Henry, his Dad Chris, and me
PLEASE READ THESE BLOG POSTS FIRST:
It’s Time to Go Fully Public With What Happened to My Son, Henry Granju
If you are on Twitter (you can follow me at @kgranju), please share a link to this blog post using the hashtag, #justiceforhenry
On April 27, 2010, I was having a business lunch with two colleagues at Aubrey’s in Bearden (Knoxville). I had the ringer on my phone turned off so it would not disturb my meeting. Given the fact that I am a mom, and especially because I had a critically ill child about whom I was worried beyond explanation, I only very rarely turned the ringer off. But I did sometimes do it for short periods while I was in business meetings, and I did it that day.
I had texted Henry that morning at 9:14 am, writing, “Hi sweetie. How are you today? Give me a call.” He had never responded – very unusual for my son – so I was on edge. So when I left the meeting to walk back to my office, located in the same office complex, I immediately checked my phone and saw that I’d gotten a call from a strange number. There was some kind of voicemail, but it was garbled and I couldn’t understand it, but I could make out that it had something to do with Henry. When I got into my office, I shut the door and called the number back. I can’t recall whether I called from my cell phone or office phone. A woman answered, and I explained that I was Henry Granju’s mother, and that I understood she had called me. I don’t remember the exact words she said, but it was something like, “Henry’s overdosed on drugs and it’s don’t look good. He’s at the hospital.”
(NOTE: When I was interviewed on camera for “Henry’s Story” just a few months after Henry died, I mistakenly said that the call had come directly from Henry’s phone. What I meant to say – and what I hadn’t learned until quite a while after Henry was taken to the hospital that day – is that the woman called me from her own phone, but that she had apparently gotten my number from Henry’s phone, which she kept when paramedics took him unconscious from her house. My listing in his phone said “Mom.”)
I didn’t even ask for any other details, like what hospital. I hung up and knew IMMEDIATELY how bad it was. I have no idea how I knew, but I just did. I ran – literally – out of my office and down the hall, gasping for air. I careened into the office of a coworker who is also a close friend and tried to explain what had just happened. He immediately offered to drive me to the hospital, since I was clearly too upset to drive myself.
We went down to the parking lot and got into his car. As we pulled out, I realized that I had no idea where Henry was. My friend wisely suggested that the University of Tennessee Medical Center (UTMC) would be the most likely place he would have been taken, so I tried calling there first as we drove in that direction. I reached the ER and explained that I was a mother checking to see whether her teenage son had been brought in. The very, very nice person with whom I spoke checked quickly and confirmed that Henry had arrived there shortly before. I asked his condition, and she gently explained that she didn’t want to discuss it with me over the phone, and that they would talk with me when I got there.
Of course, I then feared that he was already dead. I was hysterical as my friend’s car grew closer to UTMC. I called my sister and asked her to immediately get in touch with Henry’s Dad, Chris, as well as my husband and other family members. I then also texted Chris, his wife Melissa and my brother, telling them what was going on.
We pulled up at the hospital, and my friend let me out at the ER doors while he went to park. I ran in, and up to the front desk, explaining that my son was there, and I needed to see him and to find out what was going on. The clerk immediately assured me that my son was not dead, but alive. She knew that was the only thing I wanted to know at that moment. And let me just say right now that from the very first UTMC staff member I spoke to on that terrible day until the very last, each one was as kind, compassionate and communicative as they could possibly be. I was hysterical and crying and not easy to understand, but they held my hand every step of the way, even as they heroically worked to save Henry’s life.
Before I could go back to see him, the admitting desk needed some information. They had his wallet, which contained only his driver’s license, so they knew his name, and that he was 18 years old, but that’s all they knew. After only a minute of answering questions about insurance and our address, a very nice male ER staffer led me back to the room where Henry was being treated – in the treatment area of the ER.
There are no words to describe to you what I felt when I walked in that tiny room and saw Henry for the first time. I didn’t know what to expect, but I didn’t expect it to be as horrible as it was. I had heard “overdose” from that woman, but no one had yet explained to me that Henry had also been physically assaulted, so I just wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
Henry was lying on a treatment table, comatose. He was on a ventilator, with the tube down his throat and taped around his mouth. Both of his eyes, which were closed, were purple and swollen, and a significant amount of bright red blood was continually oozing from both of his ears. He had already had his clothing removed, and was wearing a hospital gown, which hung on him. It had been pulled down so that his chest was visible, and I could clearly see a large patch of bruising, with a scrape in the middle of it. Several medical personnel were working over him, adjusting wires and tubes, and wiping the blood away as it ran from his ears. I burst into tears and involuntarily cried out, “Henry, Henry, No! No!” I held onto the edge of the exam table and began kissing and stroking his beautiful mop of curly, brown hair, just as I’d done tens of thousands of times since I first held him in my arms. I was trying to pull myself together and not wail out loud. I distinctly remember seeing one or two big splashes of water, my tears, fall onto his face and run down his neck, mixing with the blood from his ears.
(NOTE: 6 weeks later, after my son finally died, having never again left the hospital, I thought back on this moment – my tears falling into my child’s blood – as I read the comments by the Knox County Sheriff in the newspaper in which he essentially denied that my son had suffered any physical injuries that mattered, and explained that their investigation into what might have caused these non-existent physical injuries was essentially over.)
At that point, Henry’s father, Chris had arrived, and he was led back to the room, where he found me standing over our comatose, bleeding, bruised child – still weeping inconsolably. I saw the terror on his face as he walked in, and we immediately gave each other a hug. Just then, a doctor, Dr. A came into the room and introduced himself as the treating physician. He asked us to come into the hall with him so that he could explain Henry’s condition to us.
Next: Justice for Henry – Part 4
Previously:
It’s Time to Go Fully Public With What Happened to My Son, Henry Granju
If you are on Twitter (you can follow me at @kgranju), please share a link this blog post using the hashtag, #justiceforhenry
I rarely comment, but I am in tears reading this. I'm so sorry for your loss and hope you get the justice Henry deserves!
Possibly the saddest thing I have ever read.
Me, too. Katie, are you sure you want to write this? I can't imagine how it must feel to relive these moments.
Oh my god Katie, this literally took my breath away. This is every parent's worst nightmare. I am so, so sorry you had to go through this. Thinking of you, and Henry.
This story is so powerful – I am in tears. Keeping you and your family in my thoughts.
I suspect this is a writing because she has to thing, as opposed to wants to…
Wow. I'm almost speechless. I can't imagine the terror you were feeling.
Prayers for you… and justice for Henry. xo.
I also rarely comment but my heart is racing, there's a lump in my throat and I'm on the verge of tears….
From one (new) mama to another, my heart breaks for you. Sending you love and strength.
I can't imagine… just so sorry. I pray that you all find justice and some form of peace and comfort soon.
Katie, this story gets more and more heartbreaking. I am so hoping that law enforcement will do the right thing. You are doing the right thing by going public.
I think about you both every day. <3 Looking at this from a mothers standpoint is hard. Its hard knowing that soon I will be having my own baby (just like u had henry when you were my age). I want to protect it from everything..but know I cant. I hope I have half the strength you have. You are a wonderful mother and I cant even imagine the things you have felt. Thank you for sharing your story with the world Love you,
Cori
Just wanted to say THANK YOU! My step son died of a heroin overdose 2 years ago today. My ex will not share the cause of death with anyone. She is embarassed and ashamed! I try telling her she could save someone elses child if we shared Markies story….So thank you for making a difference!
I can only imagine how hard this must have been for you to write. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family as you continue to seek justice for Henry.
Henry's Uncle Robert and I raced to Knoxville, arriving at His side within hours. I cannot describe the horror and terror and sadness that overwhelmed me when I saw my sweet baby boy, my first grandchild. I feel it as I am writing this. He looked so young and so fragile and so near death that I wanted to scream, run away and make it go away. He was connected to machines, of course, but what hurt most was seeing his brides and swollen eyelids, blood seeping from his ears and a bruise on his chest and realizing that if he didn't survive, one of his last memories in his young life would be the pain and helplessness of being kicked and beaten with none of us there to stop it. Henry didn't know violence and I'm sure was so sad and confused while violence happened to him. He was a gentle soul from the moment he was born.
Bruised and swollen eyelids.
I am so impressed by your courage and strength and I am astounded by the lack of integrity you have been met with, by your local authorities. Your story is a very important one. I wish you the best outcome that you hope for. And I am so very sorry for your loss.
Oh Katie, my heart breaks for you. I wish you luck in your search for justice, and most of all, I wish you peace.
Dear Katie, I am following along and sending prayers for justice for Henry, for peace for you and your family. This is every mother's worst nightmare, and I am so sorry you had to walk this road, and are having to walk it still. God bless you.
I am in tears as I read this. No mother should ever have to go through this. My heart is breaking for you! We're here with you all the way Katie!
I've been coming to your blog since Lisa Belkin mentionned Henry in her NYT column. I am a facebook friend. Henry has become a strong part of my life, on my memory and you are an example to me of what a mother should feel for her kids. Yet, everytime I read you, everytime I read what they did to Henry, my heart tightens again and I am still so so sad for you, your family, and for him. Not only is it unfair that he died, but to have died in violence.
But Katie, I am a believer and I just know that where ever he is, it is a happier place. Fight for your son, but stay alive Katie, stay alive and try to find happiness again.
Sending you lotsa prayers.
Heart wrenching. Devastating. Oh no, oh no.
It must be horrible to write this. But I'm sure that you are going to achieve what you want to achieve – justice for your lovely, dear, precious boy. And you have certainly already saved lives with your passionate struggle against apathy.
Katie, you are a hero.
Even though this story is still unfolding, have you heard anything from the media?
And what I mean by unfolding, I mean sharing the whole story. Have you heard anything from the media since you decided to come forward with all of the details? Sorry for having to post twice. Midday brain.
And he had blood in his hair on the back of his head too – that head with those giant lips and big eyes and quick mind. Henry once told me that he was just experiencing life (during a lecture I gave him on drugs). What he never understood was there is a fine line between being in the audience and being down on the field and nobody tells you when you have made the transition. You find out when you get the shit kicked out of you.
I cry with every single new installment, Katie. Your love for Henry is so strong and I keep wishing there was a different ending to the story. I pray for justice and for goodness sake, for your life to get a little bit easier. You are so strong and such an amazing role model for all of us mamas who love our kids.
What a total nightmare that nobody should have to actually live out. Your tears mixing with his blood is what really got me in the gut. Keep on writing, Katie. The world needs to see and hear Henry's story.
Like many others have stated, my heart breaks for you, especially since becoming a mom. I have been following through a family member who knew and cared for Henry, and have felt so sad ever since hearing what your family has been going through. I truly wish peace for you and your family.
Knox County: Do the right thing and investigate this case properly. People all around the region are watching. Mark my words, people are watching, listening, and waiting for your action. Your inaction will be highly publicized. Jobs will eventually be at stake, and a PR nightmare for your department will be at the bottom of the problem list. Don't let pride get in the way. Do the right thing, it will cost less. Inaction has a high price – 60 minutes, Dateline, etc. would love to get a hold of this story. It is riveting and heart wrenching. Surprise us and do the right thing and shut us all up. Give us a reason to say, "Thank you for doing all that was in your power and Jurisdiction." Better yet, treat Henry's case as if he were your family member…
I am listening closely and waiting for justice for Henry.
"Do the right thing, it will cost less. Inaction has a high price – 60 minutes, Dateline, etc. would love to get a hold of this story. It is riveting and heart wrenching. Surprise us and do the right thing and shut us all up."
Well put. I agree. I would put some sort of press release together and fax every executive/senior producer from Dateline to Nancy Grace.
Or perhaps have all of us go on their Facebook pages and demand these news shows tell Henry's story.
Proud of you, Katie.
My heart hurts, and my eyes are stinging. As a parent, I cannnot imagine how it feels to write about these events as they pertain to my own child, much less to have lived them.
No one would blame you if you never wanted to discuss any part of this period in your life again, but, instead, you're harnassing your love, anger, fear, and pain in a tenacious efforts to bring those who hurt your son to justice; you're trying to ensure that what happened to Henry does not happen to anyone else's child. You're doing the mitzvah, or good deed, of what we refer to in Judaism as "tikkun olam" – repairing the world. That's incredibly selfless, and indescribably moving, particularly given the depth of your own grief. I hope that writing this is proving to be at least somewhat cathartic for you, and that knowing how you – and Henry – are touching so many lives in such a positive manner is bringing you some measure of comfort and peace tonight. <3
"Utter sadness" doesn't begin to describe how this feels as a reader. But I hope you, Katie, and all of Henry's family know that all of us who are reading do so to support and bear witness. God bless you for having the courage and fortitude to travel this long, dark, lonely valley demanding justice for your lost son and the incarceration of those who might otherwise hurt other people's children.
I simply cannot imagine the pain then and now as you write this. My continued prayers…..
I feel sick with every revelation you've shared, yet I'm compelled to continue reading each update and unspeakably grateful for your unabashed candor. I am going right this minute to wrap myself around my 12-year-old son and count his every breath as precious.
I'm so very very sorry for your agony and I am in awe of your bravery. Boxville can be a mean small place.
Katie, you are exceptionally brave. I can not imagine your pain, but I truly feel that you will get justice for your sweet boy Henry…I know that you will. Much love and prayers to you all.
I'm really glad you're doing this. I imagine that it must be cathartic to share the specifics after having forced yourself to submit to the muzzle, thinking that you were being cooperative, and that cooperation would be rewarded with action.
This sounds beyond horrific to me, I cannot begin to imagine what you are actually going through. My heart continues to break for you, not a day goes by that Henry's story doesn't pop into my thoughts.
Tragic story but hopefully the ending will include JUSTICE for Henry. I am sure he is smiling down on his Mom & giving her the strength she needs to see this journey through until every person responsible gets a nice orange jumpsuit compliments of the TN Dept. of Corrections.
Anyone who has given birth can only imagine the horror of what you experienced, not only through Henry's addiction, but that horrible day when you first saw your precious son lying comatose, bruised and battered.
But through your beautiful writing…we are getting an up close and very personal account. I cried reading this. Bless you for your courage.
I am so sorry to hear about your tragic loss. I hope you get answers and justice for Henry.
Can you get access to his hospital records? If he was beaten before being admitted, that should have been noted by medical personnel. I wonder why the sheriff is denying this.
I just read the details about your son, I am very sorry that you have had to go through this. I don't understand what you mean by justice and the people responsible. Was he was beaten up and then someone injected him with something that caused his overdose? I'm not sure i'm following the story correctly.
I'm so sorry for your loss. It seems you have focused your grief into finding "justice" where none can be found. Honoring and memorializing your son from his good times and as a tool to help others avoid the same fate would seem so much more positive and productive. You are a very talented writer and there are lessons to be learned from your family's experiences and your ability to share them so eloquently. I hope you will be able to focus your energy to helping others rather than non- existent justice. Henry will still be gone but sharing his story could help other families.
I am so sorry for your loss and hope you get answers and justice soon.
I'm reading your story and wishing and hoping for a different ending. I'm also waiting for Justice for Henry x
Katie, I am at a total loss for words except for these:
I am so sorry about the tremendous loss and pain you are going through.
I am so sorry there is so little anyone can do to make it better.
I am certain you will find your grace in all these moments; to be able to write and express and reflect and relive all you have gone through will help you find the path. And the daily grief you live with will always be the reminder that Henry was here. And you will inspire and help others to be strong, to survive.
I will always ask you about Henry, and you, when I see you. And know that each of one us who reads this is carrying him around, too. Henry's reach is still growing…. I will think if there's anything I can do for you re: media. I have done a lot of work re: abused teens and I will reach out to those networks and see.
Wishing you peace and light to face the dark,
Stacy
I am so sorry for your loss. You are incredibly brave to share your story. I am weeping tears of sadness for you and your family.
Thanks everyone. This is the most painful, exhausting, scary thing I have ever done, but I am Henry's mother, and I will be damned if he will be treated this way, not by the criminals or by the system. Your comments here, blog posts, Facebook posts and tweets make a HUGE difference in giving me the strength to keep moving forward, keep working, and keep seeking justice for my child, and other mothers' children. Much love,
Katie
This is truly heartbreaking – a parent's worst fear. You are in my prayers.
Referring to the KNS article dated June 5th 2010
Reading this article was like walking into a fog bank. This story is so troubling on so many levels it's difficult to know where to begin. "Because no weapon was used in the assault on Granju, the attack would be a misdemeanor offense." Really? Really? A skull fracture, broken ribs, a broken jaw and was bleeding from his ears when he was admitted to the hospital. Simple Assault? Authorities are taking the word of these two or three cowards, that no weapons were used? Is that the way investigations work in this day and age? Did the investigators make these rouges pinky swear to the fact that no weapons were used in the brutal attack, pinky promise, or maybe both. I'm not trying to be one bit funny, but GEEZ To add insult to injury, when Henry passed away "any chance of prosecuting the two assailants has passed." Mind numbing statement, unbelievable!
The entire situation did not make sense, does not make sense, and will never make sense until a proper investigation is conducted.
I believe Katie and the facts she presents. At the end of the day, Katie's determination and diligence will reveal the circumstances leading to her sons fate.
A botched investigation at the least, and probably much more, because the stench is unbearable. Several pieces of this puzzle are lost or being hidden.
God Bless you Katie, your family, friends, and all touched by this senseless tragedy. Hang there and stay strong. Your efforts are paying off and will continue to be rewarded for a long time to come.