Goodbye, Everybody

By Jean Russell

Goodbye, Everybody is the story of a thirteen-year-old boy who, during an open-heart surgery, suffered a massive brain injury because a blood clot or an air bubble passed through the heart-lung machine, which shut off the oxygen to his brain.

Before this tragedy occurred, Kevin’s future was very bright. He was a young man with many attributes. These included being a caring and loving individual, an excellent student, and a talented athlete.

It was not time for Kevin to die as God had other plans for him. With His assistance and guidance through years of adversity, he has become a wonderful person, a loving husband and parent, and one of our Father’s workers.

In this story of a precious life saved, I have tried to describe the mountains Kevin had to climb to get out of the crevices in the deepest canyons in which he had been thrown.

I would hope that other families who find themselves in this situation and with their own rocky mountain to scale would turn to God to help them with patience and fortitude.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798888328866

Book preview

cover.jpg

Goodbye, Everybody

Jean Russell

ISBN 979-8-88832-885-9 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88832-886-6 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Jean Russell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

A Personal Update from Kevin Russell

About the Author

Chapter 1

"A stroke! How could that be? He is only thirteen years old. How could he have a stroke? We brought him down here to be helped, to become a healthier athlete, and now look what has happened! You've ruined him, if not killed him!" I spoke these words to the two doctors who had just informed my husband and me that they thought our young son had, had a stroke. I could not believe I was hearing this. There had to be some mistake. How could a thirteen-year-old have a stroke? I couldn't have cared less if he were the greatest athlete in the world. My mind started whirling, trying to comprehend what we were being told.

Kevin had heart surgery that morning. We had no notion that anything was wrong. The surgery had started at about 8:00 am and was finished by approximately 1:00 pm, which was not a long time for operating on the heart. I was first allowed in my young son's room at about 2:00 pm. As I stood by his bedside, looking at his sweet face, his eyelids fluttered for just a second. He did not open them completely at any time. At that one instant, when his lids opened and closed briefly, his eyes had rolled back. My husband, Lyle; our daughter, Sheila; and I had been in and out of the cardiopulmonary unit off and on for several hours after Kevin's surgery. During that time, not one of the attending physicians had murmured a word that Kevin was in any kind of trouble. As I was standing by his beside at about 5:00 pm, Dr. Kerth said to me, Kevin seems extra tired, Mrs. Russell. We are going to leave him on the respirator all night. I was not alarmed at this statement as our daughter had used it all night after her heart surgery.

Everything seemed to be going as expected, and we were lulled into a sense of complacency, just waiting for Kevin to wake up and say, Hi, Mom and Dad! Sheila left to visit a friend in the area while Lyle and I continued our vigil of visiting Kevin for about five to ten minutes at a time. As we sat in the CPU's waiting room, we talked with people who were there to visit their loved ones. Time seemed to drag and at the same time fly by—six o'clock, six thirty, and then it was seven o'clock.

Dr. Kerth and Dr. Popper came to the door of the waiting room and asked if they could speak to us in the hallway. The waiting room was very small and only seated about ten people. Thinking that they just wanted to report on Kevin's progress, we were not prepared for this turn of events. Lyle and I stepped out into that hallway, not knowing that from that time, our family would never be the same.

Dr. Popper said, "We don't know how to tell you folks this, but we think Kevin has had a stroke!"

My god, a stroke! How could a thirteen-year-old have a stroke?—I kept asking myself this question over and over as we stood there, listening to this shocking diagnosis. I broke out in a cold sweat. My teeth began to chatter. I was freezing, and my body began to shake uncontrollably from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. This was a dream. It wasn't happening to us. Things like this happened to other people. I was in a state of limbo. Why hadn't the doctors told us sooner that Kevin was in trouble? We just stood there. I asked them, What is going to happen now? What can we do?

Dr. Popper said, We are going to wait until nine o'clock. If he doesn't wake up, we will call in a neurologist.

Why wait? Call him now!

We think there is a chance Kevin may still recover.

What if he doesn't? I could barely get the words out of my mouth. I was shaking so badly.

Dr. Popper again explained, We will call in a neurologist.

Should we consult another heart specialist? I was grasping at any straw.

No, unless you want to do that. We don't think it is necessary, but it is your decision.

How can I describe my feelings at that time? Only those who have gone through experiences like this can feel what we felt. The desolation, pain, agony, fear, anger and complete feeling of helplessness took over my mind; and nothing made sense. I couldn't even think to run down that long hallway to Kevin's room to see if he was alive or dead. No wonder he hadn't opened his eyes! We looked at each other, not knowing what to say to each other, trying to digest this shocking information. We couldn't even talk to each other. We were both in a state of shock. Could this really be happening to our baby?

Chapter 2

We were a typical American family, middle-class, during a time when more mothers stayed at home with their children. Inflation had not set in. A family of six could live fairly comfortably on a policeman's salary in a small town. Lyle worked a part-time job to supply us with a few luxuries that would not have otherwise been afforded. My husband and I had four children: three boys and a girl. Little did I realize in those days that tragedy would strike and that our lives would never be the same.

My husband, Lyle, was a policeman on the Eureka Police Department. He has a good solid build, a little on the heavy side, and should watch his weight. He is about six feet tall, with light-brown hair, green eyes, and a cleft in his chin.

In 1953, we moved to Eureka, California, from Twin Falls, Idaho. Eureka is a small city in the Humboldt Bay area in Northern California. It is located about 125 miles south of the Oregon border and about 300 miles north of San Francisco. We had come to Eureka so Lyle could find work in the lumber industry.

He met several police officers who were working part-time at a mill where he was employed. They encouraged him to seek a position with the department. He had always wanted to be a policemen and at last had the opportunity. He joined as a motorcycle traffic officer on January 2, 1956. He had ridden motorcycles since he was fourteen years old, and this was just what he wanted. He always looked so handsome in those black boots, leather jacket, and helmet. He reminded me of James Dean.

Lyle worked the traffic department for about seven years, then he transferred to the blue coat division, which was concerned with all other crimes. In 1970 he was made detective, a position he had decided he wanted for some time. Good sources have told me he is one of the best detectives on the West Coast. Lyle has a very persistent way of interrogating a person to find out the needed information. He has solved more cases and recovered more stolen property than I can report. Two homicide cases he investigated and solved have been published in a national detective magazine. His duties included all arson, homicide, burglary, and robbery cases.

Eureka has a population of about twenty-five thousand, so it kept him very busy as crime is on the rise here as it is everywhere. Lyle is like a hunting dog when he works a case, never giving up until he has treed or caught his victim. He was selected as officer of the year in 1976 and detective of the year in 1979. He loved his job, but after twenty-five years, he was glad to retire and let the younger men continue the fight against crime. The courts of today make an officer's job seem not worthwhile (e.g., after working hard to put a case together, you'd have a person who you know is guilty get off completely on a technicality or with an insignificant sentence).

After Lyle retired, he stayed in the investigative business. He worked a short time as an investigator for the district attorney's office, opened his own detective agency, and then decided he really did want to retire from law enforcement.

Jeffrey, our oldest artistic, tenderhearted athlete, had black hair like mine before the gray crept in. He is taller than his father and slenderer, with long legs that seem to run all the way up his body. He always reminded me of a gazelle on the baseball field. When he ran to catch a fly ball or a drive, it was with such grace and speed. His large hands and long slender fingers could wrap around a baseball bat or basketball like a glove. His artistic ability began to show up in the third grade, and he has developed in to a fine artist. At the present, he is pursuing art as his career, which makes me very happy. He is a very talented young man.

Our only daughter, Sheila, is three and a half years younger than Jeffery. She is all lady, I am glad to say. Even though she is a very good athlete like her brothers, she always maintained her femininity. When she was small, I loved to see her coming home with her long, thick, blond ringlets in a ponytail swinging back and forth. She is nice and slender and doesn't take after her mother's chubby figure. She has her father's fine nose and features. Although, many people say she has her mother's green eyes. With the help of braces, she has turned into a very lovely young woman. As she grew up, she became a big help to me, baking cookies and goodies and helping around the house. On Saturday mornings, she always said, What can I do to help you today, Mom? And then she left to do whatever chores I assigned her. When she was finished, she was off to do what she wanted to do. Today, we are best friends.

Then there is our Bruce, who is two and a half years younger than Sheila. He is the third child. The old saying that the third child is a character is very true in his case. He is an imp, one you can't refuse anything because of his charming and persistent ways. His thick brown hair, sparking green eyes (where the devil always dances), dimples in his cheeks, and chin give him a John Travolta look. Except, I think he is better looking than John Travolta. Bruce is husky like his father but about two inches taller. He worries about getting too fat as he was chubby when he was a youngster. After he lost the baby fat, he never wanted it back. I swear Bruce can walk into a room full of people, and you'd think a tornado had passed through. He has always been like a hyperactive puppy. If you could harness his energy, it would supply the country's needs for years.

The last but certainly not the least is our baby, Kevin. I guess he will always seem like my baby. This pregnancy had been unwanted because I felt three children were enough for my husband and me to raise on a policeman's salary. Kevin was born with a streak of silver in his then-jet-black hair, which has since turned the color of his father's and Sheila's. The streak doesn't show now unless you look for it. Kevin is the sweetest, gentlest, most thoughtful and well-mannered of the children. His manners seem to have been born in him. He has always gotten up from the table, put his dishes in the sink, and remarked, Good dinner, Mom. Thank you. Kevin is the smallest in stature among the boys, resembling Bruce somewhat in looks, and has beautiful broad shoulders and slim hips. When he laughs, his whole body laughs, and his shining green eyes and manmade dimples act as lanterns. When I look at him with all his wonderful attributes, there is that guilty feeling about those thoughts of not wanting him before he was born.

I loved being mother to my brood and keeping house (I am not the world's best housekeeper by any means), of which I like a clean, orderly one even though mine is not like that at all times. I take pride in decorating it and trying to be a good homemaker. I also loved being involved with Lyle's and the children's lives as they were growing up and now that they are grown. I still like nothing better than visiting with them. I consider Lyle and my children as very dear friends.

The children all did well in school. We did not have any discipline problems with them. Bruce, who was and still is our rascal, did surprisingly well in school and, during those last years, kept up his grades even though I am not sure how often he attended his classes. He managed to maintain a B average.

The other three worked very hard and always managed to be on the honor roll.

The boys were all avid sport fans, as I am myself. I am sure I influenced them a great deal. Lyle was not that crazy about athletic sports. He liked riding motorcycles, fishing, and hunting. Our family attended Little League games from the time Jeff was in the fourth grade until Kevin finished up the line, a matter of ten years. Lyle would attend their games with me as he was interested in what they did. This meant hurrying the boys to practice and games, then home to eat sometimes at eight or nine o'clock in the evening two and three times a week during baseball season. It also meant putting off our vacation until the games were played.

Jeffrey had the makings of a professional baseball player, but somewhere between the time he started high school and graduated, he fell in love and gave up serious thinking about sports until it was too late. His girlfriend did not want to wait while he went to practices and games, and he considered her more important than his love for baseball.

At one Little League championship game, Jeff pitched a no-hitter and won the ball game and the championship with a home run! Sometimes little boys