In November 1967, my husband and I, along with our three-month-old son, named after his dad and called "little Eddie,” moved from Quantico, Virginia, to Ft. Sill, Oklhoma, where Ed was to attend artillery training as a Marine Corps 2nd Lt. Eddie was almost nine pounds at birth and was a healthy and robust little boy.
We found a house to rent after two days and were settling in when I noticed one evening that little Eddie was congested and fussy. Not feverish, but he did not want to nurse and would give up and cry after attempts to get him to eat. I remember saying that I was going to take him into the doctor the next morning as he had a cold, or so I thought.
I was up with him most of that night, rocking him and attempting unsuccessfully to get him to eat. He would try and then give up as he had severe nasal congestion.He woke up early the next morning on November 22, irritable and congested as before. It was too early to call into the doctor, so I put him back in his crib, and went back to bed, completely exhausted.
When I woke up, I was shocked that I had slept five hours. Feeling guilty, I picked him up. He was unresponsive, limp and silent. We rushed him into the army hospital at base and they immediately took him. A few minutes later, they told us they were going to do a spinal tap, as they suspected meningitis. How well I remember the dread we felt.
An hour later he was gone. The beautiful sweet boy with the white blond hair, big round dark blue eyes and chubby cheeks was no more. They did everything they could to save him, but the meningitis had become meningococcaemia, where the bacteria invaded the bloodstream and spread throughout his tiny body, shutting down his organs.
You all know how we felt. The pain was unimaginable, searing, gut-wrenching and agonizing. It goes against the natural order for parents to have to bury their child, instead of the other way around. To his day, a sentence with the words baby and grave seems like an obscenity.
I don't know how we survived this, but we did. We forced ourselves to live. One step at a time, and then another one, on and on and on. We brought his body back home to Wisconsin and he is buried at a close-by cemetery. His paternal grandparents now rest beside him.
A year later, I gave birth to our daughter Kristen, while Ed was serving in Vietnam. Five years later, our youngest was born, with Down Syndrome. Some may think that this was yet another tragedy, and although it was a blow at first, her being here has been nothing but positive. I am grateful that both our children have become decent humans we are proud of.
It has been 57 years and I will mourn him for all of my days, but the grief we will always feel has become a part of who we are. I think about him often and wonder about what he would look like. Would he be a grandpa? Would he look like his father? I know those feelings and thoughts will be with me always.
I will always be a grieving mother and I accept that but I also appreciate the joys that life does bring, and you will too. The pain does get lighter over time, even if it never goes away completely. You can and will survive this. Feel, the grief, cry, scream if you need to and speak your child's name often. You will take steps forward and back. That's okay. If religion helps, use that faith. Religion was not part of our recovery, but that's us. Lean on your family mind friends if that helps, or get professional help. Don't let anyone tell you it’s time to move on. We all grieve in different ways. No one can tell you how you should feel. Talking with other grieving parents might help. Absolutely no one will understand what you are going through like someone who has been on this God-awful journey.
I'm telling you that you will feel joy again. Your child will remain in your heart and soul all of your days, but someday you will smile. The first time I laughed at something funny I saw on TV, I felt guilty. How can I laugh when my child lies in his grave? However, I know that we humans are meant to feel joy, along with sadness. It's part of our humanity. Embrace that. Be kind to yourselves. I felt guilty at first, thinking that if we had brought him in earlier, he would, still be here. However, I was to learn that meningitis is often diagnosed as flu or a cold at first before it turns deadly. It can kill adults within hours.
Now there is the HIB vaccine, which is given at, I believe, six weeks of age, which could prevent meningitis, but they did not have that vaccine in 1967. So, no one is to blame. At some point during our move to Oklahoma, perhaps, he breathed in bacterial particles from someone at a rest area, who, maybe sneezed or coughed and his fate was sealed. People can carry the bacterial particles in their noses or throats without getting sick themselves.
Life truly sucks at times! It is unfair and can be terribly cruel. However, it has moments of pure joy. Hold onto those. Surround yourselves with those who support you and help you continue on your journey through life, discard others who make it harder
It will get better, I promise.
I hold all of you in my heart and send blessings to you all.
Be well.