It’s Not My Nightmare(Abigail Shipley) It’s Not My Nightmare
At the age of four, I had an experience so traumatic it took me years to find words to even describe such feelings. A young child should never have to endure the tragedy I went through, His name was William Arnold. He died in the fall of 1998 at the age of six months. For the longest time I felt he died because of my irresponsibility but the older I have become, the more I realize, it wasn’t my fault.
It was a warm night in Nevada, Missouri when my mother and her boyfriend left for “work.”
“Now, Abigail, you know where his food is right?” She said in monotone.
“Yes ma’am and I know how much formula to put in the bottle. I'll take very good care of Will for you while you're gone. Promise!”
“Good, now we will be back late so after you lay your brother down it will be time for you to lie down also. Don’t forget to take your bath,” she said.
“Yes ma'am.”
“Well, goodbye. I'll see you in the morning,” she said and out the door she went.
“Bye, Mom ... I love you.”
This was nothing new to me. Changing a diaper was not a problem. Feeding a baby was no struggle at all. Many people thought this was “weird,” but for me it was a way of life. My mother and boyfriend were “working” and my mom had taught me that all good families have to have their certain responsibilities to be able to function. If she and Billy were working I was to take good care of him. And for the most part, I liked taking care of Will. He was a very good baby. He never cried a lot, and for the most part, didn't make much of a mess in his pants. He’s what you would call the “Perfect Baby.” Later that evening, I fed Will and put him to bed, took my bath, and I too, went to sleep.
Only what seemed like seconds went by before I heard the most horrid scream. A scream I have never heard before, one that sends chills up your spine and makes you feel your heart getting caught in your throat, one that makes you unable to breath. Everything around me stood still. And at that moment, that’s when the torture crept over my soul. With curiosity flowing through my body, I slowly came out from under my sweet serenity into the hopeless darkness knowing that I needed to prepare myself for what I was about to hear. So many emotions flooded my mind. I didn't know whether to cry, scream, or be mad at myself. As I walked into the living room, I saw a man dressed in white carrying Will out on some kind of bed. I could see the fury and rage in my mother's eyes.
“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT ABIGAIL!!! I TOLD YOU TO TAKE CARE OF WILL FOR ME! WHY WOULD YOU BE SO CARELESS? WHY? DID YOU GIVE HIM HIS MEDICATION? HUH????” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
“No, I didn't know he needed any!” I cried.
“YOU BETTER GET OUT OF MY SIGHT RIGHT THIS SECOND!! GET OUT!! NOW.”
So off I went, shaken and scared. I opened my bedroom door and went inside and crawled back under my sweet serenity, but this time it didn't feel so sweet. I was angry, mad, and confused. Why did I not know Will needed medication? Why was it all my fault? Why did he have to be taken away so early? I loved that little guy. Maybe she was right? Maybe I should have known. I should have been more responsible. Besides, I was in charge of Will. I even promised I would take very good care of him. My thoughts kept getting worse. Would I ever be able to forgive myself for such a stupid decision?
I've thought about that last question for years. I replay the tragedy over and over in my mind, wanting to forget what happened. But it will never go away.

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