Trafford Publishing: My Son Todd and My Guardian Angels: How I Learned to Cope With the Death of My Only Child

Here is the full reference card for this book...

If you'd rather place an order by talking to one of our cheerful order desk clerks, please call 1-888-232-4444 (USA and Canada only) or 250-383-6864. From Europe, ring our UK order desk clerk at local rate number 0845 230 9601 (UK only) or 44 (0)1865 722 113.

My Son Todd and My Guardian Angels: How I Learned to Cope With the Death of My Only Child

by Tom Santos

137 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #04-1592; ISBN 1-4120-3764-6; US$19.95, C$25.00, EUR16.25, £11.26

How my life changed when I lost my only child, my son Todd, and how my friends and acquaintances helped my get back.

Read more!

About the Book About the Author Excerpt Catalogue Information

About the Book

It was 11:00 pm when the news just came on TV - tomorrow is the Fourth of July and I was thinking about a cookout in the back yard. My son Todd was at a picnic, and should be home soon. My wife was in bed sleeping.

I heard the sirens of emergency vehicles in the distance, and then as the vehicles got closer to my home, the sirens got louder and louder, I looked out the window and saw emergency vehicles - police, ambulances, and a fire truck rush past my home.

I felt a strong knot in my stomach. Little did I know that they were rushing to the scene of an accident that took my only child's life. In a split second our lives would change forever.

Within a five-year period, I lost my son, my job, my mother, my father, my house, and my wife.

A child represents your future, your spouse connects with your past. When you lose them both, you have no future, no connection to the past, only the present, and the present is dark and filled with dismay and uncertainty.

It took ten years to write this book. I wrote the first part after three years, because I wanted to remember my son, but all I could write was about his death. Three years later, I wrote the second part, because I felt well enough, I thought, to be able to finish the book. Another three years would pass before I could write part three, and another year to complete the book.

My life has taken pretty much the same course, in three parts. The normal years before Todd dies, the grieving years of uncertainty and healing, and part three, a new life has emerged.

This book describes what I went through when I lost my only child. It describes a period of time I call the "Five Years of Hell", and how I coped with it. I also explain my recovery period.

Fortunately not everyone takes it as hard as I did, or may not show it, and not every one goes through every thing I did. But I believe there are a lot of things that happened to me, that you will be able to recognize and understand. I hope the book finds its way into the hands of people who want to understand what it's like to lose a child, or help someone who has lost a son or daughter to cope with the loss.

The Guardian Angels I speak of are people and spirits that helped me back to an existence that I never thought I could achieve again. It is nice to be back. And I often wonder if Todd is up there watching me, and saying "Atta boy, Dad!"

About the Author

Tom Santos was born in New London, Connecticut in 1942. He lives in a coastal town in southeastern Connecticut.

He has been in sales for the past 35 years, and has owned several businesses.

For the last 29 years he has been active with the Lions Club, as a member of the Ledyard Lions Club and is serving as an officer in the Connectict Lions, District 23C.

This is his first book.

Tom has a grandson, Cody, a brother Greg, and a wonderful companion Dara.

Excerpt

Whenever Todd was going out I always wanted a hug, I would kiss him on the neck because he was taller than me. He said, "Do you always have too hug and kiss me?" I said, "Yes, I want you to know that I love you, annd it makes me think you love me." On this Sunday afternoon, I did the same. He was a good kid; he tolerated me, and always returned the hug. "Ill be home around 11, See ya later, Dad."

He left around 1pm, I never saw him again, alive.

My wife, his step-mother, arrived home about 20 minutes later, and said she was sorry that she missed him; she wanted to see him before he left. She worked Sunday mornings, until 1 pm.

Around 10:45, I was completing a project, and put everything away. My wife was in bed sleeping. Todd still wasn't home. I started to feel uncomfortable. He was always home no later than 11 PM. I thought, "He should be home soon".

At around 11 pm I heard sirens, and saw police cars, fire trucks and an ambulance, with lights blaring, race past the house in the darkness. I jumped up looked out the window, and suddenly felt emptiness. I called my brother, Greg, who has a police scanner, and asked him what was going on in my town. He said there was a car accident on Sandy Hollow Road. I said "It's Todd." Greg said "No it isn't, there are two people in the car." I said, "Are you sure?" He answered, "Yes".

I suddenly got a terrible stomachache; I said I would call him back. I hung up the phone, went to the bathroom, changed my clothes(I was ready for bed), and called him back. While on the phone with my Greg, I could hear the dispatcher on the scanner say "White male, 21 years old, cardiac arrest." I said, "I know it's Todd, I'm going to see what happened, I'll call you back." I woke up my wife and told her there was an accident down the road; it might be Todd. I jumped into my van and drove the 1/2 mile to the intersection of Sandy Hollow Road and Whalehead Road(the road which we lived on).

As I approached the intersection, I saw the Fire Police directing traffic. I recognized the officer and asked if my son was in the accident, he said he didn't know. But, I think they do know, because they let me drive on to the road.

I had to park about a quarter of a mile from the accident scene; the road was closed off to traffic. Normally the street was in total darkness, no streetlights, and no houses. Tonight it was like a twilight zone. Cars are parked on both sides of the road; red, blue and white lights flashing and piercing the dark night; alot of people are standing around; and I am trying to get through. I see some of Todd's friends standing silently, at the side of the road, "Is it Todd?" I ask. They answer, "We don't know."

Later I was told that his friends were attending a party at a house on the road, which runs parallel to the accident scene, the sound of the crash brought them to the scene to see what happened.

As I approach the car, it's upside down in the middle of the road. The rear of the car is visible and I can see the dealer plate. My heart sinks. A police officer says, "Mr. Santos, they have taken him to Lawrence & Memorial hospital." My legs are weak; I know this is serious. The police won't discuss it with me; and I'm afraid to ask. The walk back to the car seems to take forever, my mind is racing, I can't think straight. I feel like a part of me is in that car. As I pass by, I tell the kids it is Todd.

I get back to the house, awaken my wife and tell her it is Todd. She hurriedly gets dressed. I call Greg again; I tell him that it's Todd. Greg says he'll meet us at the hospital. Then my wife and I leave for the hospital. The ride to the hospital, about 12 miles, was a very long, silent trip. I said, "What if he is dead?" She replies "Don't be silly." I was suddenly very scared; I think the worst.

My brother arrives at the hospital about the same time as we do. I identify myself to the Emergency Room attendant, and ask that I may see my son. They lead me down a long corridor, and then the nurse asks me to wait. It's very quiet; I can hear my heart beat. My hands are wet; my heart is pumping a mile a minute. My wife and I are trying to keep it together, trying to be calm.

Then a doctor appraches us and says those horrible words no parent wants to hear; "I'm so sorry Mr Santos, he didn't make it." I feel dizzy; I almost collapse. I can feel my blood drain; the room is a blur. I have no control over what is happening, my knees are weak, and they want to fold under me. The staff helps me to a chair, but I can't sit. I want to see my boy, my son, my baby. They say they are getting him ready. "It'll be just a minute." I think they are stalling to get me under control. My wife is a rock trying to help me. "Is there someone else to call?" I say "Yes, his mother's parents, and his mother." Then the Medical Examiner arrives about an hour later, to pronounce his death, it's after midnight, he dates the death certificate July 4th 1994.

We are finally permitted to see my boy. He is so lifeless, just laying on a slab of metal, he looks like he is alseep, no open wounds, no blood, only a bruise on the left side of his forehead, about where I banged my head that morning. He has an object jammed into his mouth, which was used to try to resuscitate his breathing. His feet are sticking out from under the sheet, just like they did in his bed. I cover them up, hug him and kiss him, hoping that this is a mistake. It's not. "Oh Dear God, please let us change places, I will die for him, let him live. He deserves to live! I do not!" I can't go on living. I want to die; but I don't.

Catalogue Information