Memories

As September 20th and 21st quickly approach, I can't help to remember the phone call I got just as I returned to work from lunch. It was a Monday in 2004. I answered the phone and the lady on the other end says she is with Wake Co. Sherriff's Dept. My first instinct is "What has Brendan (my step-son) done?" I knew he would call me before he called his dad or his real mom! She continues to say that my son had stopped breathing and was being taken to WakeMed ER. I remember her asking if they needed to send someone to come get me or if I could get to the ER on my own. I remember screaming for Anne whose office was beside my desk. She had been like a mother to me just as the whole office had become family. Of course the rest of the office heard me and came running as well. I remember saying Dylan's not breathing and I guess I got WakeMed out too because Anne drove me there. This was the longest car ride. It was only about 10-15 minutes, but I never thought we would get there.


I say "I remember" a lot, because there are some things I don't personally remember, but I have been given the details from others.


On my way I called my husband who was in Knightdale at work. I had to call the office and they had to go find him in the quarry. I don't remember if I actually talked to Ken or if I just told whoever answered who I was and that he needed to go to WakeMed now. I called my Mom who just left her cart in Target and made it to Raleigh from Jacksonville in 1 1/2 hours instead of 2 without a ticket! I called my twin sister Gina who worked less than 5 minutes from the hopital. She must have been the last one I called because I beat her there.


I walked into the Chilren's ER and got to the closed doors. You know it's going to be bad when the lady at the desk says "Oh" in disbelief when you tell them who you are. Dylan was in the first room on the left and there were nurses and doctors everywhere coming and going, in and out of his room. I think he was the only patient in there at the time. I see someone I recognize, but wasn't sure who he was. I found out later that one of the paramedics was my brother-in-laws first cousin.


One of the doctors meets me as I am walking in and I tell him who I am. He takes me to Dylan where he is already covered in needles and has a tube in his throat. He tells me that he choked after spitting up while drinking a bottle. He aspirated what he had spit-up. I don't remember what all he tells me, but I later found out from the paramedic that the babysitter had started CPR and when they got there, Dylan wasn't breathing and didn't have a heartbeat on his own.


They gave him medicine on the way to the hospital for his heart but they lost his heartbeat twice on the way there. Ken (my hubby) and my twin, Gina arrive at some point. That is when I realize that the paramedic is related to my borther in law because Gina starts talking to him. Dylan eventually gets moved to the PICU with a continous flow of epi for his heart and a ventilator. My son is on life support. That is certainly something no one can ever prepare you for.


While we (me, Ken, Gina, and Anne) are in a waiting room while they are moving Dylan to the PICU, we all get on the phone. Ken calls his parents, we call our pastor, my aunt in Chapel Hill, etc. I don't remember calling my mom at all, but she showed up too! I know I did, but like I said I don't remember a lot of details.


At some point, other people from my work showed up, my mom, sisters, dad, and a lot of people from church came. Ken's family came from VA. When Dylan finally got a room, Ken and I went in there first. I remember they had a size 1 diaper on him to begin with. One of the nurses told me "they said a 13 week old was coming. Most kids are still small. Dylan was 9 lbs 8 oz. when he was born. 15 pounds at his 2 month check-up. I am pretty sure he was already in size three by now!

Long sotry short, they did several brain activity tests to no avail on Dylan. Even when I was in the room and called his name and talked to him, there was no response. That broke my heart to see my son who would always smile when I talked to him just lay there motionless.

Overnight, we had family (by blood and by friendship) camp out at the hospital with us. I think they did three brain activity tests on Dylan. About noon on Tuesday, they told us the results of the last one and they said if he ever did regain consciousness, he would be a vegetable. Ken and I discussed things and decided it would be best to let Dylan go (in body only). We spoke with a lady about donating his organs. As they tested him to see who he could donate to, it made me feel a little better knowing we could help another set of parents not go through what we were going through. However, later we were informed that "they" wanted to do an autopsy on Dylan because his death was very sudden and his accident happened at the babysitters house. Please don't get me wrong, I do not blame the babysitter in any way.

It was rather disturbing to know that my little boy would be cut on. When they got all that situated, they allowed everyone (probably 25 people) into his small PICU room to pray over him. We sang Jesus Loves Me and anyone that wanted to say something could. After our friends and family said their goodbyes to Dylan, just Ken and I were left in the room with him. I got to hold him in my arms and rock him to sleep just as I had most nights. Ken was sitting beside me. The nurses turned off all the alarms and disconnected as much as they could. Then they turned off the epi and breathing tube. The doctor quietly told us the machines were off and it seemed like just seconds later (I have no idea how long it really was, but I know it wasn't long) he gently said "He's gone." Ken and I sat there holding our son one last time. One nurse stayed with us.

They said we could stay as long as we needed, but we didn't stay long at all. We gave him a few more kisses and told him we loved him. I gently placed him back on his bed. We tearfully walked away leaving our baby boy behind. We walked out of the secure doors to our waiting friends and family. They embraced us with open arms and open hearts.

The rest of that week is a bit of a blur. I remember the funeral, but I couldn't tell you what was said. I have never listened to the tape we have of it. I remember lots of food at the house. I remember my friend Allyson sitting in the living room floor with me crying as soon as I got home from the hospital. She had just gotten off work and met us at the house. She just let me cry. I rember my niece Caroline and her sweet hugs asking where Dylan was. Still today, she'll point to a cloud and tell me which one is Dylan's. She had just turned 2 when he passed away. I remember lots of beautiful flowers at both the funeral home and our house. Roses, carnations, mums, house plants, lilies, anything you could imagine. I remember the stacks of cards that wouldn't fit in the mailbox from friends and some from complete strangers. I remember the burial in Jacksonville on a Satruday morning. I had never seen so many people at a funeral. I remember some of the faces, but I don't remember a lot of them. I remember the long car ride from Zebulon (where we lived) to Jacksonville (where I am from and where Dylan was buried) after the funeral on Friday. I remember the phone calls. Especially the one from a reporter. I remember the look on my mom's face when she heard me fussing at the reporter for the nerve to call.


Most of all I remember the peace I felt knowing that my little boy will be waiting on me one day when I get to Heaven. I still feel that peace. I know that he will never get a scraped knee. He will never get his heart broken. He will never have to worry about all the things we have to worry about here on Earth.