The story I never wanted to tell

This story is a hard one to tell.  I don't believe that I have to share it, but I also understand that many, many people have questions when a little one dies.  So, I will share it with the hope that your hearts will settle into the One who can lift up your soul.  I know that Haddy's death, whether you knew him or not, leaves a terribly unsettling feeling.  I want your heart to be nestled into the Father for such a time as this.

July 4, 2018, my 38th birthday began with a plan.  Our dear friends, the Dickensons, asked us to go to the pool of a friend of theirs.  We love water.  We spend as much time as we can near or in it.  Both of our families had asked a few others to join us.  We got there around 1 p.m.  We played, we swam, we talked, we laughed.  It was incredibly tender and dear.  Our conversations were our normal.  We laugh, tease, play, but in an instant one of us may be talking about something deep and meaningful.  We talk with our children, all of them, from youngest to oldest.  This day was intended for togetherness and it was just that.

Around dinner time, we started grilling and gathering dinner.  As it was finished, we asked everyone in the pool to get out so we could eat.  It was the usual, all of us serving one another.  All of the adults help the kids to get food and settle down to fill their bellies.  We were in the middle of that space of eating, talking, helping kids when someone dear took off Haddy's puddle jumper so he could eat.  It was entirely innocent.

I want to explain that Jason and I, with a family our size, live with rhythms and systems in place.  Because we spend so much time near water, we leave on the puddle jumpers near the water during meals.  If they come off, it is always a conversation between the two of us and one of us owns the duty of following the child without the life preserver.  It is our practice, as well, because then the one who isn't watching the child is responsible for the rest of the needs of the brood.  This rhythm of our doing life isn't known by everyone we do life with.  It is simply our normal.

Neither Jason nor I fully recognized that Haddy's puddle jumper was off.  Jason recalls looking over near the garage (away from the pool) at our boys and telling them to stop playing in some landscaping, and seeing Haddy in his peripheral view.  There was a large brick fire pit that obstructed Jason's view of all of the children, but he had no sense of concern or need to be hawkeye.  We were just doing life.  He glanced at his phone and remembers thinking it was around 6:05 p.m.

I came outside from taking a quick restroom break and scanned the crowd.  I asked, "Where's Haddy?"  Jason sent me toward the pool and he headed where he had just seen him.  The pool was about 25 feet from the eating area.  As I approached, I saw him face down at the bottom of the pool and jumped in. I pulled him out and started CPR immediately.  He was pulseless and not breathing.  I am an RN and previously an EMT.  I have been trained to respond in such a time as this.  I called for someone to call 911.  They did at 6:10 p.m.  I continued CPR for somewhere around 10 minutes on my child.  I feel confident it was quality CPR.  His color returned slightly as I continued.  However, I knew he was completely full of water.  His belly was distended.  I pushed some of that water out but each time I gave breaths, water and vomit came out.  I knew then it would take a miracle for my baby to live.

Jason was completely beyond himself.  He was trying to shout to Haddy. I simply asked him to pray.  He fell to his knees and did just that.  All of our friends gathered all of our collective children and pulled them away from the scene to shield them.  I am ever grateful for my brood.  Every one of them took a role in this intense tragedy.  The fire team arrived on the scene and took over.  I watched the entire process.  They placed the pads of the defibrillator on his little chest and back and quickly started an intraosseous line.  They allowed me to check for his pulse.  It was still absent.  The process continued with the right drugs at the right time and good quality CPR.

They transported him to St. Francis South, the closest hospital to our location. We were driven to the hospital and prayed with every bit of faith we could muster that God would spare our son.  We arrived at the emergency department both still wet from the pool.  They were continuing CPR and epinephrine just as they should.  An elder at Village Bible Church and a friend of my sister's from high school were both part of Haddy's code.  Their presence was a comfort to Jason and me that God knew we needed.  He never regained a pulse of any kind.  They were never even able to shock him.

At 7:10 p.m, the doctor started talking about stopping CPR.  When he asked us our thoughts, it felt like 15 minutes had passed from the time I pulled him from the pool.  It was surreal.  I was not hysterical and I could process the facts.  They gave us a few minutes to process and stopped CPR around 7:15pm.  We both knew that Haddy was gone and it was time to stop.  Their team let us hold and sit with him.  Our family started arriving quite quickly.  Jason and I held him.  Jason rocked him.  I sang our bedtime song to my baby boy for the last time.

"Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep, my sweet Haddy.
Fall asleep now, fast asleep, so your little heart can dream.
Close your eyes, say a prayer, let the Lord do the rest.
Let the Lord do the rest."

Dear friends, I do not understand.  I have so many questions, but I will not place blame.  I have committed to Jesus and those around me that I will fight to live, fight against guilt.  I beg you to do the same.  Our entire family is reeling with pain.  Guilt and blame will not do any good thing for anyone.

This is the hardest providence of my life.  Our arms ache for him; our hearts are shattered.  Please do not cling to the "I wishes" or "They should haves."  It is only more heaping pain to encounter.  We are in an ocean of grief.  Our family, our church family are completely beyond our capabilities in this.

Dear friends, as I sit in a room filled with the smell of my son's funeral flowers, please hear me.  Jesus is on the throne and He is enough.  Please go to Him on our behalf and intercede.  It is the truest and purest gift.  I hope to continue to write.  Jesus meets me in this, but I make no promises.  I don't know how I will do this.  The coming days are a total mystery to me.  I know this: We are more loved by God than I can comprehend, Haddy is safe and happy (I will need reminded of this), and our family and friends have poured out themselves on our behalf since the moment we realized he was at the bottom of the pool.  We are completely overwhelmed with your grace to serve, love, and give.  I am convinced that God has carried us on the prayers of the saints.  I don't know what tomorrow holds, but I know who holds tomorrow.

Psalm 34:18
"The Lord is near to the brokenhearted
    and saves the crushed in spirit."