I went to the fire station yesterday. Twice. I called Scott as I was heading back for my second visit of
the day. I left him a message
telling him of my unplanned visits.
I said, “I am crazy. I’m
pretty sure I know why I’m crazy, but
what are we going to do about it?”
I’m a little bit glad that he didn’t answer because he probably would
have appealed to my logical side and convinced me not to go back and create
even more of a scene. My
emotional, impulsive side has been winning all battles over my logical side
lately, and I don’t think it’s such a bad thing.
On my way home from dropping Ethan off at school, I decided
that I was going to stop at the fire station. I wanted to get the names of the firefighters who responded
to our house the morning of Max’s death.
I felt like I should send them personal thank you cards instead of one
impersonal card for the whole station.
I know very little about the workings of emergency response teams, so I
just assumed that the firefighters who came to our house that morning would not
be on duty. I imagined myself
walking into the station, getting a list of names, and then leaving. That is not at all what happened.
When I pulled into the parking lot, I really wasn’t
nervous. I walked up to the door,
but it was locked and I didn’t see the doorbell, which just happens to be right next to the door. Go figure. Normally I might have gotten a little frustrated, but things
like that don’t phase me any more.
I walked through the open garage door and into the back entrance. I startled the firefighter who was
sitting at the table talking on his phone. I learned later that his name is David. I apologized for barging in on him and
asked if I might be able to get the names of the firefighters who were on duty
in the early morning hours of June 10th. He was very friendly and got up to go check with another
firefighter, Bob. I don’t remember
who asked me, but someone asked if firefighters had come to my house on June 10th. I said yes, but didn’t offer any more
of an explanation. No need to ruin
someone’s day by sharing my sad story. At some point another firefighter came out. He asked me what my address was, and we
determined that he and his family live just a few houses down from me. What a small world. He doesn’t even work at this fire
station normally. His home station
is a few miles away, but for some reason he was at Fire Station 5
yesterday. We joked a little bit
about Jerry Springer being on the TV.
They had been watching the news, but no one noticed or changed the
channel when Jerry Springer came on afterward. It was funny picturing all of these macho men sitting around
on the couches watching Jerry Springer.
I believe them that they don’t watch it all the time, but still. By this time, Bob had come from the
back room and was saying that they were the firefighters on duty on June 10th. David said, “We were on duty, but you
don’t look familiar.” I said that
none of them looked familiar either, but that they would probably remember the
call. “It was my newborn son,” I
said. It was one of those moments
when you can feel the air change in a room. All jokes about Jerry Springer were put aside, and they
definitely weren’t smiling anymore.
Bob and David both shook their heads. “That was us,” one of them said. Their faces were solemn and sympathetic. It’s weird—I don’t remember any of
their faces from June 10th, but I remember the looks on them. They were the same looks I saw
yesterday.
Maybe I’m an idiot, but I had not even considered the
possibility that the same responders would be on duty yesterday. So I obviously had not planned what I
would say to them if they were.
I’m sure that showed because I rambled and rambled. I didn’t know what to say. None of us did. I remember saying all sorts of weird
stuff—things about never wanting to see them again at my house, a thank you
here and there, and something about wanting to bring them donuts. I also started bawling at some
point. I don’t know what I was
trying to say when it started, but it just came on like it always does. Bob was very nice and hugged me, which
calmed me down a lot. I apologized
and told them that I thought I could handle it that day. I think seeing the men who were at my
house the morning that Max died was just plain shocking to me. I can’t believe that I was naïve enough
to just assume that they wouldn’t be working. I guess I have a long way to go before my brain will really
start functioning again. I decided
that it was probably time to go. I
don’t particularly enjoy standing in a room full of strangers and crying. Not because I feel weird, but because I
don’t want them to feel awkward.
That’s a big burden to put on people who don’t know me as anything other
than the woman who lost her baby.
So I left. David showed me
where the doorbell was for the next time I came to visit. I forgot to mention that they also
invited me back to the fire station.
I told them that they might regret that open invitation later.
I couldn’t stop thinking of things that I should have said
or asked when I left. I made it
home and stayed for about 5 minutes before I decided that I was just going to
go back and ask the questions that I wanted to about that morning in June. They gave me an open invitation to come
back whenever I wanted to, and obviously I was going to take advantage of
it. This time I stopped at Dunkin
Donuts before I went. If I was
going to pester them with questions that they probably didn’t want to answer, I
might as well bring them some sort of treat. For some reason, I requested all donuts without
sprinkles. Firefighters don’t like
sprinkles, I remember thinking to myself.
See? I really am
crazy. Everyone loves
sprinkles. This time I rang the
doorbell, and David answered the door.
I told him that I would like to try again and introduced myself a little
more eloquently than the last time.
I asked Bob and David if it would make them uncomfortable if I asked
them a few questions. They
immediately said no. I can tell
that they are the type of people who would have said no, even if they meant
“Yes, they will make me incredibly uncomfortable; please do not proceed.” I sat at the table and started with my
questions. Below is a brief recap
of what I can remember.
Q: Did either
of you perform CPR on Max?
A: No
Q: Did you use
a defibrillator?
A: No
Both of those answers surprised me. I had assumed that both CPR and a
defibrillator had been used on Max.
There were adhesive strips left behind, which I assumed were from a
defibrillator. I asked about
them. Bob told me that they knew
right away that Max was dead and that he had been for some time. The paramedics hooked Max up to a heart
monitor, which showed that he was asystolic—flat lined, basically. That’s what the adhesive strips were
from, not a defibrillator. He
explained that the last thing that they wanted to do was to give us false hope
by performing CPR or transporting Max by ambulance to the hospital. I told him that I actually really
appreciated that. I know parents
whose children have been transported to the hospital despite showing no signs
of life. They recount driving to
the hospital and thinking that there must be hope. After all, you don’t take dead people to the hospital, right? Once they get to the hospital, their
hopes are dashed. They hold their
babies and say goodbye in a cold, clinical hospital room. And then they go back home to their empty
houses and the investigation. At
least we got to say goodbye to Max in our home, in his home. I know that
many people are bothered by the fact that Max lay on our living room floor for
two hours after he died. I am too,
but if he had to lie anywhere that morning for two hours, I’m glad it was at
our house. It was very hard to let
people come into our house and take his body away, actually. I didn’t watch it happen. I don’t think I could have. I do remember asking, for some reason,
if they had a tiny body bag that they would put him in as opposed to the big
ones for adults. I don’t remember
the answer. I hope it was a little
one; I’m not sure why.
I asked Bob how long he thought Max had been dead. He qualified his answer by pointing out
that he is not a medical examiner or time-of-death expert. I appreciate that, but I bet his experience
has taught him way more about establishing a time of death than he gave himself
credit for. The time of death on
Max’s death certificate is 6:01 am.
This time is a formality; it is absolutely not true. We called 911 around 5:55 am. Max was not alive when we placed that
call. Bob told me that he believed
that Max had been dead for at least 2-3 hours before the paramedics and
firefighters got to our house. I
hope this doesn’t sound selfish or morbid, but I was relieved to know that. All this time, I’ve been thinking that
we missed Max’s death by mere minutes.
In my memories of that morning, he is warm and his lips aren’t blue
yet. I think I remember him that
way because that’s how I wanted it to be.
It’s not true though. I
feel some sort of relief in knowing that we didn’t miss seeing our boy alive
again by just a few minutes. There
is nothing that we could have done either way, but I don’t think I could live
with missing him breathing by just a few minutes.
We talked for a few more minutes, and then the paramedics
came back from a call. I assumed
that I wouldn’t recognize them either, but I did. I handed Max to Raymond at the bottom of our stairs. I think that Raymond recognized me
too. I recognized Alexis
immediately. She knew exactly who
I was too. Leave it to the two
females to recognize each other.
We all talked for a few more minutes. We talked about their kids, Ethan, and the different support
systems that we are using to try to cope with Max’s death. Notice that I said “cope with” and not
“get over.” That’s an important
distinction. I told them about my
neighbor, Carol, whose husband used Fire Station 5’s services often during his
battle with cancer. I told them
that I would bring Carol next time and maybe even Ethan. I would like to bring the whole world
to show them how nice and genuine these men (and woman) are. They turned what could have (and
probably was) a very awkward situation into one that was at least tolerable if
not enjoyable. I don’t think I
ever really expressed my feelings of appreciation for them. I’m a bit of a bumbling mess lately, if
you haven’t noticed. I guess what
I wanted to tell them is thank you.
Thanks for the sacrifices that you make to help others. Thanks for being brave enough to walk
into a home where parents have just lost a child and react with sympathy and
kindness. Thanks for being caring
and understanding enough to let a grieving woman barge into your fire station
and ask you questions about a day that you’d probably like to forget. Thanks for actually inviting said woman
back even though she isn’t the best company right now. Thanks for being so selfless,
considerate, and honorable. Thank
you for treating my son with dignity and respect. And thanks for letting me hear you say his name.
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