On December 5, 2012, we lost our beautiful 23 year old daughter, Jennifer. She was our only child.
That evening I called home to see if I needed to stop at the store. My husband answered the phone, yelling incoherently, so much that I had to yell at him that I couldn't understand anything he was saying, when suddenly three words little words broke through..."She isn't breathing!" and for me to meet him at the hospital. I took a chance that she was being taken to the hospital about five minutes or so from where we live.
As I was just leaving work, at about 5:30 pm, I had to try to rush to the hospital that was roughly 15-20 miles away during rush hour traffic, on major blvds. All the while gripping the steering wheel and saying over and over again, "Please God no, please God no!"
Finally I arrived at the ER, ran inside, and went straight to the check in desk, gave my daughters name, the nurse called into the back, telling someone that I was there. Suddenly we went down the corridors at a pretty fast walk, all the way to the back, and I noticed two things right away. This was not a patient room area, and that my husband was crying. After I entered the rather tiny room, the door was closed behind me, and that was when I was told that my daughter was gone. My husband is reaching for me, as the doctor is telling me that my daughter had passed away. I remember folding in upon my self, my knees actually buckling, even though I was already sitting down, and a scream building and building in my chest all the way down to my soul. I remember a guttural sound that seemed to be coming from me, saying no, no, NO!!! over and over again.
I felt as if my heart were being ripped from my chest, my mind suspended in time. This couldn't be really happening. This had to be some kind of very vivid nightmare. My daughter wasn't gone. She couldn't be.
I told whoever was in the room with us that I wanted to see her. I wanted to see my child. This had to be some kind of mistake. So they took my husband and I to another room, actually only a few feet from where we had been, and brought us into a curtained off portion of the ER. (I had previously worked in the admitting department of a different hospital, but recognized this area of patient care "rooms", little more than curtained off spaces where gurneys held patients in critical care).
We were led into the first curtained area, and that's when I first saw my child. She still had the endotrachial tube down her throat and taped in place around her head. This was my worst nightmare come to life, only magnitude a hundred times over. This was what was left of my child. No respirator breathing for her, no IV bags hung up to give her medicine to fix her, make her better, no crash cart nearby to attempt to shock her heart into beating once again. Nothing but my daughter lying on that ER gurney, with an endotrachial tube sticking out of her mouth and held in place with tape.
I held her hand, stroked her hair back, touched her face, all the while still feeling the warmth in her skin. I cried and screamed. This just couldn't be happening!!! Our tears ran unchecked, streaming down our faces.
A grief councillor was asking us questions, kept trying to get us to drink some water, all the while asking if there was someone we would like to have them call. I remember asking that they find my phone, and remember calling my Mom and Dad. The only thing I said was to please come immediately to the hospital. A few minutes passed and my Mom called back, they needed directions for the hospital, so I handed my phone off to someone, I think a metro officer, who gave them directions.
My Mom and Dad arrived and stayed with us the entire time with us.
We sat next to her (body) for hours, my husband and I. Both of us holding on to some part of her....stroking her hair, kissing her, and I continually held her hand. She had this thing she would do...if we were sitting together she always held my hand, but it always had to be with our fingers interlaced. That night, in between giving her kisses, touching her beautiful face, I tried to hold her hand one more time, I tried but her hand had become stiff and was curling inward, no longer could I interlace my fingers with hers. It felt like my last link to her, was being taken from me.
Shortly after that the coroner came, did what she had to do to take her away from us. I remember pleading with the woman to please, please take good care of my little girl. She was very kind, as she enveloped me in a hug of understanding and great compassion, she promised she would care for her as if she was her own.
Then she was gone,
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