A year ago this morning, I got a phone call from work. I looked down at the caller ID on my cell phone and saw that it was my SIL. And because, for various reasons, she rarely called me anymore … I knew something was wrong with Liam.
And as I picked up the phone, right away I could here her sobbing. And as she talked, I found myself walking away from my desk at work and into a private place where we could talk. Phrases like “worsening pulmonary edema” and “lungs too premature” was all I really heard amidst her sobs. That, and the one phrase we all didn’t expect to hear. That the doctors didn’t know how much longer Liam might hang on.
So I quickly shut down my computer, gathered my belongings and ran out the door after telling my boss what was going on. I headed to the local hospital and up to the NICU area where I saw my SIL in the waiting area. She was talking with one of the chaplains who was trying to console her.
“I couldn’t be in there while they were rounding,” my SIL told me, referring to the attending doctor and residents. I understood what she meant; she didn’t want to be in the room when these professionals would discuss Liam’s case.
We eventually made it back to his room, where I was so surprised to see how ashen Liam looked. The weekend before, he was bright-eyed and playful. And he was taking a bottle … one of the first time he was doing so. Now, because he must have aspirated, they had him being fed by a tube. And while the everyone thought he might pull through this bout of pneumonia, his poor premature lungs weren’t able to do so this time around.
Most of the day was spent in a blur. My SIL’s husband was finally able to make it down to the hospital around lunch time. My in-laws came in and brought Tyler with them to visit. Tyler, I can remember was pretty upset … not knowing how to react as an 11-year old wouldn’t know. My husband, who worked an hour and a half away, left work in the early afternoon, but because of traffic made it in just around dinner time.
And then about an hour later, Liam was gone.
There’s nothing more gut-wrenching than watching my BIL hold Liam as he took his last breath. To hear the aching bellow as he cried out Liam’s name, while holding him close. Nothing more heartbreaking than watching my SIL’s eyes overflow with crocodile-sized tears.
And there’s nothing … nothing at that moment, that we could do at that moment to console them. Because simply, we couldn’t bring back Liam.
It’s now been a year since that day. A year of missing Liam. A year of praying that he’s safe and happy up in the heavens. I pray every day that Liam looks over his parents and brother … and now for his newborn baby sister.
And every single day, I pray that he gives me the strength … that same strength he had for the four months he was with us … to put one foot in front of the other and move forward.
