Anger and Rage.

There are stages of grief. Or that’s what people say. People say a lot of things.

I’m at the anger stage. Maybe it’s rage? Where’s the line? Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Angry.

At myself. For being numbed to the dangers of epilepsy by years of our daughter’s seizures. For the what ifs. The sliding doors.

At Epilepsy. Healthcare. Neurologists. Our healthcare system.

Rage.

At EMS for taking too long, leaving my wife to perform CPR on her own son.

At the police officers posted coldly in the hospital room where my son was pronounced dead.

Rage at the officers who told me I couldn’t touch my boy even after he passed.

At child protective services who showed up two minutes after he died.

At the police who treated our home like a crime scene despite my son’s passing being captured on video.

Angry.

That CPS insisted on stopping by to check on my daughter, before she knew her brother had passed.

At CPS for sending a form letter to BOTH my wife and I stating that we were under investigation for harming our deceased son a week after his passing.

At CPS for insisting on interviewing our daughter to “close the case”. And not being prepared when she assumed she was in trouble.

Angry, that they didn’t think to ask questions in a way that protected my child from the idea that her sibling “fights” with her dead brother were not in fact what she was here to ask about.

Rage.

At the medical examiner for insisting on an autopsy despite the police not requesting one and again, his death being captured fully on film.

At the medical examiner for being truly unkind to my wife during the literal worst week of her life. When all she wanted to know was what they could learn by slicing our boy open. Not a drop of empathy to be found.

At a system that says we could request an injunction, if we were Muslim or Orthodox or any number of religious exemptions, but not because we simply believed it all felt so invasive and unnecessary.

At the politicians and bureaucrats who claim they don’t have any real power to fix the “system”.

Rage that we pay these people to do a job.

Anger.

Angry at myself for not opening his door, waking him up, and preventing all this.

Angry that I don’t get to trick-or-treat with my boy today.

Angry at everything and nothing all at once.

Anger and Rage.

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Shea Thomas Callanan, our boy, passed away on October 12th unexpectedly. His epilepsy did not define his life, nor will it define his memory. If you feel inclined, please support Shea’s Play Fund which will be used to make play more accessible wherever it is needed most.