By: Kenniesha Burrell “A Grieving Daughter”
I’m writing this not just with grief in my heart, but with the hope that by sharing my father’s story, someone else will be inspired to speak out—and that one day, things will change.
My father was a kind, quiet man. He was the backbone of our family. He wasn’t rich. He didn’t have power or influence. But he had love. He had purpose. And he had people who adored him.
He was a renal patient, and we knew that came with complications. But nothing could prepare us for the nightmare we faced at Kingston Public Hospital (KPH).
A Dangerous Oversight
After undergoing surgery, things quickly went downhill. He kept losing blood—again and again. It was visible and alarming. Yet still, no one seemed concerned. He was sent home without proper instructions on how to care for him post-surgery, and without the crucial guidelines needed to manage a renal patient’s recovery.
We weren’t told what to avoid, what to monitor, or what signs to look for. We were left in the dark, confused and helpless. As time passed, he continued to bleed and weaken, and yet we were told nothing was wrong.
“He Just Needs Rest”
The morning he died, I visited him. I had already told the medical staff multiple times that my father was fainting repeatedly and growing weaker by the hour.
When I expressed my concern to the doctor, I was told,
“There’s nothing wrong with your father. He just needs rest.”
But deep down, I knew something was terribly wrong. My father could barely sit up. His color was off. His strength was gone. I pleaded with them, saying,
“But why does he keep fainting? Why is he passing blood?”
I explained again that he was passing coffee brown blood—a sign of internal bleeding. But I was dismissed, as if my voice didn’t matter. As if he didn’t matter.
A Deadly Discovery
I didn’t give up. I kept asking them to check again. Finally, after what felt like endless begging, someone checked his file more thoroughly. That’s when the doctor discovered that my father’s blood count was at two—a dangerously low level.
The doctor's face changed. He told me with urgency:
“Go now. Your father needs blood. You need to find blood for him.”
I immediately started calling everyone I knew, begging them to donate. I was frantic, but determined to save him. I was racing against time.
But time ran out.
He Died While They Watched
While I was on the phone trying to save his life, my father choked on the little blood he had left. He experienced an upper gastrointestinal bleed, and there was no one at his side to help.
Blood began pouring from his mouth and nose. I later received messages from people who were there—the doctors and nurses just stood there.
No one rushed to help him. No one tried to resuscitate him.
They let him die.
He died not surrounded by love and care—but in fear, in pain, and in utter neglect.
The Pain of a Family Left Behind
The pain of this loss is indescribable. My family has been shattered. My mother cries constantly. My siblings and I carry the weight of sorrow and anger every day.
And what hurts most?
He never got to meet his grandchild.
My youngest son will grow up never knowing his grandfather. He only knows him through a photograph—through the stories we will tell and the memories we cling to.
You Are Not Alone
If you’ve ever experienced the pain of losing someone in a hospital where their life was treated as unimportant—I see you. I feel your pain. You are not alone.
My father didn’t die because he was too sick to save. He died because no one listened. Because no one cared. Because he wasn’t “important” in the eyes of the system.
But he was everything to us.
Let This Story Be a Call for Change
To the families who are grieving, to the sons and daughters who are still searching for answers, let me say this:
You matter. Your loved one mattered.
Do not let anyone tell you otherwise. Speak out. Fight for justice. Tell your story.
Because silence protects no one.
My father deserved better.
So did yours.
So do you.
If you’ve ever lost someone and felt like the system failed them—please share this story. Let it be a light in someone else’s darkness. Let it be the beginning of change.
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