| Family Non-Fiction posted November 12, 2022 |
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My son, Mark
Never Forgotten
by prettybluebirds
In November 1970, we joyfully awaited the birth of our second child. My husband hoped for a little girl as he had three sons from a previous marriage, and our son, Roy, would be two in February 1971. Back in those times, parents didn't know the sex of their child before it was born; you got what you got. I didn't care, boy or girl; I wanted another baby to hold and love.
Mark came into the world on November 21st, 1970, and he came in a hurry. We barely made it to the hospital before he was born. I was overwhelmed with love when I held him for the first time and looked into his scrunched-up little face.
Mark was the complete opposite of his older brother. Where Roy was dark-haired and stocky, Mark was a slender, brown-haired baby. His temperament was different too. Roy had been a fussy, colicky, noisy child, and Mark was a content, quiet little guy. At two weeks, he slept through the nights, which any mother will tell you is a miracle.
Our son, Mark, thrived and seemed to grow bigger every day. He was an easy baby to care for and love. By the end of the first month, he appeared to recognize faces and attempted his first quavering smile. I loved the little fellow with all my heart and looked forward to watching him grow. However, sometimes fate has other plans.
On January 20th, 1971, my baby boy seemed unusually fussy and refused to eat. He had always been a healthy eater, so I knew something was bothering him. Mark seemed to have a difficult time breathing too. I was concerned but figured it might be asthma, as my older son, Roy, had already had several attacks in his short life. I suffered from asthma when I was a baby too. I decided not to take any chances, bundled Mark up, and took him to the emergency room at the nearest hospital.
The doctor checked Mark over and agreed that it was indeed asthma. Mark didn't have a fever; it was just tough for him to breathe. He gave my baby several shots and sent him home with me. At the time, I wondered why the doctor didn't admit Mark to the hospital. I'm not sure it would have made a difference, but the baby would have been where he could have received immediate help in case of a problem.
I arrived home with Mark and hoped the shots would make him feel better soon. The poor little guy was exhausted from his trip to the hospital and being awake all day. He continued to fuss and seemed generally unhappy, so I rocked him until he slipped into a fitful slumber. Soon, Mark seemed to be in a deep sleep, so I put him in his baby carrier, hoping he would get some rest. I recalled my mother telling me how she kept me upright so I could breathe better during an asthma attack, thus the reason for the carrier instead of his crib.
I kept Mark close while I fixed dinner and cleaned the house. Around seven in the evening, I needed to give Mark medicine the doctor had sent home with me, and I thought he might eat a bit if I woke him up. Just as I reached for Mark, he gasped and quit breathing. Panic flooded my veins, but I retained some common sense and started giving him mouth-to-mouth to no avail. My husband was in the bedroom, so I screamed for him to come and help me; he knew CPR from his army days, and I hoped he could help our baby boy. It was no use. After ten minutes with no response, my husband looked at me with tears running down his face and shook his head. Our little boy was gone.
An autopsy revealed Mark had viral pneumonia, which caused his death. I don't recall much about the next few days, but I remember our son, Roy, repeatedly asking, "Where Mark, where Mark?" How does one explain to a two-year-old that his brother is gone forever? We tried, but I don't think he was old enough to understand.
Our son, Mark, never felt the cool grass beneath his bare feet or the warm, soft spring breezes. He never heard a bird sing or built sand castles on the beach. Mark never ran and played with his brother or made a snowman in the winter. He never felt the softness of a cat's fur or enjoyed a romp with the family dog. Mark has missed all the joys and trials of live on earth, as we have missed having him with us. Only one thing is for sure, we will never forget him.
True Story Contest contest entry
In November 1970, we joyfully awaited the birth of our second child. My husband hoped for a little girl as he had three sons from a previous marriage, and our son, Roy, would be two in February 1971. Back in those times, parents didn't know the sex of their child before it was born; you got what you got. I didn't care, boy or girl; I wanted another baby to hold and love.
Mark came into the world on November 21st, 1970, and he came in a hurry. We barely made it to the hospital before he was born. I was overwhelmed with love when I held him for the first time and looked into his scrunched-up little face.
Mark was the complete opposite of his older brother. Where Roy was dark-haired and stocky, Mark was a slender, brown-haired baby. His temperament was different too. Roy had been a fussy, colicky, noisy child, and Mark was a content, quiet little guy. At two weeks, he slept through the nights, which any mother will tell you is a miracle.
Our son, Mark, thrived and seemed to grow bigger every day. He was an easy baby to care for and love. By the end of the first month, he appeared to recognize faces and attempted his first quavering smile. I loved the little fellow with all my heart and looked forward to watching him grow. However, sometimes fate has other plans.
On January 20th, 1971, my baby boy seemed unusually fussy and refused to eat. He had always been a healthy eater, so I knew something was bothering him. Mark seemed to have a difficult time breathing too. I was concerned but figured it might be asthma, as my older son, Roy, had already had several attacks in his short life. I suffered from asthma when I was a baby too. I decided not to take any chances, bundled Mark up, and took him to the emergency room at the nearest hospital.
The doctor checked Mark over and agreed that it was indeed asthma. Mark didn't have a fever; it was just tough for him to breathe. He gave my baby several shots and sent him home with me. At the time, I wondered why the doctor didn't admit Mark to the hospital. I'm not sure it would have made a difference, but the baby would have been where he could have received immediate help in case of a problem.
I arrived home with Mark and hoped the shots would make him feel better soon. The poor little guy was exhausted from his trip to the hospital and being awake all day. He continued to fuss and seemed generally unhappy, so I rocked him until he slipped into a fitful slumber. Soon, Mark seemed to be in a deep sleep, so I put him in his baby carrier, hoping he would get some rest. I recalled my mother telling me how she kept me upright so I could breathe better during an asthma attack, thus the reason for the carrier instead of his crib.
I kept Mark close while I fixed dinner and cleaned the house. Around seven in the evening, I needed to give Mark medicine the doctor had sent home with me, and I thought he might eat a bit if I woke him up. Just as I reached for Mark, he gasped and quit breathing. Panic flooded my veins, but I retained some common sense and started giving him mouth-to-mouth to no avail. My husband was in the bedroom, so I screamed for him to come and help me; he knew CPR from his army days, and I hoped he could help our baby boy. It was no use. After ten minutes with no response, my husband looked at me with tears running down his face and shook his head. Our little boy was gone.
An autopsy revealed Mark had viral pneumonia, which caused his death. I don't recall much about the next few days, but I remember our son, Roy, repeatedly asking, "Where Mark, where Mark?" How does one explain to a two-year-old that his brother is gone forever? We tried, but I don't think he was old enough to understand.
Our son, Mark, never felt the cool grass beneath his bare feet or the warm, soft spring breezes. He never heard a bird sing or built sand castles on the beach. Mark never ran and played with his brother or made a snowman in the winter. He never felt the softness of a cat's fur or enjoyed a romp with the family dog. Mark has missed all the joys and trials of live on earth, as we have missed having him with us. Only one thing is for sure, we will never forget him.
 Recognized |
#7 November 2022 |
I have written several stories about losing my son, Roy, in a hunting accident. We lost Mark when he was two months old, but it didn't hurt any less. This is the first story I have penned about Mark. I don't have a photo of him to put on here.
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