My earliest experiences with death involve my younger brother, JDL who passed away at 9 weeks.
June 1 1974, I had wanted a playmate for a while. I was ecstatic when I learned of my new little brother. I wanted to show him everything! So for the next 9 weeks, I talked to him, describing the world to him, showing him picture books, (tried to) read to him, helping mommy with him…then, something took him from us…I remember my parents reactions that morning, mommy was shrieking at the top of her lungs while she was hanging on to the crib, shaking so badly that the crib was banging against the walls loudly. She was calling for my daddy to come get me out of the room my little brother and I shared and to call an ambulance…I never got to say goodbye to JDL. From that day forward, I swore to do everything I could to not have to experience losing a child. I was 32 months old. I will never forget that morning. A short time later (Nov 1974), mommy started working. She was gone all day. Daddy became frustrated with me because I kept asking about my little brother. That’s when he began to shake me. “Shaking out the bad sense & Shaking in the good sense” he told me. He also said that if I told anyone that I would be spanked with the belt. So I kept quiet and never told anyone about the shaking. My parents were divorced by the time I was 5 yro. The shakings continued as my father’s preferred discipline for me. He would shake me so hard and so long that I would cry because my head hurt so badly… even after he would stop, my head was pounding and I didn’t feel well. Then after an especially long shaking, I cried (hard) because my head hurt so bad, I just wanted to go to sleep…I wake up to strangers talking to me, asking me how old I am, what’s my address, my full name, etc…i drift in and out. I opened my eyes again to bight lights. I don’t know where I am or who these people are…I’m just staring at the bright lights. I feel light as a feather, floating, floating up, I’m cold. I’m looking at myself! I can see there are people all around me, including my daddy. He’s crying. I hear this “beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep”…I feel someone else, “Sissee! It’s not your time yet! You have to stay!” I look and it’s JDL! He gives me a shove towards my body and I slam back into my body. I began to breath…
About a year goes by and it happens again. Only this time, it’s harder to respond to the questions. I can’t respond. I can’t answer. I’m cold. There’s this “beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep” again. I don’t know who these strangers are. I just want them to leave me alone…am I flying? A little boy reaches out to me, “Sissee!” It’s my little brother, JDL! He says “Sissee no! I told you, you’re have to stay!” I tell him I’m so happy to see him! I tell him how much mommy and daddy and I miss him! He says he misses us too. I say, “Now we can play together!” He says, “No Sissee, not right now. You’re needed here. You have to stay!” … “But I don’t want to, I want be with you so we can play. We never got to play!” [Slam] I began crying, calling out to my brother…years later, I’m going thru some old boxes that belonged to my deceased father (he passed 01-17-3020) and I come across some old hospital paperwork. It’s about those two occasions when my father shook me extra hard. I had two separate brain bleeds about 8/9 months apart. The 1st one, my father told the Drs that I “had fallen out of a tree”. The Drs were skeptical as I had no abrasions anywhere. They were doing ER cpr. I was dead for about 2 minutes. The 2nd time, my father drove to a friend’s house and asked his friend to “please ride with us”. My father’s friend reported to the Drs that my father insisted his friend hold me and then upon arriving at the hospital, my father told his friend to “just carry her in for me while I park the car!” and instead of parking, my father drove off. The hospital paperwork continued to state that I had no pulse, wasn’t breathing and I was cool when touched. The hospital ER staff noted that it took 5 minutes to get a pulse going and that I was comatose for a week.
To date, I’ve had chronic migraines, and my ruptured eardrums make hearing a challenge. I’m also about to turn 52 in about 6 weeks. I’m not just a survivor, I am a victorious survivor of shaken syndrome.
