Part 3 - He would have been 21.

Memoirs of two days… 

Life is getting back to routine. Work is interesting. The boss is nice. Colleagues are supportive and great. I'm 33 years old.  I'm alive.  I'm grateful for all that I have.

The rollercoaster ride is almost over, I think. I’m going to join the millions of people who grumble about boredom. It’s a nice feeling. 

16 July 1992 

I get home from work; pick up the kids who are two doors away at the babysitter. We settle down and Robocops is keeping the boys distracted while I fold the clothes. I’m eating a cheesecake, I remember. Jared is not interested. Eric is. He comes over to take a small bite and then he goes to sit on the chair across from me. 

When I next look at him, he’s lying down and I tell Jared to move near him so he won’t fall off the chair. Eric doesn’t move when I call his name. I reach for him and he is lifeless.  He’s not responding to me.  He’s wet his pants. 

I yell to Jared to go to the neighbours. He doesn’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what’s going on either. I just know that I have to get to the hospital. 

Jared looks for his slippers and I tell him not to bother. “Just go”, I say. Tell Aunty Suan that I’ll call her later. I really didn’t know what I was going to do. It was only seconds but I remember that Ellen of Claire Florist came at that precise moment to deliver some flowers.  I just carried Eric to the van and told her that I needed to go to the hospital. Ellen reacted immediately. We didn’t speak at all. I was shivering. It took about 10 or 12 minutes to get there. I held my limp child in my arms and told God not to take him. 

At the hospital, they took him from me while I quickly said everything that I thought they needed to know. Heart surgery. Singapore. Six weeks. VSD. Collapsed. Not breathing. Help him. Help me. 

While they worked on him, I sat with Ellen and finally she had to leave. The doctor came and said that I should call the father. 

There was no father. I was alone. My heart was pounding. I had come so far, this couldn’t end this way. No, it shouldn’t end this way. I am optimistic. A doctor comes to ask me for more details and he says that they will have to put an external pacemaker and I nod my head. He hesitates before he tells me that Eric stopped breathing for a bit. I look at him and he continues with the prognosis that there would be brain damage. The extent would not be known until Eric was stable. I nod my head again. 

People start coming and I’m in a daze. I smile and talk but inside I just want to scream aloud. I am so tired. I am really tired. This is the straw, they talk about, that broke the camel’s back. 

The doctor tells me that I should go home, have some food and come back later. Eric is breathing but his heart rate is very slow. The pacemaker should regulate it. 

It's almost midnight.  Eric is in the I.C.U. I am sitting outside with a friend. My mind is a blank. I am tired. I am worried. I am frightened. I am really scared. 

As the hours go by, I begin to think of contingency plans. For now, I can still work. The babysitter will manage. Jared will manage. I will manage. I know I will. 


My mind is racing and as my heart stops pounding, I begin to wonder who will manage when we are gone. He’s the youngest of us. In that moment, I pray that we wouldn’t need to reach that stage. 

17 July 1992 

In the quiet of the early morning, I hear the elevator door open. I see the doctor. He avoids looking at me. He goes into the ICU. I stand outside. Watching through the glass. Anxious. Willing the nurse to notice me. I see a lot of movement. Nurses running. I want to barge in but I remain rooted outside the door. Then the doctor walks slowly towards me. He doesn't look up untill he reaches me.  He says they did all they could to keep him alive. He says that he’s so sorry. I don’t know what to say. 

I’ve just been told that my son is dead. I cannot comprehend it yet. I think of the flowers that I need to bring to the office. I call my boss to tell him that I won’t be going in to work until I don’t know when. I can’t remember much after that. I just blanked out the pain and some of the memories of that morning. 

When I lost my father, it hurt so bad. 

When I lost my husband, it hurt even worse. 

And when I lost my child, it hurt the worst of all.