Bryan

I want to write about my son Bryan. In fact, I think I have to write about him. Just bare with me, cuz it's going to be hard.

On a side note, I now realize one of the advantages to a blog over a handwritten journal...you can't smudge the ink with your tears.

Bryan was born with a semi-rare syndrome that left him developmentally delayed and physically challenged. The name of his syndrome and the specific anamolies are irrelevent to this blog...he was my son; he was a wonderful, precious child who taught me so much about life; about patience and acceptance and kindness and love. I know that I am a better human being because of him.

When Bryan was born, he was whisked away to a PICU due to breathing difficulties. Once past that, there were feeding difficulties and I became familiar with the term, 'failure to thrive.' One ignorant, pathetic excuse for a doctor tried to tell us that we should institutionalize Bryan - that he wouldn't make it to his first birthday - but he was a tough little guy, and after 33 days we brought him home from the hospital, and love was his food; love was his medicine; and he grew stronger and stronger. We found doctors that believed in him and in quality of life, although it meant quite a few surgeries and many trips to hospitals and doctor's offices.

There were several scary moments throughout Bryan's life when I thought I was going to lose him, but I wasn't at all prepared when it really did happen, or how it happened, when it happened, or why.

I suppose you never really are prepared for death. Take my dad, for instance. I was with him when the doctor told him he had cancer and there was no hope - that he should get his affairs in order. I was the one that called hospice and made the arrangements for him to be at home to die; I was there when he went in and out of coherence; I was there when he started to bleed out and I knew he wouldn't make it till morning; I was there when he took his last breath; and still, I wasn't prepared.

But Bryan wasn't supposed to go yet. Things were just looking up for him...he was relatively healthy; we had recently built a house and made it accessible for him; he was in a better school; he seemed happy and content. And then it all came tumbling down, so fast. So fast. He was 17.

I realize that he outlived many with his condition; I've read enough on it to know. And besides that dickwad that said he wouldn't make it to his first birthday, I had another physician tell me Bryan's life expectancy was a mere seven years. Bryan proved them wrong; he proved a lot of people wrong. He was a fighter; he was strong-willed and stubborn (apple doesn't fall far from the tree there). And that's why I wasn't prepared when it happened. That's why I'm having such a hard time accepting it - because when he left this world he didn't leave it kicking and screaming...he just...went. Sometimes I think God called him home so he went willingly; other times when my faith is lacking, I think he just gave up.

I will never forget looking at him through the rearview mirror and watching him leave me...never. I saw the light leave his eyes. I think my heart stopped as well at that moment. I pulled over as soon as I could and his nurse and I performed CPR, but I knew he was gone. The paramedics said they got a rythm back and they rushed him to the hospital, but I knew. Even though everyone in that ER knew me personally and would do everything they could to save him, I knew they couldn't. I didn't understand it, and I wasn't prepared for it, but I knew. They say a mother always knows...

What I don't know is why. Sometimes I think I know - afterall, everything happens for a reason; it's all part of God's plan. Other times...I am just lost, stumbling around in the dark for an answer I know I will never find, at least not in this life.