the middle of Walmart. I am ETERNALLY GRATEFUL for that man!

The funeral home left out some of Logan's ashes for me to put in 2 vials. They, also, gave me back the outfit he was wearing when he passed away in. I keep one vial with me at all times. The other vial went to my sister, Amber.

I buried my baby on June 8, 2011. My daughter Willow's birthday. Of all days. I was numb. Tears were pouring from my eyes, but I was numb. I didn't want to eat, talk, live.

Oh, and by the way, the autopsy showed that my son died of natural causes. Dehydration due to unknown febrile illness. It was caused by his fever, but they are unaware of why he had the fever to begin with.

My other kids were taken from me. My mom has two, and two are with their dad. I pay $520 a month in child support on a minimum wage job at $8.25 an hour. My mom only let's me see Xander and Willow when it's convenient for her. My twins, Elijah and Shianne, live with their dad, and his girlfriend and I don't get to see them because they live an hour away and I can't get my car legal. I am paying child support to his girlfriend, which is bull in my opinion. I can't get ahead to save my backside.

I am on medication for severe depression/bipolar, anxiety, and PTSD. Everyone I know says I am the strongest person they know. I'm not. I have weak moments. I have really low moments. I don't think about suicide anymore. My children need me. I am trying to fight for them everyday. It's hard when you don't have the money to go back to court, however, I am trying to save what I can to do that. No one is going to stop me from being a good mom. Not a damn soul can take that from me. My life is much better now. I am in a good place. I am in a wonderful relationship. I could be happier with my kids full time, but I'm happy. I blew up to 297 pounds after Logan passed, and I have lost 69 pounds, so far. Most of that being recent. I still have bad days when I think of Logan. I miss him terribly.

I still haven't been able to afford a footstone to mark where he is. One day. One day I will. I miss you, Buddha. I love you. Fly high, son!

January 25, 2010 - May 31, 2011