PJ’s story is one of many stories you will find in The SIDS Survival
Guide written by Joani Nelson Horchler.
The SIDS Survival Guide is a very practical and compassionate book
full of stories loss, hope and joy all in one book. It has been
called a bible for many SIDS parents or caregivers of anyone who has
come in contact with a loss of an infant to SIDS or any other infant
death.
You will find my story about PJ in chapter 14 (Emergency Medical
Responders and the Authorities) page 229 titled How Not To Treat a
SIDS
Survivor.
SIDS is something you read about but think can never happen to you.
Than it hits you like a ton of bricks.
I seem to be a normal, happily married women with two beautiful
daughters. But what most people do not know is that I am the mother
of three children, not just two. My oldest daughter, Amanda Lynn is
nine. My second daughter, Kayla Ann, is three. My third child was a
little boy who arrived on Sunday, July 23, 1995. Although he came
three weeks ahead of schedule, he was given a clean bill of healthy,
weighing eight pounds, three ounces. He was the apple of his parent’s
eyes.
Yes, we thought we where a complete family, with two healthy girls and
now a little boy. Our dreams where finally coming true. We named
that little boy after his daddy, James Alan, and his Grandpa Pete.
Peter James-Alan. We called him PJ.
Before we knew it, the baby was 6 weeks old and it was time for Mom to
return to work. I loved the time off, but I knew there was no way we
could pay our bills unless I returned to work. Fortunately, my
husband and I worked different shifts, so we shared child-care duties
and didn't have to worry about child-care expenses. I worked during
the day and came home to my family at night.
Then one day our world caved in. I got up for work as usual on
October 3. I went downstairs, showered, got dressed, and fixed a
bottle for the baby. I went upstairs and fed little PJ. He drank his
bottle and dozed back off to sleep. Part of me wanted to stop time
and just stay there cuddling him, but I had to get to work. So I gave
him a little kiss on his head like I did every morning and tucked him
back into his crib with his 101 Dalmatians friends. I didn't know
these events where going to be sweet memories…just sweet memories…and
never again I would be able to share sweet memories with my son.
At work, talk about the O.J> Simpson trail. Today the verdict would
be in. Would he be convicted of murdering two people or would he be
acquitted? Then everyone heard that O.J. was a free man. All the talk
about whether it was a fair trail and whether O>J> was guilty or
framed was going to have a lot of significance for me in a short time.
Someone from the Personnel Department came in and told me I had to go
home to a family emergency.
“Don't bother with cleaning up. You have to get home and I'm taking
you,” she said. I had no clue why. Thankfully I lived only three
blocks from work. When we pulled up to the side of my house, I saw a
police officer talking with our insurance agent. Yes, I did recall
that he was due to stop by today with some paperwork, but what does
this have to do with the police?
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Just go in the house and you'll find out,” I was told. I walked into
the house, and you could have heard a pin drop in it. There was
anther police officer in the dinning room. My husband was in the
living room dressing our two-year-old. I looked around the room and
did not see my son.
“Oh, my…where is my baby?” Complete silence. My husband finally said
that the baby was on they way to the hospital. Earlier, my husband
had gotten up to answer the door, and he came back to find the baby
not breathing, with bluish skin. He called 911 right away and called
work for me to come home.
I received no words of encouragement from the police officers. Not
even, “I'm sorry for what you are going through>” Nothing. All they
said was, “We'll be back later to question you about what happened.”
Question us about WHAT? I didn't know what had happened or why it happened.
The ride to the hospital was dreadful. Though we lived only 15
minutes from the hospital, it seemed like hours. All the way there my
image was go holding PJ that morning and seeing him smile at me when I
laid him back in his crib. I thought he had to be all right because I
loved him and he was an important part of my life. I hoped he would
be crying for his mother when I got there.
At the emergency room we where met by a couple nurses. I could barley
get the words out, “Take me to my baby; I want to see him now” They
lead us to a small room and said the pediatrician would be in to talk
to us in a moment.
All I could think of was, “NO! This cannot be happening to me! Not my
little boy! He’s a healthy boy.”
Well, the doctor came in and told us that they had done everything
they could, but they could not bring my little boy back. I just
wanted to scream out, “This isn't fair! You can't take my little boy
away from me!” They said we lost our Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.
No clues as to why – just that he died peacefully. I still have to
ask why God took my little boy’s life away and gave O.J. his freedom.
This just does not feel right or fair to me.
They led us into the examination room where PJ was lying peacefully in
a little crib. My husband was by my side carrying our little girl.
They notified my parents. My husband’s parents where already on the
way to the hospital. They called our minister. They told us to say
good-byes and all I could think of was “How do you say good bye to
your baby??”
I sat in the rocking chair, and they placed the baby in my arms just
as they had done when he was first born. He looked so peaceful, as if
he was just sleeping. I just wanted to shake him to wake up. I
needed to tell him that I loved him and that I needed him to be alive,
to just start breathing again for Mommy. I just wanted to take my
baby and run as far as I could, but I could not even find the strength
to get up. Somehow we found the strength to leave the hospital, only
to go home and face more tragedies and pain that would never go away.
Back at home; still filled with shock and disbelief, we were greeted
at the door by the police and two people from the Human Services
Department. They separated us. A police officer and a worker from
the Human Services questioned my husband in the front room, and I was
questioned in the kitchen. There was no sympathy or understanding
from these people.
“What kind of life insurance policy does the baby have? How much is it
worth? Who is it payable to? How does your husband treat the
children? Why does your oldest child have a different last name?
Where is her father? Does your husband feel angry or bitter that he
has to support her? Are you collecting child support from her father?
What kind of temper does your husband have? Has he ever lost his
temper? Is he violent? Do you feel safe with him? Do you feel that the
children are safe?”
During the questing my in-laws came in with my two-year-old. They
where told to leave the house and take the child with them and that
they could come back when the questioning was done. But after a
awhile my mother-in-law came back in because she was concerned about
what they where doing. She was not allowed to say anything, but at
least she was in the room with me.
After the stopped grilling me, they toured the house. My husband led
them to the couch where PJ had been. They took pictures and said they
needed to check the rest of the house.
We took them upstairs to the girls’ bedroom. There was only one bed
set up. They wanted to know why. We tried to explain to them about
the recent recall of bunk beds. Our two-year-old had gotten her body
stuck in the headboard. We didn't want to take any chances, so we had
sent the girls bunk beds back. We told them that we had to buy anther
mattress so we could set up the other bed. I couldn't understand what
the big fuss was all about because my two-year-old loved the chance to
sleep in Daddy and Mommy’s bed and to take Daddy’s spot when he was at
work.
But these people wouldn't listen. They just said it was wrong that a
two-year-old should be sleeping in her own bed. They wanted to know
what was in the bags in the boxes in the closest. We told them it was
just clothes that the children needed to grow into. They told us to
get them out of there because it was a fire hazard. “And, by the way,
we could give you a fine for that.”
I just couldn't understand what they were trying to do. Where was the
compassion? The caring? Where the kind words? Why were they treating
us this way? What did we do? We had just our son. What did all this
have to with it?
We found out the answer to that a long, horrible week later. We were
being accused of foul play…insurance fraud. They wanted to remove my
daughters from our home because they thought it would be in their best
interest. All this threw me completely off balance. How could they
think anyone was capable of harming their own baby, let alone killing
him? I never could or would harm any of my children or anyone else’s
children. I kept telling them over and over that I would not harm my
baby for money. Money means nothing to me. If you bring my little
boy back I will give you all the money I have. All I want is my son
back, alive and healthy. They left the girls with us, but they did
not stop harassing us. They continued to investigate for insurance
fraud.
We somehow made it through the funeral arrangements. We picked out an
infant coffin and had his bumper pad from his crib cut to fit the
coffin. We also had his crib sheet and comforter put into his coffin.
This way he looked like he was peacefully sleeping in his own little
bassinet with his 101 Dalmatians looking after him. We bought a
little miniature yellow Tonka dump truck representing the big one that
was going to get for Christmas. We created a little memory board with
all his pictures on it.
The next few weeks were terribly difficult, still being questioned by
the police for foul play even after the autopsy showed no signs of
foul play and that our baby had died of SIDS. It was just before
Christmas that we finally got the police off our backs about insurance
fraud. The chief of police called and wanted to come to our house to
discuss results of the blood tests. We knew nothing about any tests,
so we called the hospital to try to find out what was going on. The
hospital could not release any information to us and told us to call
our doctor.
Our pediatrician was very confused and shocked when we told him that
we were under investigation for foul play in the death of our son. He
told us after the autopsy no further blood test gad been ordered.
There were no results because there where no tests. This doctor was
not only our children’s pediatrician but also the doctor the county
used in cases of child abuse. If he ever seen a problem he would have
been obligated to report it to the proper authorities. But he had
never seen any signs of child abuse in our family. Therefore, he
called the police and told them in no uncertain terms that there had
been no foul play and that they were not helping to ease our grief
with their handling of the case.
To be accused of killing our own child is something that I will never
understand. We loved our baby and would do anything to bring him
back. It is obvious that a lot of professionals who should know about
SIDS do not know anything about it. Why can't professionals be
trained to deal with SIDS properly and compassionately? Why do these
people treat parents with so much contempt? If all their questioning
is part of their job, why can't the figure out a better way of doing
it? SIDS is a very tragic, painful experience, so why do they add the
agony?
