Aftermath

I’ve got to hurry with this. I don’t know how long I’ve got to write this out but I need to write this out. Someone has to hear this otherwise, with how things are now, it’ll be like my family and I never existed.
         Since you’re reading this right now, I guess it must be getting better out there, or you just lucked out. If there is such a thing as God or luck, good luck and God bless. Please don’t ever forget us.
         For the last two months, I’ve been at home laid up in bed aimlessly staring at the TV, trying to piece my shattered life back together. My four-year-old daughter Kate died. The circumstances around her death make it even more difficult. And especially now, with all of this…
         I don’t know how to cope with the loss of my baby girl. It’s something I haven’t even begun to understand fully yet – I know now I never will. Sometimes it’s like she’s still here, every now and then her faint little scent will float by. I catch her fragrant reminders and my heart drops and my eyes wrap themselves in tears. I feel as though I’m breathing in what killed her.
         There probably is a right way to cope with her death, but drinking is about the extent of my coping skills. My therapist, Jack Daniels, says I’ve made progress. Even now, as I smudge mostly my own blood across this keyboard into beginnings of a story I have no clue if anyone will ever read, I have a bottle beside me, and beside my bottle, a handgun. If this ends abruptly, I’ve picked up one instead of the other.
         And now that it’s clear enough I’m really drunk I’ll tell you what I sat down to tell you in the first place. The sins I’ve committed, my acts of murder, they were acts of love and had to be done. I don’t want you to think I’m a murderer – it had to be done.
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         Kate came to us in the middle of the night crying for Lisa. My wife rolled over to our little girl, standing there in her pajamas clutching her blanket to her face, which was bright pink with fever.
         “Jesus,” Lisa gasped. “Honey, come here. What’s wrong?”
         Kate shuffled closer to her mother, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her.
         “I don’t feel good mommy. My throat and tummy hurt.” Her glossy eyes stared sleepily at the carpet and her head drooped down. She let out a painful wheeze, like an arthritic woman’s bones creaking.
         Fever, wheezing, groaning, vomiting – these a few of the symptoms the Center for Disease Control has alerted everyone to. If you or someone you know displays these symptoms, please contact…once it hits, you’re what they call a groaner. I had no idea then, though.
         “Jason, wake up, feel her forehead.”
         As in many households, there is one designated fever tester. Apparently, I alone could tell a fever from a forehead, so I stretched my arm over Lisa and tried to find Kate’s head. She found me instead, and pressed her forehead to the back of my hand. I tore away from her; half asleep and thinking I had just nicked a pot on the stove or touched a hot iron. The pain leapt to a point and dulled as quick as it came, but it was enough to wake me up. I looked at Kate’s pink face, it finally registered with me.
         “We’ve got to get her to the hospital now! She’s burning up!”
         Lisa threw the covers off and I flew to the closet for pants and shoes. The minute that followed was hectic and panicked. We were parents and something was going on with our child – we went into momma bear mode. All the while though, amidst the scrambling and mad dashes for the car keys and my wallet, Kate stood right where she had before, her eyes lolling around with her chin resting on her chest. Nothing was registering with her.
         Our oldest child, Kevin, came down to the bottom of the stairs. From there, he could see into our room, and caught a glimpse of the panic he been listening to in bed.
         “Mom, what’s going on?”
         “Kate’s sick, dear, we’ve got to take her to the hospital.”
         Kevin stepped off the stairs and into our room. He stopped behind Kate and looked concerned about his little sister.
         He reached out for her shoulder and said, “What’s wrong, Kate? You don’t feel good?”
         Kevin cared a lot about his baby sister. They never fought each other, never even wrestled as kids do when they’re bored. The only time I’d ever seen anything like that between them was when Kevin’s hand landed on her shoulder.
         She spun around, slapping his hand away. Her sleepy eyes were then fierce and her posture aggressive, arms back, hands in fists, chest and shoulders forward. She bared her teeth and let out growling roar, a primal warning, understandable to every animal – back the fuck up.
         I’m sorry. I know this is my daughter I’m talking about here, but I’m still trying to understand all this too, and that’s the only way I can describe it. 
         Kate’s eyes went glossy again, her hands fell limp back to her sides and her head grew heavy, swung back down. We all stood terrified as we tried to understand what Kate just did, and we watched with careful distance as she folded herself back up. She was still for a minute, still as a statue, no one spoke a word. Lisa broke the circle we formed around her and went to comfort her. Kate just started vomiting black foam. Rank and hot, the foam covered her feet and seeped into the carpet.
         “Holy shit!” Kevin yelled, “Mom what’s going on?”
          Under any other circumstances, I would’ve reprimanded Kevin right there on the spot – swearing is not, or was not, allowed in the Drath household. But he was right, holy shit.
         I scooped Kate up and took her to the laundry room sink. It was painful to carry her, her skin was burning mine and the heat that was coming off her was unbelievably intense. Luckily, all I had to wash was her feet, and she cried and cried for me to stop while I rubbed them clean under cold water. If you’ve ever had the flu, you know exactly what this feels like. Cold air, cold water, ice cubes, popsicles, I don’t know, everything that’s cold is painful to the touch because you’re fever is so bad. But with Kate’s fever…I can’t even imagine how bad I hurt her with the water. I wasn’t even thinking.
         She folded up and turned off again when I shut the water off. I carried her to the car, bearing the glowing heat of her skin. We all got in after I put her seatbelt on, but we kept our worrisome distance. I admit it; I was afraid of what was going on with my daughter. Not quite fear, really, but I had animalistic feeling that it was time to get moving, run. Just like the feeling the pack of dogs I see out my window must have. The alpha in front, the rest are close behind, all in order, grouped and organized, they’re marching down the street – time to get moving.