The Assignment

sensitive subjects: death of a child, mention of suicidal thought

The Assignment

Okay, what the hell am I supposed to write? I can’t believe our therapist gave us this stupid assignment. How is journaling going to fix anything between us? Man! My bros would get a kick out of this! Me sitting here like a schoolgirl, trying to “get in touch with my feelings.” Might as well ask me to get in touch with my feminine side! Ain’t happening, dude! This is so fucking dumb! Like I’m just going to write, ‘Dear Diary, had a really great life... first in my family to go to college- rode in on a football scholarship and a 5.0 gpa. Met the girl of my dreams our junior year. Two years later, I graduated with honors, an engineering degree, and a fiance. The world was mine for the taking, right? Oh yeah, until I killed our son. Life pretty much became a shit show after that.” Glad we talked Diary…I feel all better now.

Dear Diary,

Wow. It’s been a really long time since I wrote those words. I remember keeping a diary all through my school years but three kids in and I had too much life that I was living to be able to write about it anymore. Especially caring for Lucas. Until now. Ironically, it’s because of Lucas that I'm now writing again. Well, Lucas and Dr. Shelby. Paul and I have been meeting with her for about a month now, trying to save what’s left of our marriage. At least that’s what we told her. Truthfully, I think we’re both looking for an excuse to STOP trying. These past six months have been so painfully hard. Not that the years before it were such a cake walk. But I think we’re both too wounded, bleeding too badly, to be able to breathe life back into our family. Marriage counseling is just a cover…when it fails, it will be the final nail in the coffin. Dang. Really bad choice of words… where are my tissues? I can’t write anymore.

I. Hate. This. Stupid. Exercise. How do I scream via typing? Wait here, Diary Dude, while I google that. Got it- “Aaaaarrrrgggghhh!!” Not very satisfying, I have to say. Although I did find out you can add scream vocals to text via AI. THAT could be therapeutic! Just listening to a soul-shredding barbaric scream over and over and over… better than listening to Amy sobbing into her pillow night after night, thinking she’s muffled the sound enough for me not to hear. And me, pretending I’m asleep so I don’t have to try to comfort her. Who am I to comfort her? I was her knight in shining armor, she told me on our wedding day. A hero to our boys! Some fucking hero! Lucas died on MY watch, not hers! His seizures seemed like they did every other time. But they just didnt stop. Until he did. I still see his face so tensed up, eyes rolling, his small lips turning blue. Air, he just needed some air. I could give him that. Started the mouth to mouth after yelling at Jimmy to call 911. I SAW his chest moving- it was working! Damn it to hell, he was breathing again! But then another seizure hit him hard and he went completely rigid. And then completely limp. I didn’t hesitate- 20 minutes of CPR until EMS got here. Then they did another 20 before finally calling it. 6:22 pm. The time lodged in my brain, same as our wedding day- June 22nd, 10 years earlier. The Universe has a wicked sense of humor.

Dear Diary,

I suppose I should write about Paul and me, not that I think it will help. A week of journal entries and, just like that- over it? How do you get over losing a child? How can I ever forgive myself for not being there that day? Lucas had been special from the day his 2 lb body entered the world- a micro-preemie, they called him. And he fought to survive as hard as we fought to keep him alive. No amount of sacrificing was too much, not even the year I spent isolated at home with him to keep him from catching any illnesses. The older boys struggled with my inability to be there for them like I had been but what can you expect from a 3 and 5 year old? As Lucas got older, I tried to split my time equally amongst them, but when you have a special needs child it’s nearly impossible to do. Physical therapists and frequent doctor visits, taxiing back and forth to his school each day because at only two years old I couldn’t stand for him to be stuck on a bus two hours every day. Heck, he was only at the school itself for 2 hours! Eventually he needed speech therapists and special tutoring. When the seizures started he was only four years old but by then we’d been through so many challenges with him that we just accepted the fact the same way we accepted our other boys’ new obsession with Pokemon Go. This was just life. We became masters at recognizing the signs of an impending seizure. We knew how to get him down safely, on his side, how to keep his airway clear. Since Lucas’ seizures affected his lungs, we learned the hard way that Diazepem, a valium product, would not just stop the seizures but stop him from breathing and lead to intubation and a hospital stay. Through trial and error we figured it out- right specialists, right meds, right protocol. We even became trained in mouth to mouth resuscitation and CPR. I was relieved, not worried, when Paul offered once again to get the boys off to school so I could go back to sleep. And I'll never forgive myself for that moment of selfish need. In the hospital neo-natal ward, I had promised Lucas that Mommy would always be there for him. And where was I when he needed me most? Snuggled under my cozy covers, snoring away blissfully while my son took his final breaths. By the time I heard the sirens it was over. They kept the CPR going, even intubated him, but he was already gone. Oh, my God! Why!? He was doing better, wasn’t he? What happened that day? I am both a raging sea of anger and a hollow shell. And I dread the answer to my own questions. I’m afraid to ask, to know for sure. To know if Paul did what I think he did.

Diary Dude, I can’t sleep so I guess I’ll get another entry down. I’ve never had nightmares before but now I hardly have a night that I don’t relive those awful moments over and over again. Not just little Lucas, but seeing the boys’ shocked faces, streaked with tears. And Amy. I’ve never seen her that way, so wild with grief. Clutching Lucas’ body to herself in spite of the EMS urging her to leave him unmoved until the ME got there. Fucking medical robots and their fucking protocols. They're damn lucky she didn't rip out the trach tube they’d intubated him with! But even they were smart enough not to insist, as she rocked our boy and wailed. There’s just no other word for it. I’ve never heard such heart-shattering cries before. Now, I never stop hearing it. And it’s all my fault.

Dear Diary,

Paul had another fitful night of sleep last night- guilty conscience, perhaps? He’s always been so good with the boys but he’s also very dogmatic about whatever he believes is right. And he was convinced the epilepsy meds were doing more harm than good. I had to wonder, myself, at the wisdom of prescribing something for seizures that comes with a warning of “May cause or increase seizures.” What the heck? So we did some research and found out that anti-seizure meds deplete a person’s natural levels of magnesium, and a deficiency in magnesium can cause what? Yep, you guessed it, Dear Diary- seizures. We were both upset that we’d never been told to give Lucas magnesium supplements- which we began immediately- but Paul was downright furious. I can't say I blame him- at that point we’d been raked over the coals by the “professionals” and had every parental instinct or decision challenged or bullied out of us. At least it felt that way. Part and parcel of the special needs world, apparently.

So Paul began the deep dive down the internet hole and found other, more natural ways to treat, and possibly end, epilepsy. We agreed to wean Lucas off the meds, IF we saw evidence of improvement with our new approach. Slowly, of course, so we wouldn’t trigger seizures or a stroke. And we did see a little evidence, but it was slow in coming, and Paul likes to move fast. Once he’s made a decision about something, he takes action immediately and without a shred of doubt.

But Paul would never do anything to harm our boys. At least, that's what I used to think. I don't really know why I checked Lucas’ pill box a few days later but there they were… his klonopin pills for the three days before he died. I hadn’t been sleeping much because Ryan was suffering from growing pains and I was up, massaging his legs until he could fall back asleep. Paul had offered to get up with the boys to get them ready for school for me. It was such a huge blessing and so thoughtful of him. I reminded him that Lucas needed his meds with breakfast. “Yeah, I know,” he ground out with a surliness that let me know what he thought of those meds. But Paul knew the risks of stopping cold turkey same as me. I would’ve never even considered that he

Dear Diary,

Sorry for the abrupt end. Grief can roll in like ocean waves that you see coming or hit like a blindsided punch to the gut. I started crying again and was still weeping when Paul came home. He asked if he could do anything for me but he looked so uncomfortable and guilty that I just started crying harder. We see Dr Shelby in two days but really, what’s the point? I thought I could just assume the best and keep going but that nagging doubt is always there in my mind. And Paul has pulled away, too. From the boys, from me. He barely even hangs out with his own brothers anymore and they’ve always been tight. We all used to be so happy! Before.

Not just before Lucas died but honestly, before Lucas, period. Don’t misunderstand, Diary Dear- we both adored Lucas. But life changed. A LOT. I gave up the job I loved to take care of Lucas while Paul took on extra hours to make up the lost pay. Jimmy and Ryan began fighting more and acting out. Getting our attention in negative ways seemed to be better than not at all. And slowly, the fun things melted away. Like camping trips and game nights. Playing ball at the local park. Even going to the movie theater was too stressful with Lucas. But Lucas would’ve soon been six, and with that age would’ve come full days at school. I was planning on going back to work. Paul could be home more. We’d be more relaxed, able to enjoy life again. And then we got a cosmic knife in the back. The universe does not play fair.

Dude- a couple more days and hopefully I can tell you to piss off. Don't need you messing around inside my head anymore. But, since I’m here, I will tell you that I’m pretty sure Amy’s gonna leave me. I mean, damn! The other day she was crying when I came home and I asked if there was anything I could do to help, and she just looked at me with so much hurt and disappointment. And I get it! I know it was my fault! I gave everything I had to my family and it still wasn’t enough. If it weren't for our other two sons, I'd probably have gone off into the woods by now with my 12 gauge and just ended the pain. What really gets me is how benign that day was, so much like every other day. Except for me taking care of the boys in the morning since Amy’d been up half the night. But I really didn't mind. It was actually nice to have that extra time with them. The only real problem I had was finding Lucas’ pill box. I felt tempted to just skip them- didn't really think they were helping him at all. But Amy and I had agreed to wait a bit and I’d never break my word to Amy. I never did find the pill box but I found the bottle Amy doled them out of each week so, problem solved. Two pills with his OJ and he was good to go. I gave all the boys my famous tickle hugs and cracked a joke about Jimmy’s haircut that made them all laugh. And then I waved to the older boys as they ran for the bus. These mornings made me late to work for a few days but my bosses all know my priorities- I give my all at work but family still comes first. And they respect that. Maybe because if they didn't, I'd have been long gone by now. I was still laughing when I turned just in time to see Lucas fall from his chair as the convulsions started. I lunged and came down hard on my knees, catching him before he hit the floor. “Family first.” Hey AI, insert a bitter laugh sound here, would ya? I failed him. Failed Amy. Failed them all. I couldn't even keep a five year old boy safe in his own home. Some hero I turned out to be.

Dear Diary,

Tomorrow we see Dr Shelby again. I've been doing a lot of journaling (as you know, of course!) and so many wonderful memories of Paul have been coming to my mind. I’ve always felt like one of the lucky ones and Paul was a big part of that. He's been an amazing partner and provider and such a fun and loving dad. I always called him our hero. Even better, he’s my best friend. WAS my best friend. Because really, what kind of friend breaks their word over something so important? He cost our boy his life. Why didn’t he just keep his meds going!? So much pain, so much betrayal. I can’t keep going like this. Tomorrow I need to face it. I need to tell Paul I know what he did. Tell him what he’s done to me. To us. He didn't just kill Lucas, he killed our marriage. I don't see any way to repair this.

Sayonara, Sucker! I am officially done with you, Diary Dude. Tomorrow we see Dr Shelby and find out what the hell this whole exercise was all about because I can't say I feel any better at all. Guilt is eating me alive. Every time I look at Amy I can see my failure all over her face. I love her so damn much! She and the boys are everything to me. But she can’t forgive me so how will we ever repair this? And really, Dear Diary- can we blame her? I lost our son.