I can think back, in great clarity, to the morning my life changed in the most profound manner possible.  The two days prior marked much upheaval, questioning and the unknown.  Little did I believe, the series of events transpiring would leave the impact in my life, no parent could imagine.

I lived with my parents, younger brother, grandfather and son.  Many generations living under one roof with varying levels of care necessary for most.  For me, the days all blended.  I awoke, fixed Reiley’s breakfast, took him to my Mom’s bed, started the car and took my youngest brother, Nick, to school.  Most mornings, I would stop and grab a quick breakfast for Mom and me before making my short jaunt home.  Once there, I would quickly make my way down the hall and into her room.  Upon finding my “spot” midst the waterbed, cackles would bellow from Reiley.  He loved the waves bouncing him gently up and down while Grandma would gently raise his arms above his head, nibbling at his sweet spots. 

Mom and I would have breakfast and chat for some time.  It did not matter the conversation, as it always turned to Reiley and what grandeur he found in the item of possession that day.  About the time Reiley was ready for something else entertaining, Mom would find herself about ready for a nap, nothing uncommon during those years.  We would make our departure and head for the living room, office or whichever place was calling our attention at that time. 

Baths and getting dressed for the day was next.  After bathing, Reiley would eat and go down for a nap.  That was my opportunity to play and have the all-cherished “Me Time.”  I would head for the office and spend time chatting with friends, old and new.  It wouldn’t take much time, however, before there was a knock on the wall and Mom needed something; water, coffee, medicine, food, companionship. 

Mid-afternoon, Reiley would awake from his nap.  With a short time to play and eat, we would load into the car and pick Nick up from school.  That was my clue to step into caretaker mode for all.  Upon returning home, I would prepare dinner for the family, tend to filling coffee cups, chatting and preparing myself for the night of work ahead.   

Like clockwork, Gary came home between 5:30 and 6:00.  Dinner was ready, I was dressed and Reiley’s bag was packed.  I had time for a quick bite, a few conversations and off we went.  Reiley was dropped at his sitters and I made my arrival at work until the week morning hours. 

I would get off work and pick Reiley up from the sitters.  We would stop at the gas station for some midnight snacks and head home.  Quietly coming inside, Reiley and I would head for the living room and play for an hour or so.  That was our time, sacred and special.  There were no other interruptions, no needs to be met, just the two of us: Mom and Son.

Quickly scampering off to bed at the first sign of sleepiness Reiley showed meant the end of our day and the start of the new.
Saturday’s were different.  Life was more relaxed without the hurried schedules.  It was almost as though I had a day off, no matter if work still beckoned that evening.  This Saturday, however, would prove unique. 

I left for work as always and dropped Reiley off with his sitter.  I went to work and made it through my shift, picking him up and stopping, like usual at our favorite midnight snack spot.  That night I felt a terrible uneasiness, and after spending a bit more time than usual chatting with the store clerk, made my way home.  What I found shook me.

There were two police cars on the street with lights on, bordering both sides of the driveway.  I opened the garage, unsure what was happening and pulled in.  About the time I turned off the ignition, an ambulance backed in.  Quickly I pulled Reiley’s car seat out and made my way inside.  Questions looming over which family member was in need of help filled my mind.  Upon making my way upstairs, the answer was obvious.  Paramedics were loading my mother onto a stretcher.  She was in respiratory distress. 

One quick conversation with Gary left me wide-awake until after the sun rose.  I yearned to hear of some news, something that would put my heart to rest, word that my Mother was okay.  That information finally arrived sometime after seven in the morning. 

I caught a short nap and awoke with Reiley.  The day was long, tiring and not what I had expected.  I called into work that night, knowing I was in no condition to adequately perform what was required of me, or drive home safely following.  I made a visit at the hospital and spent some time with Mom, though she slept the good part.  From there, I stopped by work, spoke with my boss about the day’s events, and made my way home for dinner and sleep. 

I slept through the night, out in the deepest sleep imaginable.  Nothing shy of a bomb exploding could have stirred my slumber that night.  Nothing did.

The next morning, I heard the garage door shut.  It was Monday and I was running late.  Nick opted to ride his bike to school that morning, allowing me off the hook.  The door shutting was the bomb I needed to hear.  Reiley, he had not stirred all night: no peep, no waking to play, nothing.

Trembling with fear, I flipped on the light, looked at my son and screamed as I snatched his lifeless body up, praying that my deepest fears were not coming true.

I ran out my door, up the stairs, down the hall and straight to my mother’s room.  I needed my mom.  She wasn’t there.  Somewhere midst all the confusion, Nick walked in and brought me the cordless phone.  Already doing CPR, I called the paramedics while Nick made calls from the other phone line. 

Police officers arrived first.  They came in the room and asked if I wanted to continue CPR.  I was losing control, what little control was there.  I begged them to continue and I sat in one of the chairs nearby.  I watched in slow motion as the officer placed a stethoscope to his chest and did nothing more. 

Questions flew and I could not begin to answer.  I was on autopilot, surrounded by fog on all sides.  Each question asked met an undying resistance.  I continued to ask for the one person I could not have, my Mom.  They offered, however, to take me to the hospital.  It was not the manner in which I wanted to go.  I needed to be in control of where I went and how; not at the mercy of officers and paramedics I did not know. 

Those freedoms, however, my family denied.  I needed to be by myself, to digest all that was occurring, had occurred and was about to occur.  I found myself robbed of my emotions, my time and me.  The loss of my son was more than the deepest, most heart wrenching moment of my life; it defined me.