The Last Full Day

Mothers Day.

It’s the last fun day I had with my sweet boy one year ago. I would love to of said last year on this day it was such an amazing day that I had so much fun with Anthony, but to be honest, it wasn’t. We drove to the hospital and he had to get a COVID test to prep him for surgery he was going to have the next day. Beyond that, the only thing I even remember is just hanging out with him, watching a move at my in-laws and cuddle late at night. We ordered pizza and I remember sending him to bed, and forgetting to tuck him in like he had begged me to do. I remember walking in at midnight and covering him up one final time…

Then we all went to bed. Day concluded. Over. That was it. The last final full “normal” day with my six year old.

The next day was an early one, waking him up to drink something before it was too late with his surgery being scheduled in the coming hours. It was a surgery he had already had several times..”routine” they called it.

I remember sitting in the prep room with him, signing the papers – you know, the ones before every procedure that you sign basically saying you know and understand the risks. I remember the tears in his eyes as he said, and I quote, “Mommy what if I don’t wake up.” Ugh. This kills me now. Seriously it hurts my heart to even type it. Because that is exactly what happened. He just didn’t wake up that day.

The surgery seemed to go fine. Same as usual. His surgeon came out afterward and told us of how Anthony was telling jokes and making all the doctors and nurses around him laugh all the way up until he fell asleep for the surgery. He assured us that he would be good with this surgery for at least a couple years before he’d need another replacement again.

Quick Anthony history break: He was born with Cogenital Lobar Emphasemia which he fought when he was just a month old and OVERCAME. The only result was that they, in error I will add, cut the wrong part of his airway in an emergency and then later on had to remove his ENTIRE lung, which is why he had to have these once a year/once every couple years “routine surgeries/procedures”. These would put a tissue expander on the one side of his chest that was missing a lung to keep up with his growth. Early on, we were soooo assured by his doctors and specialists that everything from that point on when he was a baby, we were through the hardest part..over the complicated…just have to keep up with these “routine” surgeries as his body grew. He was so full of life, He dreamed of having his own YouTube channel to give other kids who “subscribed” batman toys, and I swear his goal in life was just to make everyone around him laugh…at any cost. And I mean ANY cost.

Anyways, back to current surgery day: After his surgeon came out to update us, We were excited and waited patiently to go back to see him. It was taking a little longer than normal, so we went down to grab him chicken nuggets for when he woke up. The cafeteria would be closed by then and we knew he’d be starving. Like I said, this wasn’t our first (surgery) rodeo. It was our 7th. We knew what to expect.

The little things I remember, like just waiting so much longer. The hospital worker getting on us about our masks (we were TIRED and had racked up a good 7+ hours of sitting there with them on in our own little corner of the massive waiting room), I remember practicing my hand lettering. And then the nurse called us back. Finally.

On our way back to the room, she explained to us that he was having a lot of trouble waking up, but when he heard our voices she was sure he would come to. But he didn’t…well, not really. For a split second after they gave him Narcan to combat the narcotics they had given him, he cried and called “daddy”, as they had me sit on the bed with him and wheeled us down to his recovery room. He turned his head to lay it on the side of my arm. And that was the very last moments I heard his sweet voice.

Hours went by as Pete and I kept insisting that he should be awake by now. The doctors ensured us he was okay, his vitals were okay. It’s normal. He’s doing good. We got that over and over again no matter how many times we asked, whether it was doctor or nurse…the same answer. Until 4:00 in the morning, May 11th, I heard every machine in the room go crazy with beeping. Nurse rushed in. Over the loud speaker was “code blue code blue” followed by his room number as every single nurse and doctor on the floor came flooding into his room. His heart had stopped. He wasn’t breathing.

I wish I had the strength today to tell you of how I stepped outside his room to let the doctors do their thing and watched everything from across the hall through glass windows. The details of the 45 minutes of CPR I watched and the jolting of his small body as they tried the defibrillator. Of how I felt so helpless and could only cry out to God in a way I never had before in my entire life. The moments of me walking in the hall..probably sounding hysterical as I asked for answers and pleaded with whichever of the million staff standing in the hall to give me an ounce of an answer. Nothing. They didn’t know. All they could tell me is that he went into cardiac arrest. And they were doing everything they could. Of signing papers that I don’t even know what they said. I wish I had the strength to relive the details of those last couple days so that I could paint the picture for you, but I don’t right now.

Days followed of prayer after prayer. Holding onto every ounce of hope I could possibly grab on to. Refusing to believe that I was going to leave the hospital without my boy. He had fought for his life before - when he was a baby, God had saved him, he had overcome a rare congenital lung disorder, was healed from Pulmonary Hypertension earlier in his life when the doctors said it couldn’t happen. I knew God could do it. I just knew he could do it again.

Word of what he was going through spread around the community and other communities we had been a part of in the past 6 years of his life. So many people praying, his little league team made stickers “I play for #6” and they all wore them on their helmets, a big prayer service Thursday night just for him, kids he went to kids church with praying for him.

But God said no. I can confidently say God said no, because Anthony was covered in so much prayer. We pleaded with God, we fasted, we took communion, we trusted him saying, “God we trust you no matter the outcome.” We begged for a story like that of Jairus in the Bible rather than a story of loss similar to Job. Knees to the ground, face buried, worship blaring in the waiting room, in his room, hands raised, anointing him with oil, his door frame with oil. E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G.

And because I believe that God had his hand on this situation, and that nothing is too big for Him…because I believe God hears every word we say, and always wants what’s best for us…I can confidently say, God said no. Nothing is beyond His control. And because of this, I knew that whether he said “Yes”, or said “No”, I could trust Him. And that was the ultimate test. Because Anthony, my sweet 6 year old boy, now resides in Heaven.

In Heaven. A place he just recently asked SOOOO many questions about since he asked Jesus in his life on February 15th 2021. A place he insisted Manny, our chihuahua, would be one day, and he would play Fortnite endlessly. He was so excited to go there some day. Little did we know just how soon it would be.

Days are long. Days are hard. The pain is not something I can relay to you in a simple blog post. But if we believe what we say we believe, then he is in Heaven, and one day soon, we will be with him again. In my experience through what is referred to as my “grief journey”, they say being angry at God is normal, its part of the process, its “okay”. I understand, and if you’ve walked through a season of being upset at God, blaming God, or anything of the sort, this is not shaming you whatsoever, just sharing my own experience and thoughts…but if we believe what we say we believe…God is the one who was there and understood beyond ANYONE. He was with me as I watched my son take his last breaths, as I watched his chest move up and down for the final time. He was with me as I sat on my kitchen floor totally ripped apart by the loss of my every day comedian as I worked from home and he was always my little buddy here with me. He was the only one who could feel the pain I did as I walked out of the hospital that day holding only a box of his things and a stack of grief books the hospital sent me home with. I know without a doubt He was there, and still is every single day, every single emotion, every single holiday, every single season.  He knows why He said no, and I don’t. And I know I can’t understand fully now…but I trust Him. And I trust that one day I might know…but I know that one day I just won’t care anymore as I wrap my arms around Anthony so tight and celebrate the miracle of Jesus who made a way so that we could have eternal life with Him and the ones we love who have accepted and live for him…like my Anthony. So how can I be mad at a God who felt everything I did, and walked with me through the hardest thing I’ve ever had to?

Mothers day…I almost forgot what this was even about. I guess in sharing all this, I want to encourage you, that if you have sweet babies at home today, hug them tight..so dang tight. Even if it just feels like a “normal every day” kind of day. It did for me too…and it was my last.

Mothers Day…If you have lost your babies or children, know that death is not the end. Jesus has defeated the grave and there is so much hope that goes beyond this life that is so frail and short. And God has given us promises that we do not have to mourn the way the world does. Jesus can and WILL give you peace that just doesn’t make sense at all, which is so amazing because that’s how you know it’s from Him alone.

Mothers Day…if you have not yet become a mother, know that you still MATTER so much, and that title does not define your worth or your ability to mother others. No, I may not speak from experience here, but I have seen in youth ministry over the past ten years of being youth pastors with my husband, that some of the most significant mother figures were not those who birthed the child, but were those who chose to love deeply, invest their time and energy to better them, and be there for them. There are SO many lost and hurting children in this world who don’t need a “biological” mom, but a mom who is truly there when their biological mom can not be, or chooses not to be.

Happy Mothers Day.