March 20th, 2002 began like any other day. I arose early, around 6:15 am, and poured myself some coffee. I walked down our driveway to the mailbox to retrieve yesterdays mail. At this time, I was working evenings and nights, and wasn't home during the normal daytime mail arrival. While at the mailbox, I had a strange and erie feeling come over me... I had the sudden urge to go check on my daughter, Breanna Ray.I had never known that feeling before. It was a feeling of sudden panic~ instant suspicion that something was not right. And I knew it was my baby girl. I could not run down the driveway fast enough. I had the urgent need to go check on her.
When I arrived back inside of my house, I immediately ran to my daughter's room. It was roughly around 6:25 am at that point. Breanna and Mellissa had been sharing a room together since they were little girls, and although Breanna suffered from a rare form of Cerebral Palsy called 'Lisencephaly' which made her prone to severe siezures, I always felt comfortable knowing that Mellissa was always there with her. When I arrived at their bedroom doorway, I knew that my sudden feeling of panic was now a reality... my daughter Breanna was unconsious and not breathing. Feelings of sheer terror & disbelief overwhelmed me immediately.
That was the longest 2 minutes of my life. It seemed like an hour. Although I was a licenced caretaker and proficiently certified in CPR, I could not for the life of me figure out what to do. I was in severe distress. I could not believe this was happening to my baby girl. I could hardly comprehend what the 911 operator was instructing me to do. I believe, that at one point, I actually told her that I was in shock and could not follow her instructions. I remember performing CPR on my daughter, and I will never forget that hollow sound of my breath entering her lungs, but her lungs not reciprocating my efforts.
In the back of my mind, I knew that she was gone. The Lord had come down, unbeknownst to me, early that March morning, and lifted my sick baby girl up to Heaven to be held in His arms safely, for eternity. Why had I not been informed of His pending plan to send my life into a spiraling downfall into the pit of hell? Why did I not have a choice in the matter? And why was this happening to me, my children, and specifically to my special-needs daughter?A few minutes later, the Chula Vista Fire Department arrived at our home. They were quick to take over and try to revive my baby girl, with such professionalism and care. As they were lifting my daughter onto a gourney and getting her settled into the back of ambulance, Chula Vista PD arrived. At first, I didn't understand why the police would be coming to my house. But then it dawned on me, that although I was still (blindly) believing that my daughter was going to make it through this, that the Police always come to a situation where someone has either passed away, or has stopped breathing. Their job is to investigate the "scene," while it is the job of the paramedics to perform life-saving techniques (that don't always have a happy ending).
I spoke with the male and female police officers for about 15 minutes, which seemed like hours. I explained my daughter's disability to them in detail, and informed them of an upcoming surgery she was supposed to be having to have a feeding tube surgically implanted. She had not had an appetite of recent, and was starting to vomit the food that she did manage to eat, and this concerned me on many different levels. Breanna was very small for her age, due to her medical condition, and her life expectancy was short to begin with. Her disability was one that caused her to regress every year, instead of progress.
I had managed to successfully keep her off a feeding tube for her entire 13 years of life here on earth. Now all of a sudden, after just being given a clean bill of health from both her pediatrician and her neurologist, she started to become very sick. The night before she passed, she started to show symptoms of her re-occuring bout with congestion and a cold. This was not unusual, and I always had medication at home that her pediatrician prescribed to her just in case she needed it. Respiratory infections were common for Breanna, because of her inability to stand, walk, or talk.That night, I gave her a small dose of her meds, and decided that I would call her pediatrician first thing in the morning to get her in for an urgent care visit. I went through this procedure with her often. I was used to it. I never thought she would die. I never thought she would suffer throughout the night. She was a fighter, a tough little cookie. Surely her meds would help her through the night, and her doctor would fix her up the next morning. She'd be feeling better in no time, right?
Wrong. The guilt that I STILL feel about this till today is unbearable at times. It suffocates me. I always wonder if she would still be alive today, had I not gone to work and taken her to the ER that night. But, she did not seem like she was in distress? It didn't appear to be any different than any other time she became sick. She appeared to be catching a cold, as was quite normal for her, and I would take her to see her doctor first thing in the morning & call out sick the next afternoon so I could stay home and take care of her. Breanna being sick was as common as Breanna having seizures. It was just our life. Life the way we knew it.
The police officers were very kind to my children and I, and they did a great job of calming them down while the ambulance drove off with Breanna in the back. They were rescusitating her all the way to the ER, as they would with any person who was not breathing. I still had hope, I still though she would make it through. I was wondering when the police were going to leave, because I needed to get into my car to follow that ambulance to the hospital, even though the ER was literally right across the street from my house. I could hear the sirens racing through the street. I wished the cops would stop talking, and just go away so that I could go be with my baby girl.
The police must have known that Breanna had already been deceased, because they wouldn't allow my children and I to leave the house. They kept telling me, "Just sit down, compose yourself, and give them about 20 minutes to do their job and get your daughter admitted. Have some coffee, eat some breakfast." What I wanted to say was, "You go have some donuts and coffee, assholes! I am going to the ER to be with my daughter!" Of course, I would never disrespect an officer of the law. I informed them that I was not hungry and only wanted to go be with my daughter.Soon after, the officers left, and I loaded up my other two children into our car. I don't even remember driving over to the hospital. Although it was close, time felt like it was standing still. What was going on with my baby girl? Was she okay? I was sure they were able to rescusitate her! Okay, worse case scenario, she suffered more brain damage while not breathing... that's okay, that's okay... we can deal with whatever new medical issues she will have... we are a strong family, and Breanna is a fighter. Maybe I will have to quit my job, quit school, and just take care of her at home full time? How the hell am I going to do that? I am a single mom! I must provide for my children! Uggghhh! I'll figure that all out later, I thought to myself.
We arrived at the hospital and I had my children sit down in the lobby while I checked in. I should have understood it then, when the staff all stopped and looked at me silently, when I announced my name and reason I was there. They politely asked me to have a seat, and they would call me back as soon as the doctor had some information for me. I should have known that wasn't a good sign. But, gullible me, I was preparing myself for bad news... news that my daughter had suffered more health complications... NOT news of her death.
I refused to believe that was even an option. To think that I sat in that ER lobby for another 40 minutes, anxiously awaiting word from someone, anyone, regarding the status of my daughter... and all along thinking that she was going to be okay... just brings me to tears, to this very day. I must have known. Clearly, I couldn't have been that blind, could I?
I never gave up hope. NEVER. I just knew that Breanna was going to be okay. The paramedics create miracles every singly day! Surely our Breanna Ray was one of them! We'd deal with the situation, no matter what it was. She'd probably have to be hospitalized for a while, and neurological tests would need to be ran to test and check for brain function/damage due to lack of oxygen for God knows how long. But at least she was going to be alive, and I could love her and hold her again.
It wasn't until almost 8:00 am that a nurse called me back. They would not allow my other two children back with me, so I asked the receptionist to keep an eye on them while they nervously watched cartoons. I knew their anticipation... we had all been waiting word on our beloved Breanna for quite some time. The guessing and wondering was making us all edgy, fussy, sad, uncomfortable, and upset. I would return to them in a few minutes, and explain that their sister was okay, and update them with as much information that the doctor was able to provide me with.
The nurse guided me down the back hall, just west of where my other children were waiting. She opened a door for me, and flipped a light switch on. I remember it feeling like it took 5 minutes for the light to turn on, although I'm sure it was only a second or two. In the room sat a couch with a couple of pillows and a coffee table, placed next to a smaller table with a telephone on it. There was no bed or machines in the room, and my daughter was not in there. I still didn't "get it."
The nurse informed me that the doctor would be right with me. I decided to pick up a magazine, one that was familiar to me and brought back fond memories of my bible study days as a young child. I was quite surprised to see "Highlights" magazine in a hospital room! I began leafing through the pages, remembering how excited I would become when my Sunday School teacher would pass these out for us to take home. As I sat there, I thought to myself, 'I think I will look into ordering this magazine for my kids to enjoy, once we get back home today.'
Ummm, NO. You did NOT just say that.
I was waiting for him to say, "Okay, no, just joking... here's what's going on with Breanna..."
But that never came. What came, instead, was my world caving in around me, crashing down, and unbearable pain plastered through my heart. Someone was stabbing me and ripping my heart out... why would someone do such a thing to me? Where is my daughter? I WANT MY DAUGHTER!!!
Dr L. left me alone, to compose myself, and to make some phone calls before I brought my other 2 children back with me to the room, to inform them that our beloved Breanna was now an Angel. I could not for the life of me remember anyone's phone numbers. It was 2002, and I did not yet have a fancy cell phone. I remember picking up the receiver of the telephone in the hospital room that the nurse had placed me in, and not being able to speak. I called my dads house phone several times, but kept hanging up because I could not muster up any words that made any kind of sense.
At the lack of coordination or skill to talk to my father at this particular moment, I decided to call Steve (My current husband whom I was not married to at the time of Breanna's passing) because it was the only number I could remember for some reason. He was a Chief in the US Navy at the time, and his ship was just getting underway for a few days. I called and informed them it was an emergency, and he soon answered my call. I remember him saying, "Hey, what's wrong?" and silence.... I was trying to force out the words... but I couldnt, because if I said it, then that would mean it was reality. But I finally just let it go... I yelled out, "Steve, Breanna died."
Silence again. He said, "What??? No!!!!" He offered to call my dad for me, because I was just too broken up to talk. I hung up the phone, and prepared myself for the hardest thing I've ever had to do: tell my children that their sister was not coming home with us. Ever. I had to tell them that she was an Angel now. I had to tell them that she passed away. She died. She was not ours any longer. She now belonged to God up in Heaven. Reasons (at the time) unknown.
As you can imagine, the scene in that room was not a pretty one. It was devastation at its worst. That day was a catalystic turn for the worse in our lives. We would never be the same. We would never be the family that we once were. From that moment forward, life would be drastically different. I did not know what to expect. I couldn't even take things minute by minute yet... it only came to me second by second. And even that was unbearable.
I was allowed to go in and see Breanna first, by myself. It was completely unreal. To see my daughter's lifeless shell of a body lying there on a gourney, clothes ripped off and gone, hair all a mess, smile-less, breathless, pulseless. That was not my beautiful baby girl. She even had a look of distress on her face. I felt so overwhelmingly guilty, crushed, lonely, affraid, pissed off, heartbroken, and destroyed at that very moment. What had just happened? Why had I not seen this coming? Why had I assumed last night that she would just be okay, like she usually was? Why did this have to happen? How could I live without my baby girl? This is NOT real.
I spent a long time with Breanna Ray that morning. I talked to her, cried with her, held her, fixed her hair, and kissed her. I told her how sorry I was that mommy had failed her, and that I was not there for her when she felt like giving up her fight. Maybe if I had been up earlier, I would checked on her sooner, and things would not have turned out this way?
I brought Steven and Mellissa in to see their sister. Amidst all of our tears and sorrowful heart-felt goodbye's, I realized that a funeral needed to be planned. I just wanted to run away and hide. I wanted to pick up my daughter, and run out of the hospital with her, and take her home. Surely, I could bring her back to life there? In her own surroundings? In her home, where she was comfortable. Surely, I could bring her back to us. Boy... the things that go through our minds when we are in a state of shock and disbelief.
A while later, I was called out of my daughter's room by one of the attending nurses. She said there was a woman there to see me, to help me. I thought to myself, 'Oh, good... there's someone here who can help me bring my daughter back to life, finally.' In reality, it was a grief counselor. Apparently, the paramedics knew that Breanna was deceased at my house before they even brought her to the ER. They had informed the police, and that's why the police kept me from leaving my house... they had called the grief councelor to meet me at the hospital, and they wanted to give her ample time to get there before I showed up.
Things were finally starting to make sense. Standing at the hospital counter, speaking with a grief counselor just sort of made things "real." I was starting to come around, and reality was starting to sink in. My father, step-mother, and Steve had slowly began arriving at the ER. I did not want to speak with a grief counselor, I just wanted someone to bring my daughter back to life. When I walked out into the waiting room and saw my family in there, I fell to my knees and broke down crying.
At that point, another nurse came walking out, calling, "ma'am, ma'am... you forgot your daughter's belongings." She then handed me a plastic see-through bag with Breanna's pajamas, socks, and hair ties~ all of which had been cut off and removed by the paramedics. When I realized what was in the bag, I had a panick attack and could not breath. That is the exact moment that I realized Breanna was gone, and she was never coming back to us.
That moment stays with me every morning, every evening, and all hours in between. Every day, for the past 11 1/2 years. It will never go away.
~Kymberly, 'Angel Mom, Healthy Mom'
(Thank you for reading today's blog post, and sharing in my experience. This is difficult for me to write, but I hope that someone, somewhere, will understand what my children and I went through. And for all of those Angel Parents out there, I hope that you realize you are truely not alone.)
