Sorry in advance. I am sad and may, inadvertently, make you sad too.
This year, the Christmas holidays were hard for me. I have trouble talking about why, for lots of reasons.... Some people don't understand. It makes my mom cry when I talk about it. I'm not sure anyone cares. I'm afraid someone will say something hurtful, intentionally or not. I have to bare my heart to talk about this, and part of me wants to keep it all inside, and never let it go. Because once it's out, you can't take it back. And it is very personal and sacred.
But it is therapeutic for me to express myself. So I will.
Nursing school was a struggle. I worked my ass off to get into the program, never had enough money, and had to commute 2 hours every weekend to go home and see my husband. But the biggest struggle came at the end of my second year of nursing. I was just over a week away from finishing the semester when I got a phone call that changed my life. My younger brother was in the hospital, and it was bad.
My brother suffered with severe asthma his entire life. He had many hospital visits as a kid, and always carried around an array of inhalers to manage his wheezing. Looking back, I don't think his asthma was ever really under control. We just got used to the wheezing and shortness of breath, and it seemed normal.
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| In my mind, when I try to picture him, it's most often him at about this age. |
My brother and I were very close. My mum was a single mother, and worked long hours, leaving me and my bro home alone a lot. We were only 2 and a half years apart in age, and rarely fought. We laughed a lot, stuck up for each other, covered for each other, and generally spent a lot of time together. He willingly held my hand until he was 11 years old. I loved hanging out with him. When I moved out in high school, I missed him more than I missed my mom. He was always around, tagging along with me, and I enjoyed it. Most of all, he was my shoulder to cry on. I could confess anything to him, and he always listened, was generous with hugs and smiles, and made me feel better.
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| This picture is not the best, but I don't have access to others at the moment. My older brother is on the left, my younger brother on the right, and my silly nephew is at the bottom. |
He had gotten in to technical college shortly after high school, and was in a program to become a train conductor. On his way home from classes one day, while walking to the c-train station, he suddenly collapsed. He was alone. A bystander called 911, but by the time they arrived he was in full arrest, and wasn't breathing. They did CPR for 20 minutes before he "came back.'
They did testing and found that he had an asthma attack so severe, it had caused almost instant respiratory arrest. They have no idea what caused the attack. There was no evidence of an allergic reaction, which could have triggered his asthma. We don't know if he was running, frightened, doing something strenuous...we will never know. But his body had failed, and lifesaving efforts had brought him back.
He spent 7 days in ICU, on full life support. A respirator, 4 chest tubes, catheter, feeding tube, and 9 IV tubes running continuously, kept his body going. During his time there he had many seizures, which indicated he had some brain damage from lack of oxygen before EMS arrived. He didn't look like my baby brother. He was puffy from head to toe, his normally animated face was slack and pale. We were desperate to connect with him, to reach the beautiful person we knew was somewhere inside. We played music for him, sang to him, brought him healing stones and nick-nacks. It was amazing to us, even though he was unconscious, we could tell if he was having a bad day or not. Somehow we could sense if he was struggling that day, or making a little progress the next.
Eventually the doctors came and told us that his organs were failing. They were trying everything they could, but his body was shutting down anyway. On top of that, the oxygen deprivation likely also caused permanent brain damage, and there was no way to know if he would function normally if he survived. We had to make a decision. Force his body to go on and delay what would inevitably happen anyway, or let him go.
We chose to let him go. We could sense that he was tired, that it was getting harder for him to hang on. We wept together, and discussed how this decision felt right, and how we had no regrets. He was loved, respected, and cherished, and he knew this.
So with dignity and heartbreak, we turned off the machines, put our hands on his chest, and felt the very last beat of his heart. We told him to rest now, everything was ok, just rest, you don't have to fight anymore. We were right. He was tired. He was gone within minutes. It killed me to watch my mother weep for her baby. My older brother and I, through choking and suffocating tears, sang him a childhood lullaby. He was 19 years old.
This is a memory I both cherish, and despise. The entire week in hospital replays in my head. Often, it pervades over any happy memories, and my heart breaks all over again. The sensation of his very last heartbeat against my hand, and the lack of sensation that came after, tore a hole in my heart that will NEVER be repaired. And if I allow myself to focus on it, to see it in my mind, it consumes me for a moment and I feel unable to move. With the love and support of my family and friends, I try to refocus on happier times, and good memories. And I know what a gift it was, to be there, and feel his last breath. We got to say goodbye, kiss him one last time, and feel his spirit fly. So even though it hurts, I am grateful for this memory.
But how has life gone on? How have I lived without my baby brother? Some days I honestly don't know, but it has been 7 years. At times, it is still raw and fresh. He would be proud of me, of the mother I have become, of my home, my children. He would be a fun and awkward uncle, making goofy faces and teaching my kids swear words. He would tease me for whining about being a stay at home mom, and remind me to lighten up, like he always did. I miss him in my life, and have trouble feeling him near me sometimes. The grief comes and goes in waves, and this year I felt the emptiness of Christmas without him, and the wave felt like a freakin' tsunami.
Anyway, sorry for the sad break here. Sometimes the heart has something to say. Next time will be much less heavy, I promise. I'll talk about how my daughter pooped somewhere, and it was funny...or something.
