This Star Won't Go Out

After an agonizing night trying to catch her breath and get comfortable, we came into the hospital this morning and Esther is now in the ICU. She continues having a tough time breathing due to what they call “fluid overload.” This means that her body, in part due to a compromised kidney, is finding it increasingly difficult to expel fluid as often as it accumulates. Her oxygen levels are also dipping and she’s flat out exhausted.

This visit is very serious. Our favorite doctor said just now that she could go tonight. I told Esther. She’s still fighting and shows no signs of wanting to give up! We are all here. Esther is surrounded by her doting sisters and the staff here who all know and care about her. We long for still more days with our Esther Grace! I told Graham earlier that she could die in the hospital but that we’d rather bring her home and enjoy many more star-lit evenings together. He agreed, saying that sixteen was, “too young to die.” Said Graham, “seventeen is a better age to die. Or maybe twenty because that is really old.”



Later, I would understand that she had already entered that forest, and had resolved not to look back. She had courageously gone into that valley of the shadow, and, like each of us, would have to face alone all that lay ahead. Looking on helplessly, we took turns holding her hands and stroking her amazing hair as she continued a long walk into silence.

With the medication working its way through her tired body, Esther soon fell asleep and it became clear to us that the breathing machine and her powerful heart were the only things keeping her alive. Before slipping into unconsciousness, she had talked with each of us and responded gratefully to our tearful messages of affection, singing, hand massages, and face pats. She loved her family more than anything, and we were all there with her as she slipped away. She would have loved having her beloved cats nearby and they would miss her terribly. (From that day on they would relocate to younger brother Abraham’s bed at night.) As Esther drifted in and out of consciousness, she suddenly blurted out the number “1842!” We were puzzled by this and went scurrying online to see if that date held any significance. I smiled thinking she might have just disclosed the answer to the secret of the universe!

Other than an occasional muffled mumbling, Esther continued sleeping. However, about an hour later, she suddenly opened her eyes, tried to sit up, and, looking directly at Evangeline (who was holding her right hand), said, “I’m going, I’m going.” Asked by Evangeline where she was going, Esther responded, “Oh, I’m just dreaming” And then she closed her eyes and returned to sleep.

Those were her final words.

For the next three hours, the only sounds in the room were from the machine that kept her breathing, the words of comfort directed toward her and the falling tears of those who remained beside her.

Well into the early morning hours of August 25th, we made the impossible decision to turn the BiPAP machine off. With the loud whirring and wheezing ended, the quiet was immense. Within half an hour, Esther’s unassisted breathing became increasingly strained as if to say, “I cannot go on much longer like this.” Evangeline remained at her right side with Abby to the left. Lori stood next to Evangeline at Esther’s side. Abby’s dear friend, Keri, who loved Esther as a sister, remained next to Abby as we kept vigil. Our boys had long before fallen asleep nearby. I stood at the foot of the bed.

After several minutes of waiting, crying quietly and touching our beloved Star, she breathed out one final, unusually long breath, like she was giving it up, offering it, being pulled forward into a newer, richer life. Her dying appeared to us more like a birth than a death, a kind of willing submission, a sense that her struggle was complete and that it was okay to finish this final battle. Recognizing what was happening, I looked up toward the ceiling and, half crying, half laughing said to Esther, “It’s okay, baby, It’s okay. You can go! We love you!”

A few minutes later, the attending physician—who knew Esther—slowly took out her stethoscope, placed it on each, now silent lung and then on that beautiful heart. Looking at me from across the bed she softly shook her head from side to side. As we looked upon the stillness, we all marveled that we’d gotten to participate in so perfect and courageous and amazing a life. Evangeline smiled and said, “She looks peaceful.” Lori commented that it was the first time Esther had “been without the use of her nasal cannula in a very, very long time . . . ” and then her voice broke. Abby pulled up the hospital blanket just a little closer to cover Esther’s shoulders and everyone laughed and wept thinking about that simple gesture, now unnecessary, the very first time any of us had been unable to bring comfort to our Star.

Slowly, carefully, we each offered a final good-bye.

*************************


Back at home, I sat down and wrote the following message on her CaringBridge site.





Aug 25, 2010 4:04am


Lovers of Esther,


Our beloved Esther Grace now belongs to the heavens. We were all together when she left us at 3am this morning. We are convinced she is more truly alive than ever but still our hearts are breaking . . .


-Esther’s Family

DFTBA





Wednesday, August 25, 2010 1:01 PM, EDT