by Suzanne Fort

Created on: June 08, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

There are times in a person's life when you face the scariest thing as a parent. Everything becomes clear. To me, that day was the day my son faced death.

It was a rainy day in western Washington, that October day. I was driving to a counseling appointment to deal with the troubled relationship I had with my spouse. On my way home, I was going to stop for a coffee. Something told me, "Get home, now!" I tried to ignore the strange thought in my head. What could possibly be wrong? My 11-month-old and my 2-year-old children were with their father. I have nothing to worry about, I thought. I decided to drive home because I could not shake that feeling that something was terribly wrong.

I drove into our driveway. I saw the car that my husband had wrecked the night before. He was sitting in the car trying to see if it was still running. I asked him where the children were. He laughed several times and said, "Go up and see".

I went upstairs. My 2 year old son was sitting in the bathtub. There was water overflowing onto the ground. I asked my son where my 11-month-old was. I then saw the worst thing I could ever see. It is an image I will never forget, no matter how much I try.

My 11-month-old was under water. His eyes were open. He was facing up. He was blue. I yanked him out of the water. He was not breathing. I started screaming as loud as I could. At that point, my husband decided to come upstairs and saw that I was going to perform CPR. He threw me out of the way and began doing CPR himself.

I tried to call 9-1-1. I couldn't remember the number. It sounds silly, but I could not remember the number to 9-1-1. I was shaking so hard that I couldn't dial 0 for the operator to connect me to 9-1-1. I remember running downstairs, opening the door, and yelling as loud as I could, "Help, he killed my son!" No one came over, of course. The neighbors were sure to complain about our dogs barking, but when they were needed, chose to ignore noise.

After a few times of doing that, I finally called 9-1-1. I watched as my son lay there blue. I was screaming as loud as I could to the operator. I just kept yelling, "He killed my son! He killed my son!" I am giving the edited version, of course. There were very choice words I was saying at that moment. I wasn't feeling like the submissive wife I had been for years with my spouse.

Finally, my son coughed up some water. He coughed up some more. I heard him let out a cry. I just started crying uncontrollably. I grabbed my son, wrapped him

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