My Baby Boy

My Baby Boy (True Story)

He was nine months old, and SIDS had claimed another child. It was the worst time in my life. Something I would not wish on anyone.

I was attending medical school at Sheppard Air Force Base in Wichita Falls, Texas away from my home base in Sacramento, California. I was active duty Air Force.

His name was Anthony, but we called him “Tony”. This little guy was always in a good mood, always smiling. I will never forget the time when he had a bad case of congestion and I put him in the bathroom to inhale the hot water vapors. He was struggling to breathe, but he looked at me and smiled, like he was saying “I’m alright Dad”.

One night, a night I will always regret because I was being selfish. He woke us up at night crying. He must have been wet or was hungry but the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “I wish this kid would shut the fuck up, I wish he was dead!” I was young and stupid back then and am very ashamed of my actions. Those words haunt me to this day.

My boy was beginning to stand on his own and his two bottom front teeth were out. He was always trying to grab things and put them in his mouth. I remember the last time I saw him alive he was in his walker. I told him to be good because I would not be able to see him for a while.

Since me and my cousins were drinking the night before, I left Sacramento for Dallas with a bad hangover. During the flight we encountered the worst turbulence I have ever experienced. I thought the plane was going to crash, during this time the only thoughts were my kids. How ironic.

I was in class and the instructor called me.

“Sergeant, can you come with us”, her voice was immediate and stern. Right away I was thinking what has she done now! My ex-wife was not your typical military wife. She got me into so much trouble that it could be a novel, but that is another story. Anyways as I followed her down the hall I noticed the commander of the school behind me and he asked if I was learning anything.

She led us in to a small room in the very back of the building. The base commander, first sergeant, the Chaplain, and the head nurse were waiting. Right then I knew it was bad!

“Honey, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but here it goes, your nine month old son died this morning”.

A tingling feeling came upon my entire body, I did not cry. I was in shock! The head nurse immediately came to me with tears in her eyes and tried to comfort me. Soon everyone was hugging me and giving their condolences. I did not know what they were saying. Everything became a blur.

I remember being back at the dorm packing to return to California. One of my classmates, I think his name was Seargent Szabo, came to my room and offered to take me to the airport. He asked me what happened and I told him, but I do not recall anything else.

I remember arriving in Sacramento, everything was all a daze, but I did not cry. I was crushed and hurt but I did not cry. Several days after the funeral we took a train and visited my parents who live in Denver. One night my father and I were drinking at a bar, and that is when I lost it. I cried and cried from the depth of my stomach and was cursing and asking God why? My dad tried to calm me down but I was a mess.

You know, I have seen many therapists and specialists and God knows who, but they don’t know shit until they’ve experienced what I went through. This incident killed my marriage and made me a cold hearted son of a bitch. I also lost my faith in God. Why did this happen?

I still feel like shit and feel guilty for being alive!