Survivor Mode: My personal blog on my thoughts and feelings living in a nursing facility.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Am finally starting to feel better; getting over pneumonia and bronchitis. I have developed congestive heart failure. I still have that. I still don't know when I will have surgery on my hernia yet, but in a couple of weeks we will find out when it will be, I hope. It has been painful and really been bothering me. I had the last of my antibiotics on Tuesday, so that's a good sign. That's the end of my short update for this week; we will know more next week. I am all decorated for Easter; I have bunnies and chicks and frogs everywhere. The frogs were from activity projects that we made. Love always, Darci and the ever faithful, Skippy
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
March 9, 2011
The Little Boy with the Special Heart
I was in grade school when I went to my first funeral. By the time I was in high school I had attended a variety of memorials for departed elderly family friends or relatives. But the hardest death for me to accept happened when I was 14 years old, and a freshman in high school.
For nearly two years I had stayed downstairs in our church basement every Sunday to look after baby Darrin, giving his parents the opportunity to enjoy an uninterrupted worship. I was crazy about little Darrin and loved to take care of him. His parents knew they could trust me to treat their only child with special care, as I had a lot of experience taking care of disabled children. Darrin had been born with an enlarged heart, and was a very tiny, frail little boy. He had twinkling blue eyes, a bright smile, and an infectious giggle that always got to me. He loved the one-on-one attention I gave to him, as we had the entire basement to ourselves. I would cuddle him in my arms and sing nursery rhymes to soothe him, or I'd prop him up in his ever-present car seat and act out scenes from his favorite stories. His all-time favorite was the story about the gingerbread man who ran away. He loved it so much that I would reenact it for him every week. Darrin didn't share my enthusiasm for "The Pokey Little Puppy," but I forgave him for that.
When Darrin was approaching his second birthday he suddenly became very ill. His heart began to fail and he needed open heart surgery immediately. It was necessary to transport him by helicopter to a children's hospital in a nearby state for open heart surgery. The surgery failed and Darrin passed away on the operating table, surrounded by teams of doctors and nurses.
I begged my parents to let me attend the memorial for Darrin. I wanted to say a proper goodbye to him -- I felt like I at least owed him that. I also wanted to talk to his parents, who were expecting their second child in a few months. I knew it would be difficult for them to bury one child while expecting another. My mom and dad finally relented, and told me I could go to the viewing at the church before the funeral service began. Since my parents weren't very close to Darrin they chose to remain in the car while I paid my respects to him, thinking there would be other mourners present to help me through the process. Had they know it was an open casket service, my parents would not have let me go in alone. I could only stay for a few moments, as my parents were on a tight schedule to return my brother to school after a weekend visit.
When I entered the church I could see some people in the basement, but there was no one upstairs in the sanctuary. I was there all alone with the tiny pine casket. It was open so I could see his face, and that he was dressed in his favorite blue church suit and red-striped bow tie. His blond hair was neatly combed and his eyes were closed. I moved up closer to the casket, rested my hands on each side of the small coffin, and looked down on his paper-white face. That's when I was startled to notice that he didn't have a nose. Someone had attached a small piece of plastic there and powdered it. I found out later that his nose had been so badly burned by the medications they had to use during surgery, that he only had one small lump of skin where his nose used to be. I couldn't understand why his parents chose to have the casket open -- I still can't. I quietly said my final farewell to Darrin, then quickly went down the stairs and bolted from the church. I was so unnerved I completely forgot that I had planned to speak to his parents. I cried during most of the long drive to my brother's school, and it was then that I decided I want to be cremated after my death. I want people to remember my life, not how I looked in the casket. I have never regretted attending the viewing, although I disagree with his parents' decision to have an open casket. I always try to remember Darrin as a very warm, loving, and happy baby.
Hope you enjoyed reading about sweet little Darrin, as he was very special to me. See you back here in seven!
Love always, Darci and Skippy
I was in grade school when I went to my first funeral. By the time I was in high school I had attended a variety of memorials for departed elderly family friends or relatives. But the hardest death for me to accept happened when I was 14 years old, and a freshman in high school.
For nearly two years I had stayed downstairs in our church basement every Sunday to look after baby Darrin, giving his parents the opportunity to enjoy an uninterrupted worship. I was crazy about little Darrin and loved to take care of him. His parents knew they could trust me to treat their only child with special care, as I had a lot of experience taking care of disabled children. Darrin had been born with an enlarged heart, and was a very tiny, frail little boy. He had twinkling blue eyes, a bright smile, and an infectious giggle that always got to me. He loved the one-on-one attention I gave to him, as we had the entire basement to ourselves. I would cuddle him in my arms and sing nursery rhymes to soothe him, or I'd prop him up in his ever-present car seat and act out scenes from his favorite stories. His all-time favorite was the story about the gingerbread man who ran away. He loved it so much that I would reenact it for him every week. Darrin didn't share my enthusiasm for "The Pokey Little Puppy," but I forgave him for that.
When Darrin was approaching his second birthday he suddenly became very ill. His heart began to fail and he needed open heart surgery immediately. It was necessary to transport him by helicopter to a children's hospital in a nearby state for open heart surgery. The surgery failed and Darrin passed away on the operating table, surrounded by teams of doctors and nurses.
I begged my parents to let me attend the memorial for Darrin. I wanted to say a proper goodbye to him -- I felt like I at least owed him that. I also wanted to talk to his parents, who were expecting their second child in a few months. I knew it would be difficult for them to bury one child while expecting another. My mom and dad finally relented, and told me I could go to the viewing at the church before the funeral service began. Since my parents weren't very close to Darrin they chose to remain in the car while I paid my respects to him, thinking there would be other mourners present to help me through the process. Had they know it was an open casket service, my parents would not have let me go in alone. I could only stay for a few moments, as my parents were on a tight schedule to return my brother to school after a weekend visit.
When I entered the church I could see some people in the basement, but there was no one upstairs in the sanctuary. I was there all alone with the tiny pine casket. It was open so I could see his face, and that he was dressed in his favorite blue church suit and red-striped bow tie. His blond hair was neatly combed and his eyes were closed. I moved up closer to the casket, rested my hands on each side of the small coffin, and looked down on his paper-white face. That's when I was startled to notice that he didn't have a nose. Someone had attached a small piece of plastic there and powdered it. I found out later that his nose had been so badly burned by the medications they had to use during surgery, that he only had one small lump of skin where his nose used to be. I couldn't understand why his parents chose to have the casket open -- I still can't. I quietly said my final farewell to Darrin, then quickly went down the stairs and bolted from the church. I was so unnerved I completely forgot that I had planned to speak to his parents. I cried during most of the long drive to my brother's school, and it was then that I decided I want to be cremated after my death. I want people to remember my life, not how I looked in the casket. I have never regretted attending the viewing, although I disagree with his parents' decision to have an open casket. I always try to remember Darrin as a very warm, loving, and happy baby.
Hope you enjoyed reading about sweet little Darrin, as he was very special to me. See you back here in seven!
Love always, Darci and Skippy
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