How Weston spent his last night has been weighing on my heart for a while. I had spent much of Friday at the hospital and said good night to Weston around dinnertime. I called D, his nighttime nurse, around 9:30 pm, and Weston was doing well. Between then and 6:00 am on Saturday, I don't know what happened. We asked for the staff to stop resuscitation efforts shortly after 7:00 am when we arrived at the hospital, and Weston passed away soon after that.
Was he lonely? Was he in pain? Was he scared? Did he miss his mommy and daddy? These are things I have been wondering, in addition to playing the "if only" game with myself: if I had known that night was going to be his last, I would have been there every minute.
These thoughts were compounded by my rediscovery of a song (yes, we're talking about music again!) called "He's My Son" by Mark Schultz. Google the lyrics if you want to really cry. The song is written from the perspective of a father whose son is terminally ill. He and the boy's mother have done all they could for their son, and they are asking God to do the rest. I thought that, if only-here we go again-I had known of this song or that Weston was not going to make it, I could have prayed this song for him. The lines that really got me were, "He's so tired and he's scared; Let him know that You're there."
I thought about this song a lot today. This morning I was a complete mess, worse than yesterday, if that's even possible. But I know that some of you were praying for me today, and I felt those prayers as the day went on. Thank you.
Mother's intuition is a powerful thing. When I got the call from the hospital the morning that Weston died, I was told that it was not an emergency and that I could take my time getting to the hospital. But, somehow I just knew this was it. That has to be the only explanation for my deliberately grabbing his little hats that he certainly would not have been able to wear as long as he was in the isolette. This feeling was multiplied tenfold when Shannon and I arrived to see our son being kept alive artificially and knowing within five minutes that it was time to let him go, and go peacefully. We just knew.
So, as I thought through this today, I realized that I need to continue to trust my mother's intuition. I slept soundly that night. I didn't even wake up to pump, which was unintentional. If Weston had been in pain or scared or close to death during the night, I would have known. I am confident of that now.
Then I thought about the prayer in the song: "Let him know that You're there." Because I couldn't be with Weston until the end, God made up for it. Just because I didn't know to pray that prayer for Weston that night doesn't mean that God didn't comfort my son.
My thoughts were further confirmed by something I read tonight. Shannon and I actually went on a date. We tried a new Mexican food place (Barrio Queen in Scottsdale-it was excellent) and then went to Barnes and Noble. Of course, I chose to read about children dying. The book I was looking at was written by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, M.D., an expert on death and dying. This particular book was about children, and she said the following: "...God who creates us all compensates the little ones as they fail physically. They become stronger in inner wisdom and intuitive knowledge."
When God was comforting Weston when I wasn't there on his final night, I believe he gave these gifts to Weston. I hope the gifts included extra knowledge of my love, but I have to conclude that, whatever they were, they were what Weston needed at that time.
The book goes on to say, "Remember that God sends to none of his children more than they can cope with." This is a saying that is thrown around a lot, and I have even applied it to myself during this struggle. But I never thought to apply it to Weston. God shows mercy on the smallest of us as well.
This realization is bringing me closer to scheduling an appointment to read Weston's medical records and talk to the nurses about his last night. We are leaving town again in ten days, and I think I want to learn these details before we leave.
I know that Weston is neither experiencing nor privy to the hell that I am going through right now. I know he is feeling nothing but love. And I know he does not remember any of his painful times here on earth. That is a comfort to me. But, being human and still stuck on earth without him, it also gives me great solace to know that God comforted my child on earth too, far more than I ever could.
P.S. Today something wonderful happened: Weston's milk was given to a family that is adopting a baby soon. I had wanted to give his milk away, rather than donate it to a milk bank, because donor milk is prohibitively expensive when purchased through a milk bank. And some wonderful people made it happen. His legacy will help feed another baby. I am so grateful for that.
No comments:
Post a Comment