After giving our approval to allow resuscitation, the boys and I returned to Hannah’s room. We went to Hannah’s bedside, held her hand and talked to her some more. We told her about all the friends and family that we had heard from who were praying, loving, and supporting her. We relayed the messages that they had for her too. Next, I talked to Janean and Micah about the changes that took place during the night, and the fragile state of her condition. We discussed the need and decision to authorize resuscitation and the hope that she would be able to make it until 2 o’clock. (That was the time that we were scheduled to begin the Honor Walk, say our final goodbyes, and literally start saving lives.) Janean next told me of a few people, who felt compelled to share their opinion with us on Facebook and by text message. They felt that we were making a mistake. Although those people “meant well”, they were just another trial in this. It shocked us how bold people can be, especially when their OPINION is only based on “something I read”. No personal experience, just a small amount of biased information from some distant third-party source. They were not in the room with us hearing and seeing what was transpiring in front of our eyes, but yet, with their healthy children tucked into their warm beds, miles away, “They believed that we were making a mistake”, thus implying that we were choosing to “kill Hannah”, and they had to “share that with us”. There is nothing wrong with having opinions, we all do, but not every opinion we have is correct, and further, not every one of those is wise to share. I will discuss “opinions” tomorrow.
The hospital asked for a projected number that would be attending the Honor Walk, so Janean asked people on Facebook to let us know if they were coming. Although our page was only five days old, the responses kept coming in! In the end, we had almost 300 people who came out at 2 o’clock on a rainy Sunday afternoon in November to honor our daughter’s life. So, during the morning, Janean was fairly busy trying to get a count for the hospital. There was still more testing that had to be done on Hannah too. Our nurse, Hannah, brought some small flowers in and did our Hannah’s hair, incorporating the small blue flowers. She also decorated the hospital bed with the same flowers stuck to double sided tape. These are the types of things that show that this was not “just a job” for these nurses. Several of our nurses were able to come in on their day off, and honor Hannah in the Honor Walk too. The blessing that they were cannot be overstated. The first guest to arrive that day was our friend Ed and his son Caleb, who drove around six hours, one way, to be with us. Unfortunately, with all that was going on, they were not able to come to our room, but during a testing time, we left the room and spent some time with them in a waiting room. As 2 o’clock neared, the tension inside of us was intense! There are no words to describe the way in which we felt. (Please keep in mind that, although we may know that we are doing something good, that does not make it any easier to do.) Also, as the time drew near, our family began to arrive. They were allowed to come to our room, and we all spent the remaining time together there. There was some small talk, mainly about the Honor Walk, but at times like these, there really isn’t too much to say.
There was a slight delay, presumably because a surgeon was delayed in arriving, so a little after 3:30 we, the family, went out into the hallway, while Hannah was rolled out. We were on the 7th floor, and all the hospital staff stood at attention as we passed by them on our way to the elevator. Janean and I were at Hannah’s side, and we stayed by her side all the way until we said our final “goodbye”. The elevator took us down to the 4th floor where the operating room was. It seemed like an endless walk, yet it was also going too quickly as we passed by all those who were lined up to honor Hannah. From the elevator to the last turn before the operating room doors, hundreds of people were lined up, solemnly honoring Hannah as she passed by. Once we reached the stainless-steel operating room doors, we all said our final goodbye to Hannah. Janean and I were the last ones, and we also had to be the ones to give “the nod” to the hospital staff, that it was time to take her in. It is an understatement to say that these are not easy things.
Once Hannah disappeared behind those doors and our darkest day turned into other people’s brightest, we were led to a different waiting area until we were given word of her final passing. The room that we were led too was a bit small, and Janean and I really needed more time to be quiet and alone, so we stayed in a different room than the rest of the family. Our boys came in and sat with us, quietly, part of the time. Janean was falling asleep while standing up at that point and ended up “crashing” in a chair for a few minutes. We were so worn out! Just for random information, I lost an average of a little over two pounds a day, while there in the hospital. The toll that stress takes on the body is incredible. Shortly after we were notified of her passing, we said goodbye to our family, then “our family” went back up to the hospital room to remove the last of our things. It was so strange without the bed and Hannah in the room. The first thing that I thought was, she is not here, she is risen to be with her Savior. It was finished, for her.
The hospital was a different place at that point. The room, hall, and people felt like strangers. (Hannah the nurse stayed with our Hannah after we said goodbye) We left that afternoon still bewildered by all that had taken place in such a short amount of time. We also felt like we were “missing someone”. Realizing that we were now a family of five was hard to comprehend, and it still is. We came home, talked some, and tried to relax. It was not just that we had lost our daughter, although that was the biggest absence, it was also that we had lived day and night for a week, “on the edge of our seats” with tension and anticipation, and then, it all just ended abruptly. It was an all encompassing “life” that we had in the hospital, and when it ended, it was like trying to remember what “normal” life was and what we were supposed to do. We had held on to life, we had seen death, and as such, everything else seemed so shallow, empty, and pointless. Maybe that is a good thing, lest we get too consumed by small things that we allow to play too large of a role in our lives.
We are blessed.
Hannah Helps 