I Love You Bigger Then the Sky
The date of Kyla's heavenly birthday is Wednesday, August 8th, and as the day nears I cannot help but go back and remember what my seven year old daughter experienced as she was at the end of her life.
Bret and I had a meeting with some doctors this night two years ago, trying to figure out what we can do for her in the next stage of this terrible process we were in. We were in a room next to Kyla's and I was under the impression that the doctors would take care of her, that was the only reason why I left her by herself at that time.
While in the conference room at a long table full of doctors with their laptops and clipboards and white coats there was Bret and I. I looked around the table and wondered for only a moment why there were so many of them with us. Then it hit me... they are about to tell us something serious, something terrible. My stomach turned and I felt like I am going to get sick. They showed us the latest MRI scan Kyla took earlier that day and let us know the tumor was growing faster then any of them has ever seen before. They told us they could bump her up on the schedule for surgery the next morning to relieve more pressure. That way Kyla's headaches that had come back could subside a bit. Our other option was to keep her going with a breathing tube, or the last option which was to let her be and keep her comfortable until the end. They left us in the room by ourselves to make a decision, but we had to make one soon... the doctors knew we didn't have much time from the pain Kyla was in. Bret and I were sitting next to one another in silence, not knowing what to say to the other. Finally Bret takes my hand with tears in his eyes, "Brettie... if this were a basketball game, we are losing 99 to 1." He starts to cry as I sit in shock realizing he's right but not wanting to hear the words. He continues, "What is the surgery going to do for her... for Kyla? Let's say she has the surgery and she only lives for another day or two. Then we put her through another surgery and for what? For ourselves? What would Kyla want?" All I can do is shake my head and shrug my shoulders..."I'm not ready to let her go." Bret hugs me, "I'm not ready either, but Kyla would not want all of this... she is ready to go."
How do you, as a parent, know what is the right decision to make when it comes to your child's life? We knew she was going to leave us, we knew she was too active and smart to be constricted from a brain tumor. But when do you cross the line between being human and selfish by keeping here with us, and doing what we all know she would want which is allowing Jesus to take her home?
We walked back into the hospital room where I see Kyla moving so violently back and forth on her bed. My dad is to my right and my mom is to my left next to Kyla. My mom says loudly, "Oh Kyla I love you bigger then the sky!" Kyla answers back with all her might through her head moving back and forth, "I.... love.... you... bigger... then... the... sky." And although it was a reply to my mom I feel as if she was telling all of us in the room that she loves us. I said right away, "Kyla I love you, we all love you!" The medicine the nurse gave Kyla through her I.V. was kicking in and finally Kyla's movements became calm and slow and eventually she fell asleep. Those words Kyla spoke moments before were the last words I heard from my daughters voice.
Bret and I had a meeting with some doctors this night two years ago, trying to figure out what we can do for her in the next stage of this terrible process we were in. We were in a room next to Kyla's and I was under the impression that the doctors would take care of her, that was the only reason why I left her by herself at that time.
While in the conference room at a long table full of doctors with their laptops and clipboards and white coats there was Bret and I. I looked around the table and wondered for only a moment why there were so many of them with us. Then it hit me... they are about to tell us something serious, something terrible. My stomach turned and I felt like I am going to get sick. They showed us the latest MRI scan Kyla took earlier that day and let us know the tumor was growing faster then any of them has ever seen before. They told us they could bump her up on the schedule for surgery the next morning to relieve more pressure. That way Kyla's headaches that had come back could subside a bit. Our other option was to keep her going with a breathing tube, or the last option which was to let her be and keep her comfortable until the end. They left us in the room by ourselves to make a decision, but we had to make one soon... the doctors knew we didn't have much time from the pain Kyla was in. Bret and I were sitting next to one another in silence, not knowing what to say to the other. Finally Bret takes my hand with tears in his eyes, "Brettie... if this were a basketball game, we are losing 99 to 1." He starts to cry as I sit in shock realizing he's right but not wanting to hear the words. He continues, "What is the surgery going to do for her... for Kyla? Let's say she has the surgery and she only lives for another day or two. Then we put her through another surgery and for what? For ourselves? What would Kyla want?" All I can do is shake my head and shrug my shoulders..."I'm not ready to let her go." Bret hugs me, "I'm not ready either, but Kyla would not want all of this... she is ready to go."
How do you, as a parent, know what is the right decision to make when it comes to your child's life? We knew she was going to leave us, we knew she was too active and smart to be constricted from a brain tumor. But when do you cross the line between being human and selfish by keeping here with us, and doing what we all know she would want which is allowing Jesus to take her home?
We walked back into the hospital room where I see Kyla moving so violently back and forth on her bed. My dad is to my right and my mom is to my left next to Kyla. My mom says loudly, "Oh Kyla I love you bigger then the sky!" Kyla answers back with all her might through her head moving back and forth, "I.... love.... you... bigger... then... the... sky." And although it was a reply to my mom I feel as if she was telling all of us in the room that she loves us. I said right away, "Kyla I love you, we all love you!" The medicine the nurse gave Kyla through her I.V. was kicking in and finally Kyla's movements became calm and slow and eventually she fell asleep. Those words Kyla spoke moments before were the last words I heard from my daughters voice.
posted by Brettie McCullough @ 9:18 AM
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