On January 10, 1983 my son, Kyle John Petteys was born. Kyle was a whopping 10 Lbs. 9 oz. and I had him naturally with no anesthesia. OUCH! Not only do I remember the pain during childbirth but also the pain afterwards. I could barely lift my legs to walk or roll over in bed. But the pain of his birth was nothing compared to the pain of his death 23 years later.
Kyle’s sisters were 6 and 9 years old when he was born, our long awaited baby boy. I called him our unexpected pleasure. His dad was so excited to finally have a boy join our house full of girls.
While growing up, Kyle played soccer, baseball, basketball and roller hockey. All to his sports enthusiast dad’s delight. He also loved to fish with his dad and they would often travel to nearby beaches or lakes in our tent trailer. He was a happy, healthy, fun-loving boy. As he grew older he began to play golf with his dad and would often beat him.
Kyle was a sweet, sensitive, affectionate little boy and continued to be into his teenage and adult years. He always had a hug for his mom and his sisters.Our lives changed forever when the demon called drug addiction grabbed hold of Kyle when he was a senior in high school. I have two brothers who are recovering addicts and a sister who died of a drug overdose. Somehow, I escaped and I believed my children would also. I was wrong. For the next 5 years we lived in the chaos of drug addiction. We did everything in our power to stop him, to help him, to cure him. On April 29, 2006 Kyle died in his sleep. The autopsy read multi-drug toxicity. It has been 13 years and I miss him every day. My husband and I now live without him but with anticipation of a heavenly reunion with Kyle one day.
Story by Robin Petteys