Buckle up, this one is from the heart

So if you remember my blog post about the new baby, we've got a bit of an update. And also why I haven't posted or done anything with this business and blog in a while.

On March 18, 2026, we had to take Benjamin to Dolly Parton Children's Hospital (formerly East Tennessee Children's Hospital) due to us having to wake him up, being cool to the touch (very low body temp) short, shallow breaths, and general lethargy and unresponsiveness. When we put him to bed the night before, he was fine, maybe a little sleepy but otherwise perfect in every single way. By "take him to the hospital" I mean called 911 and they sent an ambulance. When Benjamin and my wife arrived at the hospital, he was immediately taken to a room and the team there began working on him. They were able to get his body temp up a few degrees, and even got him to respond briefly before they intubated him. 

After several hours and several different consults from different doctors, multiple blood draws, rescue meds, and multiple teams working on him, they got him stable enough to be taken to the PICU (pediatric Intensive Care Unit.) Unfortunately, his stability didn't last long. They started working on what was deemed some sort of infection quickly and we were taken to a private waiting area. The doctor that was on the case visited us several times, as well as the chaplain that met him at the door to the hospital. He kept us up and told us multiple times that he was "very sick" and gave us updates on things like his acidity and blood sugar. I didn't know much about what he was talking about at the time.

after about 3 hours, the doctor came in and said that his acidity was improving, and that his sugar was getting better, but he was still really sick. He mumbled something about the chaplain and then suggested that we come by his bedside for a bit and talk to him, which we did. It was at that moment that we realized that this wasn't just a week or two stay at the hospital, and discussions of who was going to come up there with him and stay for what length and how we were going to handle balancing another stay at the hospital; this was more of a "when he comes home, will it be in a car seat or an ashes container?" I know, I know, that sounds morbid, but it was serious. Being told that someone is "very sick" is a bit different from "might not make it."

After 5 more hours of them pushing meds, performing compressions, and a total of 7 cardiac arrests, we finally asked the doctor the question: "Is he going to make it?" His answer was honest, but very hard to hear; "In my time as a doctor, well, lets just say that is very, very unlikely that he will recover."

We knew what that meant. 
We knew that we had to make THE decision. 
His little body just couldn't take the strain of the infection anymore, and at this point, we were doing more harm than good. 
It was time to let him rest.
And that is what we told the doctor.

The next few minutes felt like hours, and like seconds at the same time. We went from having a perfectly healthy, happy, beautiful baby boy, and being a family of 9, to asking about funeral arrangements and a family of 8 again. 

People talk about the "mother's wail" or the "death wail." I can attest that the sound that came out of my mouth after we told the doctor that it was time to let him rest, could only be described as something not of this world. All of the strength I had mustered up (which, admittedly, wasn't much) to deal with the current situation came crashing down and I just started wailing and crying. One of the nurses asked me if I wanted to hold him, and of course, I did. I held him and I rubbed his head, kissed his forehead, and told him how much I loved him, and that I was sorry, so, so sorry that we couldn't do anything more. I told him how handsome he was, and how brave he had been (even though I knew he wasn't there to hear me, and that he was only 8 weeks old) and that we will miss him. I don't know how long I held him. I know it was only a few minutes, but it felt like time had stopped and the only things left were him, my wife, and myself. 

After those few minutes, I asked my wife if she wanted to hold him and she also said yes, so she did. I started shaking, crying harder, and just repeating "I can't, I can't, I can't..." and she suggested that I take a walk. So I did, and went outside (all the way outside. and across the street. I needed to vape or something to take the absolutely razor sharp edge off) I called my mom and told her what happened and asked this: "what the **** am I supposed to do now???" She didn't know. She said just grieve, remember him, love on your wife and your kids and be there for them.

We left the hospital at about 5:20 pm. We pushed the now empty stroller/car seat back to the van, got in, and drove home. I messaged my MIL and asked her to please keep the other kids up, because I just needed to see them. I needed to feel their hugs, see their excited smiles and their beautiful faces. That is exactly what I got when I got home, loud and excited "Daddy!!!!!" running up to me as soon as I opened the door. Even my 16 year-old came up from her basement room, sobbing, and came over to give me a hug. It was medicine for the soul. But even then, nothing can fill the hole that Benjamin left when he passed.

In the days that followed, we pretty much tuned everything else out. My in-laws were able to take some time off work and take care of our kids whenever we needed (which was pretty much all day, every day), and I was able to do things to keep my hands and mind busy, like working on 3d printers, dev kits for various projects, and the like. 

Now, it has been a little over 6 months since he passed. 
It hasn't gotten easier.
He is still gone.
We have just been able to start picking up the pieces, not so much to move on, but to adapt to his absence. 
It's brutal, unnatural, and something that I would not wish on my worst enemy.

The support from friends and family has been overwhelming. We have been truly blessed to have such a good support system. We have had things taken care of for us, donations, food brought to us, memorial gifts sent and brought to us. We had a memorial for him the next weekend, and had a huge turnout, even though some of them had never met him. They were there for us, and we could not be more grateful for the support.

But, at the end of the day:
I just want my son back. 

Rest in peace little buddy.

Benjamin Charlie Bacon. b. 1/20/26 d. 3/18/26
I'll see you on the other side.



[Notes and special thanks]
The team at Children's could not have been better and could not have worked harder to try to keep him with us. After he passed, they were gentle and compassionate, understanding, and willing to answer any questions we had or just talk to us. A few of the nurses were in tears when I came back inside. The chaplin was caring and compassionate, and knew when to not step in and offer help, although my views on that have changed quite a bit now. A few weeks later, the president of the hospital sent us a personal letter with his sympathies, and what seemed like truly heartfelt condolences. Apparently they don't lose a lot of patients.

Smith Funeral and Cremation was incredible during the cremation process. Even they know there is really nothing like this, and unbeknownst to us, they do not charge for infant services. 

TEIS and their staff were phenomenal, as they always have been. Our kid's developmental therapist has always been great, but she was awesome for the following weeks when she came to the house for the twin's therapy. She attended the memorial as well as the area coordinator who we have worked with for years as well. 

Blount county 911, BCSO, and AMR. Quick response, helpful over the phone, and graciously understanding when we described what was going on. The EMS team were very gentle with him when they took him and started trying to get his temp back up. The officer from BCSO was the first to the house, was very polite, professional, and wasn't nosy or prying during the process. The two officers that arrived at 10:30 pm that night to do a "SUIDs" report were also very compassionate, gracious, polite, and professional, as well as very apologetic for having to come out that day.  

Everyone at Prisma (Blount Memorial) Pediatric Rehabilitation, Summit Family Medicine, and Summit Pediatrics at Maryville for the office-wide sympathy cards, especially dr. Stevens. I have never seen the doctor faster than that visit I had following Benjamin's death. If I hadn't been sold on a PCP before (which I already was), I would have been then. And dr. Damron's team as well. We had an appointment for one of the kids not long after that, and he filled me in on a few things, and for the reassurance that we really could not have done anything else, because those thoughts creep in from time to time, even now. 

Anyone and everyone that offered support, prayers, food, money, services, baby sitting, help, or even just kind words for the next few weeks. I don't know all their names, I don't know what everyone did and to what extent, it doesn't matter, just saying the thing was enough, and I am grateful for your support, even though for the first few weeks all I wanted to do was crawl in a hole and cry. No one could ask for better. Thank you. 

In case you were wondering, he had hiB (Haemophilus influenzae type b), which presented as meningitis, sepsis, and pneumonia. He had another infection as well, but I can NOT for the life of me remember what it was called. He was, in fact, very sick. He was scheduled for his hiB vaccination 5 days later at his 2 month checkup.