SIDS: A Big Brother Perspective 

Sunday, October 8, 2006. My cousin and I were in our Sunday best playing Pokemon Colosseum on my box TV (I mean it still worked so why not) while waiting on my grandparents to finish getting ready for church. As I was in the middle of a Pokemon battle, my cousin said to me, “Hey Gabe, there is a fire truck at your mom’s house.” I looked out my window past the morning fog next door to my mother’s and saw the firetruck I’ve seen parked at our small, country fire station. Now, I was not sure what was going on. To my nine year old brain, fire trucks were for fire, ambulances were for sick people, and police cars were meant for people breaking the law. That was my knowledge of first responders at the time. I was worried, but not mortified… yet.

We race into the kitchen. My grandfather, who was rather calm in most situations, was on the wired telephone shouting in his powerful voice,  “Oh God! Oh God! It’s Elena.”

Elena Isadora Duque was my little sister born on September 1, 2006. She was my first sibling (well, that I knew about at the time). I remember visiting my mother at the hospital when Elena was born, but we were not allowed to see her for 24hrs. I found this odd, but did not question it. Turns out “she was not breathing” when she was born. Now, to a NICU nurse, it is not that simple. Did she need PPV? Was she a full code? How far into the NRP algorithm they got is still a mystery to me to this day. Day two we got to see her. She was giving hunger cues appropriately as her big brown eyes gazed upon my face, and I never gave a second thought of why I could not meet her the previous day. 

We ran next door. I can still see my grandmother in her church attire running barefoot past the muscadine vines through the field between the houses on that overcast Carolina autumn day. I ran to the front door and froze. Firemen rushed around me. I turned around. My cousin and I walked behind the house. I looked at my beagle puppy in the kennel. It felt like my world was spinning. I really wish I could paint a better picture of what was going on when I went behind the house, but the only event I can recall was my cousin saying, “Do you want to pray?” All I could say was, “How can anyone pray in a time like this.” A few minutes, which seemed like hours, passed. My grandfather comes out the back door. I look up at him with tears flowing down my 9 year old face, bloodshot eyes, drainage pouring from my nose, with my breath caught long enough to see him shake his head in a somber manner. Again, I blacked out mourning… my one month old sister was dead.

Babies aren’t supposed to die. Old people die. My naive nine year old brain could not comprehend. People visited our home, and in southern fashion, brought a cornucopia of dishes to feast upon. It is very common to eat our feelings as a part of the grieving process in the South. My mom did not leave the house much, and I didn’t go next door to see her much either. The first time I saw her shortly after my sister passed, she was in a fetal position on the couch with the last blanket she wore silent with tears running down her face. I called out to her “Momma. Momma.” No response. Just a fixed gaze into the distance. 

Her funeral was October 11, 2006. The funeral was originally supposed to be on October 10th, but my grandfather insisted that the funeral not be on my  birthday. I was not allowed to go. My mother said that “[I] couldn’t emotionally handle it.” I never got to tell my sister goodbye. 

After the funeral, it was not over. A year later I was still mourning. My 5th grade teacher at my Christian school told me “You need to let Christ take this from you, and get over it.” I learned that the Sumter County Sheriff's Department wanted to open an investigation on my mother and step-father for my sister’s death. Luckily, the county coroner at the time told them “This mother already lost her child. Let’s not take her away from her other one too.” As the years passed I visited her grave from time to time, all the way until I moved to Atlanta to pursue nursing. 

The American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) has a list of safe sleep guidelines to help parents reduce the risk of SIDS. One of those is to share the room and not the bed… which I later found out my parents were not doing. She was in the bed with them the morning she passed. The AAP also does not recommend home cardiorespiratory monitors to reduce the risk of SIDS. Many parents feel that this brings them peace of mind. A year later when my brother was born we did obtain a breathing monitor for him, but at least for me, it did not bring peace and only added to the fear of sudden death. I laid awake at night at eleven years old… waiting for the alarm to go off. I repeated the infant CPR session at discharge in my mind knowing my mother would not be emotionally able to do it if needed. Insomnia at age 11 was not easily dealt with. 

October is Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS) Awareness month. I encourage you to visit the following resources on SIDS and risk prevention strategies.

AAP Safe Sleep SIDS/SUIDS risk mitigation strategies.

The Psychological Consequences of SIDS

First Candle SIDS Education and Grief Support

First Candle SIDS Support Group

Guys and Grief: Supporting Fathers who have lost a child

Explaining SIDS to Siblings Based on Developmental Age 

Thank you for allowing me to tell my story. 

Gabriel Hutson, MN, RN, RNC-NIC, C-ELBW, C-NNIC

Elena Isadora Duque 

September 1, 2006- October 8, 2006.