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I got a call from my mom. I heard her say my name and repeat it several times before she could get the words out. I knew by the complete terror in her voice...that something terrible had happened. “Sherri, the baby drowned. You need to be here for your sister; we are at the hospital.” I, at the time, was holding my tiny new
granddaughter - only one month old.
I remember the room spinning and being unable to breathe.
I was shaking and trying to get myself together.
I was trying to focus on the fact that my 21-year-old sister, who was
eight months pregnant, was going to need me to be strong. I kept thinking, “Devin can’t be gone. I didn’t get to kiss him goodbye and
hadn’t hugged him in a week.” I handed my granddaughter to my daughter who was crying and in a state of disbelief. I left her behind and began to drive to the hospital. The drive seemed like days but it was actually only seven miles from home. In the car I think I cried harder and deeper than I ever have. I was hyperventilating and imagining having to see Devin dead. I also called my brother to tell him that Devin had drowned and to meet me at the hospital.
I was trying so hard to process what had been told to me just minutes earlier. This could not be happening…not to Devin, not to my sister, not to any of us!
I got to the hospital and my whole family was there. A doctor we love and trust happened to be working in the ER that night and was working to revive Devin.
It was chaotic. Nurses, doctors, police, security, and family were crying and praying. We were hysterical at times and calm at others. They would not let us in to see Devin. He came to the hospital without a pulse. He was in a coma and on a ventilator. We came to find out later that he had been down for about 35 minutes and in the canal for as long as 18 minutes.
All I could say to my sister was, “If God takes him tonight, know that he will be in the arms of Jesus…a place every child wants to be.” I also wanted her to know that it was an accident. That it was not her fault. She was calm and more or less in denial; it was almost as if she thought she would be able to take him home in a little while.
After a few minutes our doctor came out and told us that they had gotten a pulse back and some reaction to light in his eyes, but that he was in extremely critical condition and would be life-flighted to Phoenix Children’s Hospital (one hundred miles from home) once they could stabilize him for the flight.
We were told that the
outlook was very grim, yet he was alive
It is hard to explain what you feel as you consider the thought that you are losing someone you love, especially a child. The pain hurts everywhere. I vomited while I was at the hospital and remember feeling so out of control. I could not imagine the thought of losing him. I believed that my sister could not go on without him.
I remember being in a tiny room with grief counselors, police, and social workers. The family was there. All I could do was be on my knees praying. Praying that whatever was going to happen, we would be able to handle it, that we would be able to accept it, that we would be able to trust God and his plans for all of us.
I was also praying for a miracle...
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and we began to grab on to hope.
