This is a powerful personal story written by Stephanie O’Loughlin on how she coped with the loss of her son Patrick to SUDC – Sudden Unexplained Death in Childhood.
January 25th 2011 started almost like any other day in terms of our daily routine with a 21 month old toddler. Only I was away with work and it was my husband who got himself and our son ready for the day. Patrick was given his morning baba of milk; a wonderful tool to distract him from the whole getting dressed lark. Daddy and son had a bit of fun with the Tigger PJ’s playing: “What does the tiger say?” routine. Then it was downstairs and off to the crèche.
Patrick pointed at the cars outside informing Daddy which was “Mammy’s car” and which was “Daddy’s car” and appeared maybe a bit puzzled at being put in “Mammy’s Car” by Daddy for a change. He smiled the short journey down to the crèche and walked in the door all by himself.
My husband informed the crèche staff that our son may be sleepy earlier than usual as he had not slept as well as he normally would and left a chirpy enough little boy to play with his friends for the day.
I was at a client meeting abroad in Germany, and it was just after lunch when I saw my phone going off silently. Pat would rarely call during the day – especially knowing I would be in a meeting so I immediately got a bad feeling, disconnected the call and quickly messaged him asking was all okay.
“No. Not breathing.” came the answer and I began to panic.
I left the room pretty much oblivious to all and, pacing the hall, tried to call my husband – my fingers would not function for me properly. I kept mistyping, hitting the wrong keys. I could not get through to Pat. I tried the crèche. No answer. I called my office and, panicking more and more, re-laid to my boss what I knew. My son was not breathing. Was my son dying? What the hell happened?
I tried Pat again and eventually got through. He was on his way to follow the ambulance to the hospital. The crèche had called to say Patrick’s breathing was laboured and things did not look good. My head was a mess. Pat promised to let me know as soon as he could – once he knew more.
Never in my life have I felt further away from home. I just wanted to be there. Not stuck in Berlin.
One of the people in the meeting saw me in the corridor, probably white as a sheet and asked was everything okay. I told him what happened and he helped get my stuff and brought me down to reception. He said if I needed anything at all, just to let them know and wished me the best of luck.
On the way to the hotel, I spoke with my boss and said I needed to get home right now. She got onto the travel agent for me. In the hotel I tried to get an update from Pat but I think I was unable to get through.
Then I called my parents and told my mam that my son was dying. I had a very bad feeling and knew this was not going to end well. My mam tried to give me hope and told me to wait for news.
I just threw all my stuff into my suitcase and got ready to leave. In the lift down to reception I got the text message from Pat: “Sproggy passed away 5 mins ago.”
I thought I was going to pass out.
Just 2 months shy of his second birthday, our first and until then only son had died of SUDC – Sudden Unexplained Death in Childhood. Despite thorough investigations straight after his death and later through the US based SUDC research facility, no cause for Patrick’s passing could ever be found.
The days following Patrick’s funeral we began questioning what we were now. Just moments ago we had been the parents of a wonderful little boy – now we found ourselves in a sort of limbo. We had been in our defined roles these last 21 months. I had been in almost constant mammy mode.
When your only child dies suddenly like that, where does that leave you? I pondered on that question for a while. Was I all of a sudden no longer a mammy? A parent? What’s my job description now?
People usually responded by saying that we would always be Patrick’s parents, his mammy and daddy. Just like the family around us would always be the aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and godparents. I know that is true but it does not take away that confusion you initially feel.
Over the weeks and months that followed, I came to realise I was still a mammy, a parent – just not an active one at that time. But I still felt like one and thought like one.
It took us time to settle into our new temporary roles. You find yourself in a weird place when 3 become 2 again. Leaving the house was easy again and going out no problem. It was like before we became parents – but not really. It did not feel right to be able to do all those things and we sometimes felt guilt over enjoying a night out with friends, as though we didn’t have a care in the world. For a while, you might forget about everything but then you come back to the empty, quiet house and you find yourself once again trying to adjust to your new reality.
SUDC robs you of the single most precious thing in your life – your child and with it part of your future. Subconsciously, you have their life and yours mapped out. There will be school, birthday parties to go to, junior and then leaving certs, uni, weddings, grandchildren – and then in one moment this all vanishes into thin air. You never get to see what they look like grown up, what sort of a person they will be, who they will perhaps marry. Maybe we take those things for granted but then, why should we not? That is usually how it works, after all.
SUDC also takes something else – your innocence and confidence. It struck me every time I saw parents out and about with their babies/toddlers, they do not know what I know. They can still stroll along pushing that pram, headphones on, while I am sometimes wondering how on earth they know their little one is still alive and breathing! I thought that we may never be able to go about taking care of any future children in the same innocent way we did before. After all, we have that dreadful experience of losing one to something so cruel.
While we most definitely did not get that innocence back, we fought hard to restore that confidence and still do to this day.
In many ways, what worked for Patrick so very well, should work on subsequent children, shouldn’t it? He was a well-adjusted, lovely little boy. So, we must have gotten it some bit right. Why would we have wanted to change a single thing when we got to welcome his little brother into the world on October 25 2011, 9 months after Patrick’s death.
Bringing home a child after the sudden loss of your first and only is huge… emotional, scary, wonderful and a bit sad at the same time. It’s not how it should have been.
How do you stay sane during a pregnancy following this kind of a loss? I think for me, it was the pregnancy so very soon after Patrick’s death that kept me sane. Carrying and having Eoghan helped me during the first 18 months as well as counselling sessions. Grief does demand to be dealt with however, sooner or later.
So what kept/keeps me sane during those waves of grief?
Running. I began a few months after Eoghan was born and had anyone told me I would one day become a frequent runner, I’d have asked them to get their head examined. But I did become a runner. Running helps me stay sane…push through sadness…and gives me time to be alone with my thoughts. I get out most days, small runs only maybe, but they’ve become important to me. Last year, I even managed a half marathon in aid of Pieta House.
Eoghan is now almost 4. Milestones have come and gone. The day Patrick was officially gone longer than he had lived for. The day Eoghan officially became older than Patrick was. The day Patrick should have started school. There’ll be more.
One day, I saw the faintest of rainbows. One of those that are barely visible in a sky that perfectly mirrored how I feel most days.
- A bit of blue.
- A bit of gray.
- A bit cloudy.
- A bit sunny.
- A bit drizzly.
And when you have that mix, you sometimes get the faintest of rainbows. Like a sign from somewhere that hey, it’s okay. Go with the flow. Allow yourself to feel. Allow the sadness, the happiness, the anxiety. They all have a place within you. They can co-exist.
Bittersweet is what life has become. For every moment of happiness, there is that brief dart of pain, that bit of “bitter” that has now become a part of most moments.
It makes you experience some things more intensely. Like watching Eoghan growing up, his little personality developing, making his own way in his little world and even fighting his little battles.
Sometimes, when I pick him up, I stand there for a while just watching him, waiting for him to notice me. Oh, how I would love to bring home two boys from the crèche every day.
I still do not understand why that has been denied to us. I probably never will. And some days, feeling happy makes me worry that it means we are moving on, somehow ignoring the pain his passing is causing.
Yet, I do like those moments that happen almost out of the blue; when you suddenly just feel happy; not ecstatic but just really happy and content. And I am learning to allow myself to enjoy them again.
For more information go to sudc.org. See some of the many faces of SUDC here.