May 1, 2024
Trigger warning: child loss, infant loss, SIDS
It was a Wednesday morning, five years ago today, when I lost my nephew, Logan Hugh Kammerer, affectionately known as ‘Logie Bear.’
I vividly remember exactly where I sat, perched at the end of the couch, watching Rose-breasted grosbeaks peck at sunflower seeds outside my living room window, when I got the call. My phone rang and displayed “MOM.”
“Katie…it’s Logan…we need to pray really, really hard right now. Logan stopped breathing. Dad and I are going to the hospital…”
“What? What do you mean? Is he ok? Where’s Meggie?”
Her response is a blur. Daycare. Paramedics. CPR. Logan. 9-1-1. Meggie. Hospital. Don’t know yet. Need a miracle. “Can you call the others for me? Please tell everyone to pray really, really hard.”
“Ok. I’ll call everyone. I love you. Let me know when you know something.”
“Ok. I love you too, honey. Bye.”
My parents were always asking all six of us, my younger siblings and me, to pray for good news for each other. Pray for Dad, he’s seeing his cardiologist today. Please pray for Mom, she’s having cataract surgery tomorrow. Pray for whoever has a job interview, an illness, a car accident.
In fact we had already prayed for our youngest nephew, Logan, once before, when he was a newborn. Bill, his daddy, went to check on him a little while after he had gone down for the night.Just to take a look at him, It’s a good thing he did. Something was wrong. Logan’s lips were blue. His breath was shallow. They called 911. They went to the hospital. My youngest brother followed them. And then… GOOD NEWS. Logan was okay. Everyone was okay. Logan went home with his parents. Prayers to the rescue.
This was just the same kind of thing, right? I didn’t know. I called my sister Meggie, Logan’s mommy. She answered immediately. I did not expect that.
“Meggie, where are you? What’s going on?”
“I’m in the front of the ambulance. They wouldn’t let me see him…” My little sister did not sound like her adult self. She sounded like she was 3 years old. Her voice cracked, high-pitched and raspy, like she had exhausted herself from screaming. “They took my baby, they wouldn’t let me see my baby, my baby, I just want my baby, my baby” she sobbed.
“Can you tell me what happened?” I asked carefully.
“I dropped the boys off at daycare this morning. They said he was really fussy so they fed him a bottle and then they put him down for a nap at circle time and then when they went to wake him up, he wasn’t breathing…they tried CPR and they called 9-1-1 and they called me at school and when I got here they wouldn’t let me see MY baby. I just want to hold him, I want my baby…”
Logan, 11 months old, had just started daycare with his 4-year-old brother, Grayson, the week before. Meghan, a school teacher, and her husband, Bill, had designed it this way, stacking Meghan’s summer break with their combined paid parental leaves. Less than 2 months remained before summer would come again, but she had to return and stay through June.
In a couple of years, Grayson would enroll in kindergarten at her school. Then Logan, when it was time, would follow. That was the plan.
“We’re getting close to the hospital. I have to go,” Meghan whimpered.
‘Ok, I love you, Meggie.”
That is when it hit me, that Logan might not come home this time.
I wilted to the floor and wailed. No. No. Please don’t let this be happening, please don’t let this be happening…
My mom had told me to call the others. Remembering I had a neighbor upstairs and zero soundproofing, I put a leash on my beagle dog and we went outside. We walked to the back of the house, a spot surrounded by trees. I called my husband. He would leave work early.
I called each one of my siblings. I remember their reactions. “Oh my God” “What do you mean?” “What? Where is he?” “FUCK!” “What do we do?” One of my sisters was at a playground near the hospital with her toddler. “Should I go there, Katie? Should I go? I can see it from here I’m so close!”
I did not know. I imagined the whole family going to the hospital and sitting in a waiting room together, waiting for good news. I thought, that’s what I would want, if something happened to me. “Yes? Yes. Go.”
Minutes later, she texted me and said, “They just got here. She just saw me and said No No No…Mom and Dad told me to leave!” Fuck. That was a mistake. My sister had her lively toddler with her. “What should I do? “Where do we go?”
“Go to Mom and Dad’s. We’ll wait for them there,” That became the plan for everyone. Then at least we could all be feeling like this in one place, together.
My sister who had left the hospital, texted me:
Logan’s dead.
The words in their brutal honesty burned a hole through me. Still, I refused to believe them until I heard from my parents. And I did.
Everyone met at Mom and Dad’s. We needed comfort, but could provide none to each other. Our parents came home and for the first time in our lives, we heard them question everything they ever believed in. And although I had given up my Catholic allegiance long ago, their doubt was unsettling, like losing grip on the string of a helium balloon.
Meanwhile, Meggie and Billy remained at the hospital long past sunset, waiting to hold their baby boy one last time.
This month we honor Logan’s birthday with our annual celebration of life, the…
#LoveForLoganHugh Scholarship Fundraiser
DONATE or JOIN US at 1723 Vineyards on Saturday, May 18th to celebrate the life of Logan Hugh Kammerer and support the Logan Hugh Scholarship Fund for a high school senior at Avon Grove Charter School—the school Logan would have attended, and where his mother, Meghan Kammerer, spent over a decade as a special needs teacher. Tickets include one glass of wine and one raffle ticket; all other proceeds go to the Scholarship Fund. If you are unable to attend but wish to contribute another amount, please select “Scholarship Fund Donation.”
Scholarship awardees are personally chosen by Meghan and Bill Kammerer based on need and completion of an essay.
