Saturday, October 16, 2010
Dakota Patrick Kettenburg was a special little boy that experienced far too much pain in his too short life. Yet, he exuded more strength than your average adult--rarely ever crying and always displaying a smile--even though his little body was wracked with so much pain. He was born on October 16, 2002 but his parents, my sister, Tara, and brother-in-law, Todd, weren't aware of any problems until he was twenty-one days old. On his twenty first day of life, the problem would rear its ugly head and we nearly lost him that evening. When he was found in his crib, and subsequently taken to the hospital, it was discovered that he was born with coarctation of the aortic valve. In other words, his aorta was twisted like a pretzel instead of arched like ours.
After many surgeries and a nearly year long, off and on stay, at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia (CHOP), he came home to us--even though for a short time. We didn't have him home for many holidays, or birthdays, for that matter, but we cherished every moment. As I said previously, he was a precious little boy. We don't know if he would have ever walked or talked or run like your average child, but we always wonder what, at the age of eight, he would be like. What he would look like, his personality--all those wondrous differences that make you, you!
On the morning of January 22. 2005, my phone began ringing repeatedly at five o'clock. It was during the middle of a terrible snowstorm and I didn't answer because I thought it was the hospital trying to call me into work because people called off due to the weather. Boy, was I wrong!!!! Every hour my phone rang and then finally at nine o'clock the phone rang again, hung up, and then rang again. That was when I knew it wasn't work and I decided to pick up the phone. It was my mother. I remember her words very clearly--"Dakota is dying". I asked if there was anything that they could do for him and she said no. He had been screaming almost non-stop for the entire previous day and if I am not mistaken, he became unresponsive with his nurse. They called an ambulance, but because of the poor weather conditions, the ambulance wouldn't be able to get there for another half an hour. So, they wrapped him in a blanket and loaded him into a police car to transport him to the Lehigh Valley Hospital, who airlifted him to CHOP. They put him on life support and my sister and her husband had to make the decision to disconnect his ventilator. It turns out, he had a brain bleed due to use of Coumadin--it affected all but a nickel sized portion of his brain but he had no chance of survival without the ventilator. They transfused him with some blood until my sister could make her decision.
She held him and rocked him in her arms. I spoke to her on the phone during this time and I don't think I have ever heard her so inconsolable. I asked her to put the phone up to his ear and I told him that I loved him, I didn't want him to go, but I understood that if he needed to go, he had my blessings but I would miss him dearly. My sister, Tammy, took the phone from his ear, told me that he was still with us, and told me she would keep me posted. About fifteen minutes later, she called me back, and told me that he went to sleep. He was now our littlest Angel and would watch over us for the rest of our lives.
The funeral was a sad experience. My family had a terrible time with it. His casket was a tiny, white infant casket because he was only about twelve pounds when he passed away. They posted a photo at the head of the casket and I ordered a pillow with blue sweetheart roses for him to be buried with. I also put coins with the dates of his birth and death on them in his shirt pocket. He looked so at peace and just like he was sleeping, however, we all knew and had trouble admitting that that wasn't the case. Our boy was gone!!! The music wasn't your typical funeral music--they played music from a travelling performer that went to the different children's hospitals in the area--Woody Wolfe.
So many people came to the funeral and there was such an outpouring of support from people, known to us and strangers, alike. The tragic death of one little boy taught so many how to live life to the fullest with a smile on your face...and also taught a family, not always so close, that there is kindness out in the world.
So, on this day--that which would have been your eighth birthday, I wish you a Happy Birthday, sweet Angel!!!! And I also just want to tell you that you are sorely missed and remembered EVERYDAY--not just on your birthday. We see you in the sun, the moon, the stars, the clouds, and every special piece of nature but most of all, in my HEART!!!! I love you forever and always!!!
ADDENDUM: My niece and Dakota's older sister, Cierra, read my blog post with an apparent sadness, which drove her to tears. She asked me to add a fact to this entry, which I had been previously unaware of. I knew his death was of quite a consequence to her--not only did she, in a sense, lose her mom and dad for a seemingly short time (to a four or five year old, it seems like an endless amount of time), she also lost her little brother. She didn't quite understand how it was that a child could die and then she was "awarded" the task, by Dakota's nurse to go wake up my mom and dad (her grandparents) and tell them that something was wrong with Dakota. I can't imagine the horror that she must of felt. I was thirty-three and didn't quite understand my feelings or the fact that God would allow us to have Dakota for two years, with so many close calls, only to take him away. How did He expect a child of that age to understand any of what was going on???? So, Cierra, this is for you. I commend the strength that you exhibited--that I was unable to show!!! You are terrific, kiddo!!!
After many surgeries and a nearly year long, off and on stay, at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia (CHOP), he came home to us--even though for a short time. We didn't have him home for many holidays, or birthdays, for that matter, but we cherished every moment. As I said previously, he was a precious little boy. We don't know if he would have ever walked or talked or run like your average child, but we always wonder what, at the age of eight, he would be like. What he would look like, his personality--all those wondrous differences that make you, you!
On the morning of January 22. 2005, my phone began ringing repeatedly at five o'clock. It was during the middle of a terrible snowstorm and I didn't answer because I thought it was the hospital trying to call me into work because people called off due to the weather. Boy, was I wrong!!!! Every hour my phone rang and then finally at nine o'clock the phone rang again, hung up, and then rang again. That was when I knew it wasn't work and I decided to pick up the phone. It was my mother. I remember her words very clearly--"Dakota is dying". I asked if there was anything that they could do for him and she said no. He had been screaming almost non-stop for the entire previous day and if I am not mistaken, he became unresponsive with his nurse. They called an ambulance, but because of the poor weather conditions, the ambulance wouldn't be able to get there for another half an hour. So, they wrapped him in a blanket and loaded him into a police car to transport him to the Lehigh Valley Hospital, who airlifted him to CHOP. They put him on life support and my sister and her husband had to make the decision to disconnect his ventilator. It turns out, he had a brain bleed due to use of Coumadin--it affected all but a nickel sized portion of his brain but he had no chance of survival without the ventilator. They transfused him with some blood until my sister could make her decision.
She held him and rocked him in her arms. I spoke to her on the phone during this time and I don't think I have ever heard her so inconsolable. I asked her to put the phone up to his ear and I told him that I loved him, I didn't want him to go, but I understood that if he needed to go, he had my blessings but I would miss him dearly. My sister, Tammy, took the phone from his ear, told me that he was still with us, and told me she would keep me posted. About fifteen minutes later, she called me back, and told me that he went to sleep. He was now our littlest Angel and would watch over us for the rest of our lives.
The funeral was a sad experience. My family had a terrible time with it. His casket was a tiny, white infant casket because he was only about twelve pounds when he passed away. They posted a photo at the head of the casket and I ordered a pillow with blue sweetheart roses for him to be buried with. I also put coins with the dates of his birth and death on them in his shirt pocket. He looked so at peace and just like he was sleeping, however, we all knew and had trouble admitting that that wasn't the case. Our boy was gone!!! The music wasn't your typical funeral music--they played music from a travelling performer that went to the different children's hospitals in the area--Woody Wolfe.
So many people came to the funeral and there was such an outpouring of support from people, known to us and strangers, alike. The tragic death of one little boy taught so many how to live life to the fullest with a smile on your face...and also taught a family, not always so close, that there is kindness out in the world.
So, on this day--that which would have been your eighth birthday, I wish you a Happy Birthday, sweet Angel!!!! And I also just want to tell you that you are sorely missed and remembered EVERYDAY--not just on your birthday. We see you in the sun, the moon, the stars, the clouds, and every special piece of nature but most of all, in my HEART!!!! I love you forever and always!!!
ADDENDUM: My niece and Dakota's older sister, Cierra, read my blog post with an apparent sadness, which drove her to tears. She asked me to add a fact to this entry, which I had been previously unaware of. I knew his death was of quite a consequence to her--not only did she, in a sense, lose her mom and dad for a seemingly short time (to a four or five year old, it seems like an endless amount of time), she also lost her little brother. She didn't quite understand how it was that a child could die and then she was "awarded" the task, by Dakota's nurse to go wake up my mom and dad (her grandparents) and tell them that something was wrong with Dakota. I can't imagine the horror that she must of felt. I was thirty-three and didn't quite understand my feelings or the fact that God would allow us to have Dakota for two years, with so many close calls, only to take him away. How did He expect a child of that age to understand any of what was going on???? So, Cierra, this is for you. I commend the strength that you exhibited--that I was unable to show!!! You are terrific, kiddo!!!
