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Stories of Lost Children

Keteyian
by Gabrielle Sprauve-Ga, Pikesville, MD, U.S.A.

1King 17:17-24 And it came to pass after these things, that the son of the woman, the mistress of the house, fell sick; and his sickness was so sore, that there was no breath left in him. And she said unto Elijah, What have I to do with thee, O thou man of God? art thou come unto me to call my sin to remembrance, and to slay my son? And he said unto her, Give me thy son. And he took him out of her bosom, and carried him up into a loft, where he abode, and laid him upon his own bed. And he cried unto the LORD, and said, O LORD my God, hast thou also brought evil upon the widow with whom I sojourn, by slaying her son? And he stretched himself upon the child three times, and cried unto the LORD, and said, O LORD my God, I pray thee, let this child's soul come into him again. And the LORD heard the voice of Elijah; and the soul of the child came into him again, and he revived. And Elijah took the child, and brought him down out of the chamber into the house, and delivered him unto his mother: and Elijah said, See, thy son liveth. And the woman said to Elijah, Now by this I know that thou art a man of God, and that the word of the LORD in thy mouth is truth.

Clad each day with layers of faith that I believed could move mountains, feeling the security of my properly in place breastplate of salvation and certainly not worrying about having no armor for my back because I knew that the Lord had that covered, I never once thought that a revival was not in sight on July 23, 2001 when my infant son stopped breathing. I raced to the steps by my bedroom in response to my 10 year old daughter calling out to me saying, “Ma I think something is wrong with Keteyian.” I went over to her asking, ‘Why do you think that?” She held his limp body out to me saying, “See, there is a little bubbly blood or something coming from his nose.” Racing to the telephone, I hurriedly dialed 911 and was caught so unexpectedly in the scene unfolding before my eyes, that when they asked whether I needed the police, ambulance or fire department, I shouted out one after the other until I finally screamed to the operator that my infant son had a bubbly reddish froth coming from his nostrils. She then asked if he were breathing. I had never once thought that he couldn’t be, and in my frenzy, could not even be sure. My father-in-law whom I had been talking to when my daughter approached me, nor I could tell for sure if his chest were heaving up or down or if we could feel any breath coming from his nostrils. The operator said I needed to gently blow breath into his mouth while administering CPR. I had taken a CPR course before, so I knew it was a little different for infants, and the operator walked me through it and kept talking as she told me that the paramedics would be there shortly.

I don’t know how they arrived as quickly as they did, but I was relieved to have the experts take over. They immediately started to work on him. I heard them speaking about not finding a pulse or heartbeat, yet I could hear breathing at this point. I asked one of the paramedics if he said he didn’t hear a heartbeat. I could see his reluctance and begged him to level with me. I inquired as to the breathing sounds I was hearing and he informed me that it was a machine they hooked up to him doing the breathing for him. He said they would keep working on him as they transported him to the ER. I raced upstairs to change from the wet shorts I had been wearing as I had been cleaning some fish when it all started. I could look over the railing of my loft bedroom and keep an eye on them as I slipped into my pants and raced back downstairs to ride with them to the hospital. The experts were there and soon the scare that Keteyian had given us would be over. That is truly what I thought and since I am not given into panic and worry, I was highly confident of that.

I wasn’t allowed to ride in the back of the ambulance with my son. I am assuming that perhaps the medic thought I would become hysterical and I begged him to let me ride in the back and promised I would not get in the way or become hysterical. On television the patient’s family was always allowed to ride in the back. For a split second I felt a little despair thinking that perhaps this medic was not hopeful that they would be able to save my son. I quickly blocked that thought out of my mind and obeyed the driver who said I could ride in the front with him but not in the back with Keteyian. I could look back through the little window and see them frantically working on him from there.

Somewhere in the process when the medics first came to the house, my neighbor had come over and taken my daughter and my nephew who was there also. My two younger children were at camp. My father-in-law was inside the house, devastated. He wanted to know if he should contact my mother-in-law who lived about five minutes away, and I answered no, knowing how much she would panic, and figuring that everything would be alright soon then we could tell her about the close call. I asked him to keep trying to reach my husband who was at work.

Sitting in the ambulance frozen with a realization that prayer was needed, I kept praying to my Lord and savior for a revival of “my” beloved son. Halfway to the hospital, the medics shouted something to the driver and he said okay and slowed down. I looked at him and asked why did he slow down. He now, I believe untruthfully answered that sometimes they have to put a tube down the patients mouth and need them to slow down. I wanted to believe that and not that they had decided it was hopeless for Keteyian at that point. We arrived at the emergency room very shortly afterward. By the time I got out of the ambulance they were already inside. I still cannot understand how they were able to get him in there before I could even get out of the ambulance. I raced inside and located them with a team of doctors over him. Someone tried to get medical information from me and I told them they would have to wait. I had to get to my son. I had to push past that person as they were being insistent. I got to the table in time to hear someone else suggesting a certain other procedure they could try, only to hear the chief doctor saying in a cold, loud harsh voice, “For what? She’s DEAD!” “Dead?,” I shouted and raced past him to grab my baby from the table. That man couldn’t possibly know what he was talking about. My baby only needed me! “What do you mean dead?”, I shouted and grabbed my baby up off the table holding him closely. They couldn’t know what they were talking about and needed to still be trying something else.

Weeping tearlessly and moaning and pleading with my baby not to leave me, I stood hugging and holding him. He just looked like he was sleeping. His body was a little limp and a little more yellow than usual in color, but his body was just as warm as one with life in it. Sounds came form my mouth long before the tears came. At some point someone must have taken the baby from me. I remembered being ushered into a room where they had laid his body on a table. By then, family was arriving. I think my husband appeared with a very close co-worker and friend. I remember holding out my hand with the baby so he could hold him. I believe I was the one confirming our son’s death to my husband’s pleading, questioning eyes and voice. I remember him breaking down and saying, “Oh my Lord, No. No. No.”

More family started arriving. I don’t remember in what order. I also remember a police officer asking me into room so he could ask some routine questions of me and get permission for a house search. He said in cases where cause of death is unknown and where SIDS was suspected they had to perform routine house searches to add to the final determination. I gave permission and let him know that my father-in-law was at home. Either before or after this, I remember trying to use a phone to contact my mother-in-law. She had already been alerted that something was wrong and was on her way to the ER. On my way back to the room where my son lay, an unknown woman handed me a small white box containing 3 glass angels and another box that was a music box. They were comfort gifts. Although at a time like that it seemed like nothing would matter, I remember thinking how kind that was of her. I think about her from time to time and turn on the music box and listen to the tun!
e of Amazing Grace. If that lady appeared before me now, I don’t think I would know who she is, although I have given her a face in my mind. She was hospital staff, I believe, remembering her scrubs.

More family had arrived. I am not sure in what order. I believe that my brother-in-law, Garry was one of the first to arrive. They lived about three minutes away. I am not sure who made the contacts, but people started arriving. I remember holding my son and extending my arms out to let my brother-in-law hold him. My mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law arrived. I remember my mother-in-law hugging her son, my husband, and them crying together. Later, in the hallway, she embraced me. Neither of us said a word. At some point of my return to the room where Keteyian laid, my sisters entered and it was then that my tears started flowing as they held me and cried also. It was then that I returned to the side of my son. He just looked like he was sleeping. I remember being told not to pick him up anymore for some reason that I cannot recall. It was then that I leaned over him and positioned myself so that my upper body was stretched across his. My Bible teachings came back to mind as I cried over my son. Somehow I just knew that despite the time that had passed, I, like Elijah could revive my son by stretching myself upon him and waiting for his soul to come into him again (I Kings 17:21). My tears falling upon his still warm body and the touch of his mother were supposed to spring him back to life. I didn’t even leave room for disappointment! It was not to be. The reality set in that I was not Elijah nor gifted with the same gifts God bestowed upon him when he raised the son of the woman in the Bible. Nor was I like Elisha, who also laid upon a woman’s son, put his mouth upon the child’s mouth, and his eyes upon his eyes, and his hands upon his hands: and stretched himself upon the child, and (until) the flesh of the child waxed warm. … and the child sneezed seven times and the child opened his eyes (II Kings 4:34-35). Keteyian did not respond to my pleadings and actions. Neither did he sneeze nor open his eyes. How quickly fav!
or felt like displeasure to me. I continued to weep.

After some time had passed, we decided to leave the hospital and our son, into the everlasting arms of God our savior. My eldest sister, Gisselle, always my spiritual mentor, had everyone join hands around the hospital table where Keteyian laid, for prayer. She prayed right there in that room for all of us. Her prayers then, as now, continue to help sustain us.

Did the Lord allow my son to die, so that through my response to his death, He could strengthen the faith of others to trust and believe in Him? Forget about others, did He want to really see if I had this abundance of faith I profess to have? Lord couldn’t you have found out a different way? Furthermore, while it seemed like fiery darts were being shot at me, did my overabundance of faith leave me no room for disappointment, as I trusted the Lord to raise my dead son in response to my prayer? Had I misrouted my expectations of God by looking for Him to work things out in a manner that would yield me the end results I was looking for rather than trusting His timing, reasons and sovereignty? To date these remain mere questions with the answers to be determined later. The bottomline is that my son had died, wasn’t coming home with me, and somehow, life was supposed to go on. How? How were we to get through the ensuing minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years? Oh for grace to trust Him more!

That is a little of my story. And today, May 14, 2008 - my son, Keteyian Ronald Garner would have been 7 years old. To the world I appear so stoic, yet I sit here at my desk at work with tears streaming down my face as memories flood my mind and I face the reality that all the dreams, hopes and desires I had for him will never come true. What never died with my son though, is my faith in God. In fact it has grown even more as I am now linked to eternity with my son and await to see both my Lord and savior Jesus Christ and my son, Keteyian, face to face. Today I sorrow, but not as one without hope. My husband grieves and remembers in his own way. In fact, todya we attended the wake of a co-ministry worker's brother whose wake and funeral was being held at the same church where my husband witnessed his brother's marriage vows and years later, his homegoing funeral service. It was the last time my husband had been inthat church, but today, on what would ahve been our son's 7th birthday, entered once again. of our 3 remaining children, the two girls seem most affected by Keteyian's death. The eldest still cannot or would not talk about it, as she is the one who brought him to me, observing that something was wrong with him. The youngest remaining child, a girl was only 2 and 1/2 years old at the time but regularly remembers and grieves very hard for her brother whom she never really got to know. But anything more is a whole other account that perhaps one day will be shared!

To all who have loved and lost, may it make us not bitter. I share somewhat of an understanding of your wave of emotions and for you too I pray.


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