Allergic

**Mention of a child's death due to an allergy

I found out who my new neighbors were when my son killed theirs. It was an accident, of course. My son gave theirs a peanut butter blossom cookie at recess, not knowing a bite of it would send him into shock. His parents, overwhelmed with moving into a new house the weekend before school started, forgot to pack his EpiPen in his backpack and his extra in his pants pocket. Their son died on the way to the hospital, and I didn’t know about my son’s involvement until twenty minutes before we left to the head to the neighbor’s house. 

My son, Liam, had his suit on and was laying on his bed, crying his eyes out. He has always been a calm-mannered child, rarely throws temper tantrums or cries, but today he was inconsolable. I sat down next to him, wiping the tears off his red face and asked if he didn’t want to go. He didn’t respond for a few minutes, and I figured the reason for his being upset was losing his friend. While he had only known Tatum for a day and a half, they had a lot of the same interests. 

I poked his shoulder to get him to respond. “Can you tell me what’s wrong, honey? Do you not want to go? We can stay home, Liam.” 

He shook his head. “It’s not that, mom. I think we should go.”

“Okay, we can, buddy.” I stood up, hanging by his doorframe before I said, “Let’s head out in five minutes.” 

He nodded and I was halfway down the hallway before he said in a broken voice that I’ve never heard from him before, “Mom, I think I killed him.” 

My stomach dropped at this, and I ran to his room, nearly running into the wall in the process. “What do you mean, Liam?”

He sat up, a new batch of tears running down his face before he replied, “I gave him one of my peanut butter blossom cookies, mom.” 

My heart sank. “Was he allergic?” 

He shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know, but after he ate a bite, he started convulsing.”

“Were you in the classroom or outside at recess?”

“Recess.”

My heart started pounding a little less. Maybe it was a bee? A wasp? Something other than a peanut butter cookie that I made? I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Are you sure it was the cookies, Liam? Maybe it was a bee?” I asked, trying to convince myself that it was the latter. He shrugged again. “Well, if it was the cookie, you didn’t mean to, okay? You didn’t know.”

He attempted a smile and wiped his damp face once more. He stood up and wrapped his arms around me as tight as he could, almost knocking the breath out of me. “It’s okay, honey. Let’s not tell the Johnson’s, okay? No reason to make them more upset than they already are, alright?”

“Okay, I won’t, mom.”

I breathed out a sigh of relief. I glanced down at my shaking hands, quickly realizing they were going to be a problem if I didn’t get a grip of myself. There was no reason to freak out yet, maybe it wasn’t Liam’s fault. 

Liam and I were on their front porch a few minutes later. Awkwardly ringing the doorbell, waiting to meet new, heartbroken neighbors under such terrible circumstances. I hated that I was coming into their house harboring this. The door swung open a couple of seconds later, confused looks on their faces at the sight of two strangers. Tears welled up in the mother’s eyes before the father asked, “I’m sorry, who are you?”

My cheeks flashed with embarrassment, momentarily wishing I never stepped foot on this porch. But if I didn’t, my son wouldn’t get closure.

“I’m sorry to bombard you like this, but my son, Liam, was actually in the same class as your son and was starting to become friends with him. We just wanted to pay our respects, but we totally understand if you don’t want us here.”

The mom sniffled; a small smile reached her face for a brief moment. “Why wouldn’t we want you here? If you were Tatum’s friend, even for a short while, you are welcome here.” 

The Johnsons let us inside. My mind was frazzled at her comment, my mind immediately turned to her figuring out my son’s potential involvement in her young son’s death, but there was no way of her knowing that. I brushed it off and Liam took off to mingle with the other kids while I glued myself to Mrs. Johnson. I sat down next to her on the couch, directly in front of all their family photos that included their three children. It appeared that Tatum was the oldest and had two toddler siblings. 

“With the move and corralling my three kids, I almost didn’t enroll Tatum in school.” Mrs. Johnson breathed out; her voice shaky as she tried to get out each word. “Pre-K was a nightmare for me, Tatum kept getting exposed and I was terrified of sending him to school every day. But he loved all of it. From making friends to interacting with his teacher, he would be in school all day if we’d let him.” I wanted to console Mrs. Johnson but feared she wouldn’t take too kindly to a stranger-turned-neighbor holding her hand soothingly only minutes after meeting. Instead, I listened to her intently, knowing that she had kept this inside over the past few days, but didn’t know who to talk to this with. Guilt spread inside me like wildfire as I waited to hear the rest of her monologue. “He was hospitalized a few times during Pre-K and kindergarten, each instance worse than the last. I brought up homeschooling to Tatum so that we could monitor his exposure, but he cried and cried. He wanted to make new friends since we moved away from all of his old ones.” She paused for a second, tried to recompose herself. “I should’ve been more adamant about it; this wouldn’t have happened had he been at home with me. Or if I remembered to pack his EpiPens. But it was a new backpack, and I was so concerned about getting him out the door that the thought never crossed my mind. I just was hoping that the other parents would’ve closely read the allergy list before packing their kids’ lunches, it’s not asking for much to not pack certain things in a lunchbox.” She sighed, running a trembling hand across her face.

I couldn’t help myself for asking, but I needed to get to the bottom of the “exposure” she was mentioning. “I’m sorry, but what was Tatum allergic to?”

She looked more upset in that moment but replied quickly, “Peanut butter.”

I nodded, but the breath in my lungs evaporated suddenly. It was Liam’s fault; even though he had no intention of hurting Tatum. We sat in an awkward silence for a bit. Should I tell her? 

Before I could continue my spiraling, she said, “I just wish I could know who brought the cookies, which parent was irresponsible enough to cause my son to lose his life.” 

She started crying once more and before I had the chance to stop myself, I blurted out, “It was Liam who brought the peanut butter cookies. I made them, but we didn’t know he was allergic. I’m so sorry.” I said in one breath, hoping my honest would be my saving grace. 

She stared at me blankly, before her sadness turned to anger in an instant. She turned to her husband. “Sam, call the police.”