Brady’s Goodbye

I mentioned in my post on Brady’s last week of life (here) that on our last night with him, he had given us some reassurance before we left.  I call it his way of saying “goodbye” now, but if I would have known that at the time, I would never have left his side.  Brady reassured us.  He had this uncanny ability to settle his mama’s fears, and make me feel that everything would be okay.

Brady’s last day was so tough, between his infection and his lungs, he’d had a really rough day.  They typically would want his oxygenation up above 87%, but due to his “sticky lungs” (or Hyaline Membrane Disease, if you’re wanting to be technical) it was hard to keep his oxygenation at that level.  The nurses, doctors, and respiratory therapists did their best, but Brady hovered in the upper 70s for most of the day.

Around dinnertime, Brady seemed pretty chill, so I decided it was a good time to read a book.  This was the first time I’d read Brady a book, and I chose the “Poky Little Puppy”, which was one of my favorites when I was a kid.  On a side note, that book is way longer than I remember it being as a kid.  After, it was time for hand hugs.  When I placed my hands in Brady’s isolette and hugged him around his head and legs, Brady seemed to relax.

It was almost like magic, Brady’s oxygen levels started to climb, up to highest levels we’d seen all day.  His heart rate had been very high all day, up into the 190s.  It dropped down to 160.  This was closer to what his normal heart rate had been, both when I was pregnant, and during his first weeks of life.  He was so relaxed and so chill.

Since he was tolerating the hand hugs so well, we took off his eye cover.  Brady started to open his eyes.  Brady had opened his eyes before, but he would usually only do it for a couple of seconds, and then it was “lights out” again.  This time, his eyes remained open.  It felt like he was looking right at us as we talked to him, told him how proud we are of him, how much of a fighter he is, and how much we love him.

I kept looking at Jeff, who was standing behind me.  We’d talked about going to dinner soon, so I wanted to make sure we weren’t in a rush.  Jeff encouraged me to continue hand hugging Brady, since he really seemed to enjoy it.  I had my hands in there for about 40 minutes, and he continued to relax.  At the time, it felt comforting to see him that way, like he was reassuring us that he was okay.  I still believe that he was letting us know he was okay, but now in hindsight, I also think this was Brady’s way of saying “goodbye.”  After fighting so hard, he was ready to rest.

As I write this, sitting here, sobbing, I am reminded of what my therapist told me after I told her this story.  I’ve always held onto some guilt over not being there when he passed, but she shared that it is common for it to happen that way.  Apparently, children with long-term illnesses often pass away when a parent slips out of the room for a few moments.  Subconsciously, the child doesn’t want to put their parents through that trauma.  It only seems fitting that the little man who saved my life already, was once again protecting his mama.