The Color Blue: Remembering the Death of a Child

The Color Blue: Remembering the Death of a Child

by David J. Leonard | NewBlackMan (in Exile)

Today is the 6^th anniversary of the death of our daughter, Sophie.  Some 12 hours after we first met, she would succumb to an infection, dying right as we sat powerless.  In an instant, we had lost our child; we had joined so many other families worldwide who have lost children.

The day and our loss still haunt me.  I wrote about this part of my life here:

Each and detail of that day remains with: a graduate student dropping me off at the hospital; how sick my wife looked when I entered the room; the muted cries when she was born; the concerned look on our doctor’s face. More vivid and painful are the memories of me sitting on the floor when she went into cardiac arrest, the clothes I was wearing, the hospital smell, and the sounds of “code blue.”  Almost weekly, the sight of a helicopter prompts thoughts, painful memories of the 60+ mile trip I took in the dark as we searched for someone to help her.  I was so close to my dying daughter yet unable to help or hold her. 

These sights and sounds remain with me.  The fear that paralyzed me as sat in a hospital at 2 AM hoping, praying, and begging for her to get better, is still with me. Six years hasn’t quieted these visual memories, although time, family, and friends have been immensely helpful as we work to move forward with these memories.   The process of moving forward with these memories, with Sophie, was not an easy process.  I don’t even think about “healing” as it has never been about getting better but instead of taking steps forward with these memories, with our love for her, and with her being present in my life.  Therapy really helped in the process, allowing me to process my feelings about vulnerability, life and death, and a sense of powerlessness.  Writing has also been really important for me.  Her death led me to start writing spoken word pieces as a way to express my pain and sorrow.  With this in mind, I decided to share with you this piece, which entitled “The Color Blue”

The Color Blue

Blue Skies

Lighting my day

Sandy beaches, smiling under the hot sunny, blue skies

Blue water

Whether the Pacific Ocean or a calming lake

Childhood memories of a family splashing and merely enjoying the blue water

My Blue shoes

Certainly not suede, but my first pair of Jordans

White with blue trim

Looking fly with my Dodgers jersey and hat, ballin in blue before I know how to ball

Looking fly with my Dodgers jersey and hat, rockin in blue before I know what to do [with life]

Blueberry pancakes

The perfect remedy to a cold Sunday morning

The smell intoxicates the house; sweet and hot, comforting on even the dreariest day

I use to love blue

Even the blues

Because through other’s expressed pain I found my happiness

Not now

I am the blues

I have the blues

I am defined the blues

Because of the pain of the blues

No longer blues skies or pristine blue waters reflecting off the sun

No longer about fly blue gear or comfort food on the bluest of days

But blue as pain

Blue as despair

Blue as the beginning of a new life

And Blue as the end of several lives

Code Blue

Code Blue

Blue sirens blazin

As the doctors race to save her life

Wearing their blue scrubs

Code Blue

Code Blue

Blue sirens blazin

“She’s not breathin,” they yell

She’s turning blue

Code Blue

Code Blue

Blue sirens blazin

No longer pink and innocent

Her skin turns blue with each comment without the nourishment of Oxygen

Code Blue

Code Blue

Blue sirens blazin

Ifs that not enough, the needs and medicine leaves bruises

Dark blue, the color of those once comforting blueberries

A deathly blue

Code Blue

Code Blue

For her or me

Because my blues define me

Are me

Yet unlike my Sophie’s blue, my blues won’t kill me

***

 

David J. Leonard is Associate Professor in the Department of Critical Culture, Gender and Race Studies at Washington State University, Pullman. He is the author of the just released After Artest: Race and the War on Hoop (SUNY Press) as well as several other works. Leonard is a regular contributor to NewBlackMan, layupline, Feminist Wire, and Urban Cusp. He is frequent contributor to Ebony, Slam, and Racialicious as well as a past contributor to Loop21, The Nation and The Starting Five. He blogs @No Tsuris.

A Prayer for Sophie

"Woman with Dead Child" by Kathe Kollwitz

A Prayer for Sophie

by David J. Leonard | NewBlackMan

Five years ago, on October 2, 2006, our family experienced one of life’s great joys, the birth of our second child, Sophie Nicole Leonard.  We had spent the months leading up to her birth excitingly waiting for her to join our family.  I can still remember painting her room or getting all of the baby stuff ready; the vivid image of our oldest daughter shouting to her unborn sister “the eggs are coming down and they taste really good,” as my partner ate her breakfast, remains encased in my mind.    

Our joy and excitement would quickly turn into devastating agony, with our daughter ultimately succumbing to an infection, dying in the early morning of October 3^rd.  In an instant, we had lost our child, a tragedy that was beyond our imagination, even though its occurrence is too common throughout the world.  Every detail of that day sits with me: getting dropped off at the hospital; how sick my wife looked when I entered the room; the sights and sounds when Sophie entered the world. More vivid and painful are the memories of where I was sitting when she went into cardiac arrest, the clothes I was wearing, the hospital smell, and the sounds of “code blue.”  To this day, I still cannot see a helicopter without thinking about the 60+ mile trip I took in the dark, so close to my dying daughter yet unable to help or hold her.  I cannot shake these memories nor can I shake those moments alone in a sterile and quiet hospital at 3AM where I obsessively watched the various monitors as evidence of her continued life.  Just closing my eyes now, I can still see myself in the waiting room – waiting for things to turn around, waiting for my wife to arrive, waiting for the pain to stop; waiting . . . waiting, only to see her die in front of us, holding her one time before we drove those 60 long miles home. 

While it has been five years, these memories remain strong.  They remain with me.  So does the number of people who told me, “It’s not suppose to happen.”  While understanding people’s efforts to ease our pain by noting disbelief and shock since it wasn’t suppose to happen to “us,” the idea that we (and not others) were suppose to be immune to the tragedy of losing our daughter is one that sticks with me.  It isn’t suppose to happen to anyone, but it happens all too often within the United States and globally.   

For every 1,000 live births, 4.5 babies die in the United States.  While relatively uncommon in the United States, the U.S. accounts for the second largest amount of neonatal deaths (that includes child deaths within the first 27 days of life) in the industrialized world.  Compared to other countries around the world, the United States ranks with Croatia, United Arab Emirates, and Qatar, and lags behind Cuba, Slovakia, all of Western Europe and Scandinavia. The situation is even worse when as we look at racial inequality, especially as we look at the first year of life.  African American children are 2.5 times more likely to die before their first birthday than white children.  Janell Ross, in “Latino Health Paradox: Latinos Boast Low Infant Mortality, Long Lives Despite Risk Factors” describes the predicament in the following way:  

Nationally, the white infant mortality rate was 5.6 per 1,000 births in 2007, the most recent year for which data are available. White Americans also have the nation's highest average income and education levels, markers usually associated with good health.

Average Latino education and income levels are closer to those of African Americans. But the difference between the infant mortality rate for most Latinos (Puerto Ricans are the exception) and the black rate is vast. There were 5.5 per 1,000 Latino infants born in 2007 who died before their first birthday. That same year, 13.3 per 1,000 black children died in their first year.

Children surviving birth is even more precarious throughout the developing world.  Each year, three million babies die in the first week of life, with an additional one million dying by the 27^th day.  Four million babiesdo not live past their 28^th day of life, mostly from preventable diseases and malnutrition.  A recent study found that babies under the age of 1 month account for 41% of all child death, with over half of those deaths occurring in five countries: Pakistan, Nigeria, China, Congo, and India, where more than 900,000 babies die each year.  In Afghanistan, 1 out in every 19 babies born die shortly after they enter the world.   Every minute, 7 newborn babies die, even though a vast majority could be saved. “Three quarters of the four million newborn babies that die every year could be saved with low-cost, low-tech care, scientists and health agencies are urging,” writes Katherine Davis. “It would require initial investment to provide the extra clinics and midwife training needed to achieve these vast improvements, but even simple, cheap measures such as health education and tetanus immunisation could save one million babies each year - 99% of whom live in developing countries.”

As I look at the abysmal numbers, the lost lives, and the pain so many families have experienced, I am at a loss.  I can’t help but think about those who said it is not supposed to happen to us because of our privileges.  I can’t help but think that their shock reflects a kind of acceptance and ignorance about the issue of neonatal and child death around the world.  I can’t help but think that losing a child, whether during pregnancy, at birth, or any time during life is not supposed to happen to any of us irrespective of race, class, or nationality.  But in reality, race, class, and privilege matter, making many families more vulnerable to the pain and suffering than even us.

With all of this on my mind, and with my thoughts with our Sophie and the many other families who have lost children, I continue to move forward with her memory.  In her brief life, she taught me so much about love, family, and the importance of moving forward with her to help others.  So, to say I love you and to say Happy birthday, I am donating 10.02 (her birthday being 10/02) to Save the Children so that the number of babies who die throughout the world declines (see here for details about their efforts to combat neonatal death).  I would be honored if you could do the same, donating 10.02 to pay tribute to the lost lives and the future saves.       

***

David J. Leonard is Associate Professor in the Department of Critical Culture, Gender and Race Studies at Washington State University, Pullman. He is the author of Screens Fade to Black: Contemporary African American Cinema and the forthcoming After Artest: Race and the War on Hoop (SUNY Press). Leonard is a regular contributor to NewBlackMan and blogs @ No Tsuris.