I helped with Owen’s care for one of the last times tonight. I can’t remember the last time I saw his eyes full of life. My last memory of him is when he was sleeping his his bouncy chair. My sister fed him and tucked him into bed. The only eyes I see are lifeless and empty. While on the phone with 911 I looked down and saw only empty.
The second and last test will happen some time around 6pm tomorrow. Things will move quickly after that. We agreed on a do not resuscitate plan for tonight. If his heart decides to say “I’m done” there isn’t really a reason to keep him going. We would no longer be doing things in support of him but rather to him.
Since we are donating what we can, they will be taking him still on the ventilator.
I’ll have to watch doctors take my breathing child with a heart beat away from me, never again to return in flesh to me. This is all logical, they can’t let him stop breathing until they have what they need. Yet, this was not in my thought out plan.
Doug made a comment that we’d be home tomorrow night. It didn’t even occur to me that when it’s over, we go home.
I think of stupid stuff. Like what will I wear to the funeral…skirt or pants, flats or heels. Where will we eat afterwards? Will the room be large enough? How will I find the strength to greet everyone or stand that long? How quickly can I sell the triplet strollers? I’m going to burn his crib. Where should I buy a double stroller from?
I feel horrible for thinking of things like feedings will be easier, I can feed two babies at once. Or that loading up the boys for outings will be easier since I can fold the captain chair down. How horrible that I’m thinking how my life could be easier with one less baby. My thoughts make me sick. Yet I can’t seem to stop them, they just come.
I want to cry. I want to sob and cry out. I’m pissed though. Really pissed. I’m angry for what has happened.
My life has been an adventure. Car accident & flight for life, bells palsy, kidney infections, triplets, etc. You know what makes me feel the worst? That I had to drag my family and friends through all of this. Because of me, my 16 year old brother knows the loss of a child. I was the vessel that allowed both the gift and taking of a nephew. Me? I know my shoulders can bare it. It’s not fair that those I love have to feel the burden of my trials.
Enough. I need to stop my brain and rest, even if it’s just for a little.