Bambe Riker Johnson - Five More Minutes!: A Guide for Parents Who Must Navigate Life After Their Child Is Murdered

Chapter 1

Jakeob Lee Johnson

Jakeob Lee Johnson May 8, 1993September 3, 1993

P lease, God, just give me five more minutes! These are the words I screamed as I looked down at Baby Jakes lifeless body for the first time since this horror began.

The day was an average day. I had to be in the classroom until noon, as I was finishing up my final class for my associates degree and taking my first class toward a bachelors degree. I woke up that morning, just as any other, with my husband and two older children, Dustin, five years old, and Zaccory, three years old. Audrey, my stepsister and my best friend and babysitter, and her three-year-old son also lived with us and were up and getting around. I was able to get Dustin up and ready and off to the school bus, for kindergarten, without any issues, while Zaccory and my nephew played. My husband went off to work, to a detached garage that is on our property. Baby Jake was still asleep when I left that morning. He was a sound sleeper, and if fed properly, would sleep all night and wake up around late morning. I did not give Baby Jake a kiss that morning, as I did not want to disturb his sleep. The morning was actually perfect. Everything about getting ready for the various places we had to be went very well, an average day, much like any other day. Audrey and I discussed the plan for the day. She was going to get all of the kids ready for us to take them to a family fund day event sponsored by my community college. I planned to show Baby Jake off to my classmates and the staff that afternoon. She would wake up the baby, feed him, bathe him, and get the other kids breakfast and lunch. We planned to leave shortly after I got home from school that day.

I went to class that day excited and happy, but soon after class began, an uneasy feeling began to enter. It came over me that morning and continued until I left school. I did not know that this was a precursor to an event that would shatter and change my world forever. I wanted to leave class that day, perhaps skipping my second class of the day, but I stayed and pushed that pit in my stomach that was growing out of my mind. We couldnt afford a cell phone or pager back then, so any emergency would have to go through the school. But no call ever came. I left school after my full half day and drove home.

Our house was a big two-story farmhouse with a large detached garage and lots of acreage, including corn fields and a large circle driveway. It sat about a mile outside of town. As I pulled up to the house, I could see emergency lights. That feeling came back, strong this time. I sped up to find out why they were there, why there were fire trucks, ambulances, and several police cars in my driveway.

In a split second after seeing those first responders at my house, my mind ran the gamut of horrific scenarios. First was a house fire, but I could not see smoke. Then was the possibility that Dustin had been hit by a car as he got off the bus from school, but there was nobody out near the road. Finally, I settled that a car had fallen on my husband while he was under it in the garage, except that not one soul was in that garage. I was confused, scared, anxious, and my stomach had that terrible feeling that something really bad had happened. Why didnt I listen to those feelings earlier in the morning? Could this problem at my house have been going on since those terrible feelings began? My mind was all over the place.

As I exited my car, I noticed the ambulance running and activity going on in the back, but I still did not understand, and there were various first responders around the entrance door of my house. I yelled out to everyone that I lived there and let them know who I was. I begged them for answers. What was going on? Who got hurt? Nobody would answer me, and I could not understand why! The only thing left to do was to go inside and count heads, find out who was present and who wasnt. My mother was now there now, which made no sense. She was not supposed to be there. No plans were made for this. Again, confusion set in. I looked around and saw everyone standing there: my husband, the babysitter, my two oldest children, and her child. Where is Jake? They would not answer, as everyone was crying hysterically. I screamed louder and a third time even louder. Audrey finally looked at me and said, I tried to save him, 911 helped me do mouth to mouth, but he wasnt breathing!

Who?

Baby Jake! My mom spoke up and said they had taken him out by ambulance. But the ambulance is still out there! I ran as hard as I could out to the ambulance and beat on the doors. Some first responders came and pried my body away from the doors, telling me that they were working on the baby, and I had to let them do what they did best.

Nothing! There was nothing I could do. I have always been prideful of having control (or so I thought), and at this moment, there was nothing I could do to fix this situation. My husband found me collapsed on the lawn, crying uncontrollably. I had no idea what was wrong with Jake, as nobody was giving me information. I didnt know if he was in grave danger of living or dying. I didnt know if he had been physically injured or something happened while he was sleeping. I didnt know what the outcome would be, and my whole being was fractured.

It seemed like forever, but only minutes later, the ambulance screeched out of our driveway. My husband and I followed them in our car. Abandoned of all thought of my other children, this whole event seemed surreal, something from a movie that I was watching. I was outside of my body watching this unfold, and there was nothing I could do to fix it. When we arrived at the hospital, we were met at the emergency room doors by the hospital chaplain, who then ushered us down the hall and into a private waiting area. My mother and my husbands best friend joined us shortly.

We waited, what seemed like hours. I paced, I cried, and got angry at what was taking so long. Why could I not be in there with my infant son to hold his hand and tell him everything was going to be all right? I was furious about all of it, not being able to control what was going on. My brain was on autopilot, and my emotions were all over the place. This was not a concept I was equipped to deal with. I was always in control, but at this moment, I was completely helpless. The doctor finally came out, but the news he was about to give us would shatter me into a million pieces. He told us that they had worked on Baby Jake for over forty-five minutes but that he had taken in too much water, and his heart and brain had been down for too long. His final sentence: we did everything we could to save your baby, and Im sorry, but we were too late.

They could not save him! I was furious at the doctor for not saving Baby Jake, furious with God for letting this happen, and anyone else in my path. I called the doctor some really bad names and even hit him with my fists. I called him a liar multiple times. Finally, knowing there was no other way, he walked away, with tear-filled eyes. Looking back, I know that the doctor and his team were also heartbroken. At some point, someone told me that the entire response team had to go through trauma-based support meetings to help them get through this horrific event. The news of Baby Jakes death made it upstairs, to the maternity ward, where Baby Jake was born. The nurses and doctors there also were deeply affected and came down to us to offer condolences.

The hospital staff ushered my husband and I down to a room to see Baby Jake. As I walked in, I could see his lifeless body lying on a gurney, with tubes coming out everywhere and what seemed like a burlap sack of some sort that he was wrapped in. After begging God for him to bring Baby Jake back to life and holding him for what seemed like eternity, my feelings quickly changed to rage.