A Gift, A Release

In my eulogy I described Evie’s death as beautiful, and I know it sounds strange, but I stand by those words. I know these things I write are intense and personal and maybe hard to read, but I share because I want my loved ones (you) to know that these things are okay and we can actually survive them!  Maybe I am talking myself through it too?  Anyway, today I wanted to write about the death of our baby because I understand that death is a thread that connects and enriches our human experience.  The death of a baby seems so shocking and horrific, but actually it wasn’t that way for us.  I don’t really know what I believe happens when we die, but I know that death was a gift, a release for Evie.  
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When the time came to remove Evie's life support, Kabir and I felt very ready.  We had solidified our decision at the care conference with ten of Evie’s doctors, and we knew for certain that Evie was going to die no matter what.  By ending her life support, we would have the opportunity to make her death peaceful and be there for her. Leading up to Evie’s death, Kabir and I had spent a week doing beautiful and difficult things that felt right for us (These Last Days).

That day we learned what we could about the process of dying.  (I was in a logical mindset, not an emotional one yet.) I asked some key questions: Would she gasp for air once off the ventilator? Yes.  Would she turn blue? Yes.  Could she end up living a long time off life support? No, maybe an hour at most.  Would she cry or fight it? No- she would be medicated and she was very weak. Would she suffer? No- she would be medicated. (In my mind I thought- how in the hell can you know if she’ll suffer?  Have you ever died?! I had to let go of that fear. . .) We learned that the doctor would remove all life support, and I would be allowed to hold Evie while she died.  We would be left alone with her for as long as it took, and we could call in the doctor when we felt ready to have him check on her.  We could spend as much time as we needed with her body once she passed away.  (Some parents even spend the night with their dead baby- sleeping with her, snuggling her, etc.  It might sound sad and morbid- but I could truly understand why you might need that.)  Knowing these facts and the “plan” was helpful for us.  Throughout that day, Evie had actually shown signs that she was in fact dying already- her oxygen needs had gone up and up all day, and she was very sluggish and still.  I kept trying to find her behind her eyes, to catch her soul there, but she was far off.  We realized Evie was ready, and so we made ready too.

At 3pm, we signaled the nurses that the time had come.  One nurse disconnected the IV, and placed sweet Evie in my arms.  A doctor came in and removed the breathing tube.  At first, Evie cried a raspy cry and I called out desperately, “She hurts!! Help!!”  I was terrified.  A nurse was ready with a dose of morphine and Evie relaxed.  The three of us were left alone.

Tears quietly fell as I held Evie and rocked her and reassured her. . . “It is okay now sweet baby.  It is okay to let go. . .” Evie closed her eyes and took labored breaths.  It was so sad to see the way her lips formed a tiny ‘o’ as if she was still trying to breath through a straw. . . Poor, sweet little one!  But soon her breaths became more relaxed and fewer and further between. Kabir put his hand on my shoulder and we cried as we watched her.  I did not take my eyes off her face.  Again I whispered to her, “Precious one, it is okay now to stop and rest.  It is okay. . . shhhh. . ."  Slowly, she stopped breathing.  Moments later her body went completely limp and her face became smooth and soft.  She died.

Angelic Evie- Beautiful Release

Peaceful Sweet Child

It was in that instant that Kabir and I realized the extent of Evie’s suffering.  We realized that Valerie had always looked this peaceful when she slept, and that Evie had never once looked this peaceful.   We were grateful that the suffering was done for her.  We were also overwhelmed with love for her, and a deep sense of peace within ourselves . . .We kissed Evie, held her close, and whispered soft loving words to her (and to each other.) We carefully undressed her and washed her with a soft, wet cloth.  We put lotion on her and dressed her in a beautiful pink onesie I had bought for this day.  We took some photos so we could remember her peaceful face and remember how she really looked without a breathing tube.  We cried and hugged and loved and cried.  I don’t know how much time went by, but we knew when we were ready to leave.  We quietly left the room and went home to be together with Valerie too.

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People have warned me that a part of me will always regret this decision.  They tell me I’ll probably wonder whether it would have been better to wait and see what would happen.  But right now I have no regrets and no guilt about letting Evie die.  (I have regret and guilt about other things, but not about that.) I only feel relieved and thankful for the way things happened that day.