"In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith, of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire, may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed." (1 Pet 1:6-7 NIV)
About This Blog
My blog shares my recovery journey from childhood abuse to living with mental illness. I've been involved in twelve step groups and therapy since 1982. I accepted Jesus as my Savior in 1988. To the best of my ability, I have followed where He wants me to go and what He wants me to do. Maybe you'll find the hope and strength you need through what I write. Maybe you want to stop hurting yourself. Maybe you have a friend who needs help and can benefit from my story. I was newly disabled when I asked God this question: "What do you want me to do with my life?" I closed my eyes and paused for a few moments to still my mind. This is what I sensed from Him: "Amy, I want you to write your story to bring hope and healing to those who are still suffering." And that's exactly what I am doing!
Morning came.
It was somber. It was sad.
It was very sad.
All of us said our good-byes.
Aaron was taken away so we waited.
We were told the organs had to be harvested in a certain time frame which meant Aaron had to pass away by a certain time.
So, we waited.
And then the strangest news came from his doctor - Aaron didn't die.
He was supposed to die because of all the trauma to his brain.
His breathing should have stopped on it's own, having been disconnected from the ventilator.
But Aaron had a very strong heart.
Or, God had another plan.
Early in the afternoon, Aaron was brought back up to his room.
He was breathing on his own, his heart was beating strong.
There was no false hope that he was going to wake up.
It was a matter of time before he died.
I was sitting with Aaron's mom when she stood up to leave.
She asked, "Amy, will you stay with Aaron today and come get me when it happens?"
I couldn't believe she trusted me with her son's final moments.
"Yes," I said, without hesitation.
I stood watch over Aaron like a knight guarding a castle.
I watched the nurses check on him and asked questions.
I was able to answer questions his mom and dad asked.
Family members felt better knowing I was in there keeping watch over him.
Hours passed by and nothing changed. It got to be around 10:00 p.m.
I thought to myself, "Why is he still here? What's holding him here?"
Then I remembered something. He hasn't had a bath today.
This young guy likes to be clean and he hasn't had a bath.
I went to the nurse's station and asked if they could give Aaron a bath.
Yes, they sure could.
I sat in a chair at the foot of the bed (not watching, of course). Just as the nurse was finishing up I asked, "Is one of the signs, of him passing away, his blood pressure dropping like that?" "Yes." "Should I go get his family?" "Yes."
I quickly scooted out to the waiting room just as his mom and dad were about to get into the elevator. I said, "It's time." Aaron's mom looked at me and I waved she and Aaron's dad toward me and said, "C'mon, now, it's time."
As they hurried she said, "Family only."
I stayed in the waiting room and she said, "Amy, you're with me."
Aaron's dad, his oldest brother, his aunt and uncle, myself, his mom and his other aunt and uncle surrounded his bed. His other family members and girlfriend either stayed in the waiting room or went home earlier.
We watched the monitor as Aaron's blood pressure and heartbeat slowly went down.
Those of us in that room watched his life transition peacefully and quietly.
And when that machine made the sound that broke the silence,
I knew our loved one was in the arms of the One who brought him home.
And we cried. All of us cried.
Aaron was gone.
We stayed there for awhile. Then slowly got up to leave. I had no words. Just my eyes and body language that communicated love and remorse.
Walking to my car I couldn't help but think how I was leaving Aaron's empty shell behind. His soul was already in Heaven and he was enjoying a welcome home party like nothing he could have ever imagined!
The days ahead would be sad for those of us who would miss him but like my mom said: Satan did not win this battle!
Did that bath make a difference? I like to think so. I like to think it was Aaron's last way of making us laugh by saying, "You know I don't go anywhere without being clean."
There's not much to write on this day because it was the day final decisions were made.
Aaron's mom and dad met with the doctor. All tests had been performed. All measurements had been taken. Every possible contingency had been considered.
There was no hope of any kind.
Aaron was brain dead. He was blind, deaf, paralyzed from the neck down and in a permanent vegetative state. He would never open his eyes, never walk, never talk, never have any motor skills at all. His brain damage was severe and it was permanent without correction.
We had time to say our good-byes privately without interruption. When one of us came out of his room with tears, no explanation was needed. We are a family.
Later in the day, Aaron's mom and dad told us what was going to happen tomorrow.
They decided Aaron's organs would be donated - that's something Aaron would want. Mid-morning he would be disconnected from the ventilator and brought down to the operating room. When the organs were harvested he'd be brought back to his room before being transported to the funeral home.
If people wanted to be here in the morning, when all of this was taking place, that was okay.
Everyone went home that night knowing in less than 12 hours Aaron would be gone.
