My Infinite Hero

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His name was Parker. No, he was not a boy I fell madly in love with, he was not a celebrity that I had an infatuation with, and he was not an amazing singer that mesmerized the world with his voice.

His name was Parker. He had a future, he had countless people that loved him, and he impacted my life in a way I had thought a person could not.

It was a summer day, ordinary as any other. My friend and I were contemplating our middle school future in her polka-dotted room, suitable for any ten-year old. We were growing up, as if moving from the kids table to the adult table on Thanksgiving. However, I had bailed on babysitting with my mom, leaving her to fend herself against seven kids. I would help her the next day I had told her just so I could escape easily without a guilt tripped rant about becoming more responsible.

My friend and I discussed the upcoming days, in which we got to go to eight different classes everyday. We did not have to sit with the same teacher for the whole day anymore. We got to meet new kids from different schools and make lasting friendships. It sounded like a perfect plan. I was going to have a perfect summer that lead into a perfect year. Yet, from the background, I heard the heart-sinking echoes of a fire truck drawing closer.

The next thing I knew, I watched a flood of paramedics, firefighters, and policemen run into what used to be a pleasant sanctuary for my family and my friends. Concerned faces were emerging from homes in my neighborhood. I stood in shock, studying the mangled situation. My friend’s mother was pulling me in the direction of the thin glass front door, pushing me towards the frightening reality awaiting my arrival.

In a matter of seconds, I had bolted through the blockade of EMTS and into my foyer. At that very moment, a paramedic rushed out holding a helpless baby in his arms. The only baby at our house that day was Parker. His face was blue and his eyes were shut. I held my head up, knowing that I can not expect the worst. Paramedics saved lives everyday; they were bound to save Parker’s. I rushed to my mom’s side, watching her heave into the provided garbage bag. Her cheeks were glossed with previous and returning tears. I then took to caring for the rest of the children, hiding from the horror, in the living room. I sat down with Parker’s cousins’ and his big brother and sister.
“Is my brother okay?” Sarah asked me. These simple words broke me down into a piercing cry. I tried to hold back the stinging tears, wanting so hard be strong for the youthful face staring at me. I could barely shake my head up and down, trying to emit a positive attitude for her. I steadied myself and assured her once more that he would be fine. I lied that day.

“Death is inevitable; it is bound to happen.” These were the supposed comforting words provided to me by a neighbor over looking the scene surrounding my house. I sat there considering his statement. Why did death have to happen so suddenly, specifically at such a young age? What terrible disease could take an infant from his place in this world? Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, also known as SIDS, claims about 2,500 deaths a year in the United States. Parker was just one of the vulnerable babies stolen from his loving family left behind.
From that moment on, I’ve been reminded multiple times of what Parker endured that horrible afternoon. I set aside a few minutes now and then just to remember his growing heart, his smiling eyes, and his minute fingers reaching for a warm hand. I learned something that day from an infant; an infant that was incapable to speak but influential enough to remind me of the life I hold and how I should cherish every day. I know that when I look to the sky, he is there in good spirits, making heaven even more beautiful than it is intended to be.





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