For hours I sat helplessly outside the hospital room where Zack was being operated on once more. He was saved by some miracle last time and I doubt the results will be the same this time around. The doctor came out and I thought for sure it was because my son did not make it. To my surprise, the doctor reported that Zack is still alive momentarily but will likely die in a few days time. “However, there is hope.” he said, “ there is a [[procedure]] that we think might work, we cannot guarantee that it will, but if it does, your son may be able to live up to 5-10 more years of life.
Finally, we’re going home. We wait outside for our ride in silence, but I don’t mind. I enjoy his presence. I love watching him be his normal self once again. I missed him. The car soon arrives. I can tell by Zack's eagerness to get in the car that he’s relieved to finally be able to [[get away]] from the hospital, he opens the door of the car [[.....]]
“Mom!” Zack called. I almost choked seeing him back to his normal, healthy self. “Hi baby, you’re [[coming home]] today,” I said fighting back the tears. Reading the expression on my face, he replied, “don’t cry mom, it’s not your fault. I’m okay now, [[it’s going to be fine]].”
…. My world suddenly stops. I watch motionlessly as Zack cries out [[in pain]], holding his hand on his side. He collapses on the ground. He was eager, too eager. The car door hit him in the same place the ball once had. I bend down to pick him up, the taxi driver rushed to help. We took Zack back in the hospital. [[My poor son]], he just can’t get away.
The story you will soon read is written from my [[grandmother's perspective]]. The story is not entirely accurate, however it is based off of my uncles death.
…...He gets in the taxi and as I try to make my way inside as well, the cab driver starts the engine and drives away with my son in the car. I don’t know what to think, it’s all happening so quickly. One minute Zack is with me the next I lose him again. Shaking and fighting back the tears, I run back in the hospital to find the nearest available phone. I dial the number of the police and as soon as an officer picks up I yell “MY SON HAS BEEN [[KIDNAPPED]]!!!” into the phone.
My first child was a girl named Gulnara. She was sick with all kinds of diseases since she was born. She lacked white blood cells and died at the age of seven. My other two children who died were boys. They also suffered diseases since they were born but they did not live as long as my daughter. One died at the age of two, the other one died at the age of one. \n
“I’m fine.” That’s exactly what Zack had told me when I asked him what was bothering him. I could tell he wasn’t “fine”, a mother knows when her child is not being his usual self. So why did I take his word for it? Why did I turn a blind eye? I guess I thought it was small problems, thought maybe he was upset because of a fight with his [[friends]] or a bad mark in [[school]]. Or maybe I didn’t think that, maybe I just wanted to believe it.
According to my neighbour, one day when Zack was playing soccer with some of his friends, the ball hit him on his side. Ordinarily, this would not be a big problem, however the ball that hit Zack was kicked with such force that it became necessary to take him to the [[hospital]]. I wish he would have [[spoken out]] earlier so we could have took him to the hospital [[on time]]. \n
My second child, the light of my life. He’s a fifteen year old beautiful child, loved and adored by everyone in town. “So well behaved” one would say, “what a smart, well mannered boy,” “I do wish my son would grow up to be just like Zack.” There is not one person in the world that has met him and hasn’t fall in love. Maybe that’s just it, maybe it’s their evil eye that has landed my son in the hospital. \n
I’m going back to the hospital tomorrow, the doctor say’s Zack can come home. I have [[no words]] to describe how relieved I feel. \n\n...[[The next day]]...
My father meant the world to me, he was such an amazing person. I admired him very much. He was very religious and taught me almost everything I know. My father’s name was also Zackariah, I named my son after him. After my mother died, my father married again and died himself not long after. He died of appendicitis- an easily treated disease if treated on time. I remember my father being rushed to the hospital, we didn’t have a car so he was taken on a wheelbarrow. As you can imagine, this was not very effective. When they reached the hospital, it was too late, my father had passed away.
What will I say to my son when he comes home? It’s all my fault. I wasn’t there for him when he needed me most. I wasn’t there when he was in pain.\n
Everyone keeps assuring me that everything is going to be fine. For some reason I still feel very nervous.
It still bothers me. Why did Zack not tell me? He said he was scared, scared I would be angry with him. It’s my fault, I drove him away. He would have been more open with me if I had been nicer to him, I scared him off. Now his chances of surviving are even slimmer.
It was my neighbour who told me about [[the situation]] Zack was in. I knew something had happened because he was always acting uneasy but I had not known how serious it was. I had asked Zack over and over again but he had not told me how much pain he was in. He instead told one of the neighbours we were close to, who later came and told me about Zack’s confession.
Zack is a very social kid, he loves being around other people. He’s always playing sports with kids in his class or from the [[neighbour]]hood in the afternoon. I used to watch over him as he played but I stopped. He’s much older now and we live in a small town, nothing dangerous ever happens around here.
I have heard it too many times- with my mom, with my dad, and now with Zack. The “I wish you could have brought him in earlier, we could have been able to do more to save him.” It was too late for my parents, the same thing cannot happen again. No, not again, I couldn’t bare it.
Zack does amazingly in school, he’s loved by all the teachers. He’s a really bright kid and on top of that he’s also very artistic and athletic. Zack loves to draw and paint, I have all his artwork put up around the house. He plays a lot of soccer with his friends as well. In Fact, that’s how the incident occurred
“He’ll be alright. Just a few more operations and you can take him home,” the doctor said. Her smile was genuine, her voice filled with hope - Maybe I should relax, she sounded truthful. I have witnessed so much- lost my [[mother]] at the age of ten, lost my [[father]] soon after. I have lost three of [[my children]] yet losing [[Zack]] would turn my world upside down. “Go home now, you can come back to visit him tomorrow.” I guess I must have looked extremely concerned because she went on to saying “it’s ok, he’ll still be here tomorrow. He’s doing just [[fine]].”
Thankyou for reading
She was cleaning out the attic. I was always afraid when she went up there, the floorboards were weak, she could fall at any time. She usually got the work done safely, except that one day. I walked in just in time to see her fall. One of the floorboards came loose, she fell to the ground and the board fell on top of her. The board scraped against her leg, peeling off the skin on it. We lived in a small town in the 1940s, the hospital was in the city and we had no car available to us. My mother got an infection and died very quickly. I was ten at the time, young, but old enough to understand. My sister was 5, she would ask where mom is all the time and I would have to lie and say something like "she’s staying over at aunties house."
After hours of trying hard to save Zack, the doctors were unsuccessful. Zack passed away at 10: 45 on September 21st of 1954. I spent the next 15 years of my life wearing black and mourning over the death of my son. I don’t go a day without thinking of him. His drawings are still in the house, the tree he planted is still in the garden, his shoes are still kept in the shed, and he is still and will always be in my heart.\n\n[[.......]]
Fifteen years later and Zack has yet to be found. There is absolutely no trace of his body or of the kidnapper. I have lost all hope of ever seeing my son again. This whole situation makes me uneasy. I can’t sleep or do much of anything in fact. I like knowing where my son is at all times, at least if his body turned up I would know that he has passed away. I don’t know how to deal with the thought of knowing that there is a chance my son could still be out there and suffering. Sometimes I want to kill myself, but then what if Zack comes back and I’m gone?\n\n[[.......]]
I didn't think I had anything to lose, so the doctors went ahead with the surgery. My son survived like the doctors said. He lived another seven years but not as the same happy-go-lucky Zack I once knew. He was not the same lively Zack, infact he was very much lifeless, he was a vegetable. The procedure didn’t go very well and Zack spent the last seven years of his life as a vegetable. \n\n[[.......]]