Welcome to our East Coast page.
Our East Coast leader is Cathy McDonald you can reach her via email@babieswithwingsec@gmail.com
John Daniel Fry (3/19/98-6/14/98)
My name is Cathy McDonald and on Thursday, March 19, 1998 at 11:43 am my first son, John Daniel Fry, entered this world. At 7 lbs 11oz, 21 inches long, with a head full of brown hair and bright blue eyes he was perfect, and the cutest baby I had EVER seen! He was always very healthy, aside from a case of jaundice at birth and thrush about a week after, he was never sick. At the time I was 18 and a single mother, John and I lived with my mom, who is also a single mother, in NJ. John went everywhere with me and did everything with me. That year we had a fairly early Easter so John was only a couple of weeks old. I didn’t take him to get pictures with the Easter Bunny because I figured we had many years to do that and didn’t want to take him to the mall at such a young age. We spent the day at my grandmother’s house with family and everybody took turns with our newest and cutest family member! When John was a month and a half old my dad’s mom became very ill, so we went down to South Jersey to stay with family and be near her since I had only met her a few years prior. Within a couple of weeks my grandmother died and John and I came back home with a new kitten. A couple weeks later on my first Mother’s Day I was incredibly ill; the Friday before I got a fever and started throwing up. My sister took him to her house for about a week so that he wouldn’t catch whatever I had. On Memorial Day John and I went to a local parade with friends, then the picnic at the American Legion afterwords, and tehn a picnic at my grandmother’s house. Right after Memorial Day we took a trip out to Lancaster, PA to visit family and had a great time! I was considering moving out there and when I got back home I had a talk with my mom to try to figure out what would be best for John and me. After some discussion my mom and I decided that I would sign over temporary custody of John to her while I went to college so that I could provide a better life for him. On Saturday, June 13 the church I had attended my entire life through a baby shower for John and me. There was an outfit that I got from one of the women in the church that I immediately decided would be perfect for him to wear to church the next day.
We could never have predicted that our lives would come crashing down on Sunday, June 14, 1998 when SIDS stole my sweet little baby boy. I awoke that morning at about 9:30am to the ringing of the phone. I put the person on hold so I could get my mother and then I checked John. I thought it was odd that he didn’t awaken when the phone rang. When I got back to the crib I instantly knew something was wrong. I yelled out to my mom and hung the phone up on the caller. It seemed like an eternity before the phone would disconnect and I could call 9-1-1. My mom began CPR while I talked to the operator and within minutes the police were at our house. At the time we lived in a very small town and knew many of the police officers and EMS workers. The first officer on scene was the father of one of my best friends’ father, and 3 of the EMTs on the ambulance were classmates of mine. The ambulance crew arrived moments after the police and rushed John out to the ambulance. My mom and I got into one of the police cruisers because everyone knew that neither of us was in any condition to drive. As we turned the corner from our street onto the main road the paramedics arrived and the ambulance pulled over so that the paramedics could assess John and start “working” on him. We lived about 10 minutes from the closest hospital and the ride was the LONGEST 10 minutes of my life.
Once we arrived at the hospital the staff took us to the “family room” and showed us the phone so that we could call any family we wanted. Because it was a Sunday morning most of my family was at church, my mom contacted our church and asked for someone to bring my grandmother to the ER, but not to tell her why. Then she called my sister who called the rest of my family. The only phone number that repeatedly went through my head was John’s dad’s mom’s phone number. I kept calling it, but nobody answered, I just kept getting the machine. We sat there for what seemed like days and the longer we sat there the more people arrived. My grandmother got there with one of the men from church who had known me since I was born, we sat in that room and we prayed for a miracle. I had no idea what was going on, all I knew was that I put my baby to bed, he woke up briefly fussing, fell back asleep, and a couple hours later he was lifeless. I kept hoping the doctors and nurses would come in and tell me that it was all a bad dream and that everything was fine. I mean he was warm and still had full color, so he had to be okay. Deep down I knew the truth, I knew that my baby was gone, I had no idea why, but I knew that he was gone. After about an hour, I think, the door finally opened and they came in and said, “I’m sorry…..” I honestly don’t know what else they said after that, it was like listening to the teacher on Charlie Brown. Then they told us that in a couple of minutes we could go in and see him and “say our goodbyes.” Even now, 12 years later, I can still vividly remember what he looked like. I’m not going to go into detail, because that is an image that nobody should EVER have to live with. I remember holding him and crying and not wanting to ever let him go, but knowing that the rest of my family also wanted to say goodbye. I remember taking a break to go outside to smoke with my friends from the ambulance, who stayed there the entire time, hoping along with us.
When it was time to leave our family went back to our house with us, but when we got there we found a police officer outside our door. It was raining outside, but they wouldn’t allow my family to come into the house with us, only my mother and I were allowed in with the detective and the medical examiner. They made me reenact the whole morning, using my Cabbage Patch doll as John, and took pictures. Then they questioned us repeatedly while keeping an officer stationed outside our front door. When my uncle brought coffee for my mom they wouldn’t even allow him to bring it in, and they wouldn’t let him come in to use the bathroom. They treated us like criminals. I didn’t even know which way was up at the moment and they kept asking over and over about what time he had his last bottle, and what time he went to bed. Then they had us give them the bottle he last drank from and the can of formula that we had been feeding him from. Eventually they left, but told us that we would have to come down to the police station the next day along with my sister since she was the last one to feed him and give our “official” statements. Once they left my family came in and helped us make some phone calls. I remember nearly collapsing on the floor when I tried to tell one of my best friends that John was dead. He left work immediately and came to support me.
My family went back to my grandmother’s house and 2 of my uncles told me not to worry about any of the funeral plans, that they would help me through it and take care of all of the costs. The next few days are a blur; I don’t even know how everyone found out that John had died. We had John’s funeral and burial on Wednesday, June 17 and it was a beautiful day. I can’t tell you for sure who was there, but I know there were a lot of people there, including the nurse from my high school. John’s father was there and it was the first time he ever got to see him, and the only way he ever got to hold him was by carrying his casket. It’s a long story, but if you get to know me better you will probably come to know it. Anyway, I am grateful that he was there because he was my rock that day, if you knew nothing about what had gone on between us you never would have been able to tell just by seeing us that day. It was more than a week before I slept at my house again, and even longer before I could sleep in the bedroom by myself.
A month and a half after John died my best friend, who I had known since I was 10, gave birth to her first son on my 19th birthday. I gave her many of John’s clothes and baby items to use and then when she was done with his clothes I gave them to another friend who then disappeared. To this day that is something I regret. I have very few items of John’s left and if there is one thing that I can tell a newly bereaved parent it is do not rush to get rid of your baby’s belongings. You don’t know what you will wish you had later when the initial shock has worn off. Do not let other people rule your grieving time line, do things at your own pace and in your own way.
Every year on John’s birthday we have a cake for him, sing Happy Birthday, and bring balloons to his grave. And every year on his angelversary we release balloons for him. Not everyone does these things and not everyone needs to. Grief is individual and personal, and some people do not find these actions to be “acceptable” not that there is anything that is acceptable about a sweet little baby dying. I knew nothing about SIDS until that fateful day and that I find unacceptable. The women’s clinic that I went to for prenatal care was housed in the same hospital as the SIDS Center of NJ and yet I was NEVER told about SIDS or the risk reducers. I recently came across the packet of information that I was given at the hospital when John was born and there is a pamphlet in there about SIDS, but it’s not as if they ever reviewed the information with me.
The last 12 years have been a roller coaster to say the least. I am now married and have 2 other children. My first subsequent child, Joseph John (Joey), is now almost 4 ½ and my second “sub” is Allison Marie (Allie), the girl’s name I had picked out when I was pregnant with John before I knew if I was having a boy or a girl, is 2. I do my best to ensure that they know as much as possible about their big brother. Joey has recently started expressing his grief and telling us that he wishes his big brother was here to play with him and that he loves him and misses him and wishes he could “come alive again.” When I was pregnant with Joey I hoped that I was having a girl and didn’t think that I could handle another boy as my first “sub”. The first year was definitely stressful, but we made it through and then I wanted another baby. I always knew I wanted to be a Mommy. From the time I saw Allie I couldn’t get over just how much she looked like John. I am actually kind of grateful that she wasn’t my first baby after John, because I don’t think I could have dealt with a spitting image of him right away. Over the last few years I have realized that in order to feel that I am honoring John’s memory and making sure his life had meaning I need to help other families get through this journey. I want other families to know that you CAN get through this. Our children are NEVER forgotten, and living your life doesn't mean you are forgetting them.
Our East Coast leader is Cathy McDonald you can reach her via email@babieswithwingsec@gmail.com
John Daniel Fry (3/19/98-6/14/98)
My name is Cathy McDonald and on Thursday, March 19, 1998 at 11:43 am my first son, John Daniel Fry, entered this world. At 7 lbs 11oz, 21 inches long, with a head full of brown hair and bright blue eyes he was perfect, and the cutest baby I had EVER seen! He was always very healthy, aside from a case of jaundice at birth and thrush about a week after, he was never sick. At the time I was 18 and a single mother, John and I lived with my mom, who is also a single mother, in NJ. John went everywhere with me and did everything with me. That year we had a fairly early Easter so John was only a couple of weeks old. I didn’t take him to get pictures with the Easter Bunny because I figured we had many years to do that and didn’t want to take him to the mall at such a young age. We spent the day at my grandmother’s house with family and everybody took turns with our newest and cutest family member! When John was a month and a half old my dad’s mom became very ill, so we went down to South Jersey to stay with family and be near her since I had only met her a few years prior. Within a couple of weeks my grandmother died and John and I came back home with a new kitten. A couple weeks later on my first Mother’s Day I was incredibly ill; the Friday before I got a fever and started throwing up. My sister took him to her house for about a week so that he wouldn’t catch whatever I had. On Memorial Day John and I went to a local parade with friends, then the picnic at the American Legion afterwords, and tehn a picnic at my grandmother’s house. Right after Memorial Day we took a trip out to Lancaster, PA to visit family and had a great time! I was considering moving out there and when I got back home I had a talk with my mom to try to figure out what would be best for John and me. After some discussion my mom and I decided that I would sign over temporary custody of John to her while I went to college so that I could provide a better life for him. On Saturday, June 13 the church I had attended my entire life through a baby shower for John and me. There was an outfit that I got from one of the women in the church that I immediately decided would be perfect for him to wear to church the next day.
We could never have predicted that our lives would come crashing down on Sunday, June 14, 1998 when SIDS stole my sweet little baby boy. I awoke that morning at about 9:30am to the ringing of the phone. I put the person on hold so I could get my mother and then I checked John. I thought it was odd that he didn’t awaken when the phone rang. When I got back to the crib I instantly knew something was wrong. I yelled out to my mom and hung the phone up on the caller. It seemed like an eternity before the phone would disconnect and I could call 9-1-1. My mom began CPR while I talked to the operator and within minutes the police were at our house. At the time we lived in a very small town and knew many of the police officers and EMS workers. The first officer on scene was the father of one of my best friends’ father, and 3 of the EMTs on the ambulance were classmates of mine. The ambulance crew arrived moments after the police and rushed John out to the ambulance. My mom and I got into one of the police cruisers because everyone knew that neither of us was in any condition to drive. As we turned the corner from our street onto the main road the paramedics arrived and the ambulance pulled over so that the paramedics could assess John and start “working” on him. We lived about 10 minutes from the closest hospital and the ride was the LONGEST 10 minutes of my life.
Once we arrived at the hospital the staff took us to the “family room” and showed us the phone so that we could call any family we wanted. Because it was a Sunday morning most of my family was at church, my mom contacted our church and asked for someone to bring my grandmother to the ER, but not to tell her why. Then she called my sister who called the rest of my family. The only phone number that repeatedly went through my head was John’s dad’s mom’s phone number. I kept calling it, but nobody answered, I just kept getting the machine. We sat there for what seemed like days and the longer we sat there the more people arrived. My grandmother got there with one of the men from church who had known me since I was born, we sat in that room and we prayed for a miracle. I had no idea what was going on, all I knew was that I put my baby to bed, he woke up briefly fussing, fell back asleep, and a couple hours later he was lifeless. I kept hoping the doctors and nurses would come in and tell me that it was all a bad dream and that everything was fine. I mean he was warm and still had full color, so he had to be okay. Deep down I knew the truth, I knew that my baby was gone, I had no idea why, but I knew that he was gone. After about an hour, I think, the door finally opened and they came in and said, “I’m sorry…..” I honestly don’t know what else they said after that, it was like listening to the teacher on Charlie Brown. Then they told us that in a couple of minutes we could go in and see him and “say our goodbyes.” Even now, 12 years later, I can still vividly remember what he looked like. I’m not going to go into detail, because that is an image that nobody should EVER have to live with. I remember holding him and crying and not wanting to ever let him go, but knowing that the rest of my family also wanted to say goodbye. I remember taking a break to go outside to smoke with my friends from the ambulance, who stayed there the entire time, hoping along with us.
When it was time to leave our family went back to our house with us, but when we got there we found a police officer outside our door. It was raining outside, but they wouldn’t allow my family to come into the house with us, only my mother and I were allowed in with the detective and the medical examiner. They made me reenact the whole morning, using my Cabbage Patch doll as John, and took pictures. Then they questioned us repeatedly while keeping an officer stationed outside our front door. When my uncle brought coffee for my mom they wouldn’t even allow him to bring it in, and they wouldn’t let him come in to use the bathroom. They treated us like criminals. I didn’t even know which way was up at the moment and they kept asking over and over about what time he had his last bottle, and what time he went to bed. Then they had us give them the bottle he last drank from and the can of formula that we had been feeding him from. Eventually they left, but told us that we would have to come down to the police station the next day along with my sister since she was the last one to feed him and give our “official” statements. Once they left my family came in and helped us make some phone calls. I remember nearly collapsing on the floor when I tried to tell one of my best friends that John was dead. He left work immediately and came to support me.
My family went back to my grandmother’s house and 2 of my uncles told me not to worry about any of the funeral plans, that they would help me through it and take care of all of the costs. The next few days are a blur; I don’t even know how everyone found out that John had died. We had John’s funeral and burial on Wednesday, June 17 and it was a beautiful day. I can’t tell you for sure who was there, but I know there were a lot of people there, including the nurse from my high school. John’s father was there and it was the first time he ever got to see him, and the only way he ever got to hold him was by carrying his casket. It’s a long story, but if you get to know me better you will probably come to know it. Anyway, I am grateful that he was there because he was my rock that day, if you knew nothing about what had gone on between us you never would have been able to tell just by seeing us that day. It was more than a week before I slept at my house again, and even longer before I could sleep in the bedroom by myself.
A month and a half after John died my best friend, who I had known since I was 10, gave birth to her first son on my 19th birthday. I gave her many of John’s clothes and baby items to use and then when she was done with his clothes I gave them to another friend who then disappeared. To this day that is something I regret. I have very few items of John’s left and if there is one thing that I can tell a newly bereaved parent it is do not rush to get rid of your baby’s belongings. You don’t know what you will wish you had later when the initial shock has worn off. Do not let other people rule your grieving time line, do things at your own pace and in your own way.
Every year on John’s birthday we have a cake for him, sing Happy Birthday, and bring balloons to his grave. And every year on his angelversary we release balloons for him. Not everyone does these things and not everyone needs to. Grief is individual and personal, and some people do not find these actions to be “acceptable” not that there is anything that is acceptable about a sweet little baby dying. I knew nothing about SIDS until that fateful day and that I find unacceptable. The women’s clinic that I went to for prenatal care was housed in the same hospital as the SIDS Center of NJ and yet I was NEVER told about SIDS or the risk reducers. I recently came across the packet of information that I was given at the hospital when John was born and there is a pamphlet in there about SIDS, but it’s not as if they ever reviewed the information with me.
The last 12 years have been a roller coaster to say the least. I am now married and have 2 other children. My first subsequent child, Joseph John (Joey), is now almost 4 ½ and my second “sub” is Allison Marie (Allie), the girl’s name I had picked out when I was pregnant with John before I knew if I was having a boy or a girl, is 2. I do my best to ensure that they know as much as possible about their big brother. Joey has recently started expressing his grief and telling us that he wishes his big brother was here to play with him and that he loves him and misses him and wishes he could “come alive again.” When I was pregnant with Joey I hoped that I was having a girl and didn’t think that I could handle another boy as my first “sub”. The first year was definitely stressful, but we made it through and then I wanted another baby. I always knew I wanted to be a Mommy. From the time I saw Allie I couldn’t get over just how much she looked like John. I am actually kind of grateful that she wasn’t my first baby after John, because I don’t think I could have dealt with a spitting image of him right away. Over the last few years I have realized that in order to feel that I am honoring John’s memory and making sure his life had meaning I need to help other families get through this journey. I want other families to know that you CAN get through this. Our children are NEVER forgotten, and living your life doesn't mean you are forgetting them.