A wife who loses a husband is called a widow. A husband who loses a wife is called a widower. A child who loses his parents is called an orphan. There is no title for a parent who loses a child. That's because there is no word for describing such a thing.Where do you begin to describe the one evening when everything turned into chaos? We had our normal busy life as always the month prior to that dreadful weekend. It was winter and each one of us juggled with our own busy programs and activities. We had something on each weekend during the month of June 2017, mostly revolving around the sport of the kids and also a huge 100th year reunion of my old school.
Lumè (11) played her last netball match on Thursday 29 June 2017, Friday she went to school, Saturday 1 July during the day a bit feverish but did not complain, just said she felt tired. She started to cough around 17:00, struggled to breath from 20:00, she was calmed with a nebulizer as we were at a school function, and the kids stayed at Lumè’s friend’s house. The babysitter called at about 22:30 and we took her to the hospital and she walked in at about 23:00 …and never came out.
At the Emergency Room the doctor on call examined her and said it looked like pneumonia. She was on oxygen as the oxygen levels were very low in her blood. They organized medicine and we waited. I climbed with her onto the bed and held her while dozing off. Our other 2 girls, Charné (9) and Danika (6), were sleeping on the bed next to us in the ER. After a while the nurse said that her oxygen levels were not improving. I requested that they admit her to stay in hospital overnight so that she could be in good care. The doctor then prepared the forms and at about 01:45 on Sunday, 2 July we went up to the children’s ward. By this time she was still only on the oxygen mask, nothing else. The nurse on call said that they would look after her and that we could go home. I was in two minds, but as the girls were still downstairs in the ER alone, sleeping, we needed to get them home, and I felt more at ease with Lumé under supervision. She would be okay.
Around 4:00 the hospital phoned me to say Lumé was awake, very anxious and was looking for me. I finished and went to the hospital where I arrived at about 4:30. When I arrived, I learned that the paediatrician had arrived just before me and ordered them to take Lumé to the ICU, and they were taking Xrays of her chest. The doctor looked at the Xrays and was very worried. From this point onwards, everything felt as if I was watching from outside myself. I could barely breathe, watching all the staff doing what they were supposed to. I was asked so many questions by the doctor that I still don’t know what I answered. She explained to me the monitor with all the vital signs, but I still struggled to understand all the information.
I phoned Sybrand to inform him that it was serious, and that he should come. He asked me how serious; serious as in a few days in hospital, or serious that she might die? I said I didn’t know, he just had to come as soon as he could, and I prayed that he did, as I felt that I didn’t want to be there alone. He called his mom that time of the morning to come and look after the other 2 at home so he could come to the hospital.
I started to feel dizzy and completely numb as I realized how sick she was and how fast she had deteriorated from the Saturday morning, not even 24 hours before. At this stage Lumé was seriously struggling to breath and wanted to pull off the mask. Her lips were dry and she wanted water, which I was not allowed to give her. I stood by her – held her hand and told her to just stay calm, they were helping her. She was still fully conscious at that stage. I felt so sorry for her as I could see this was extremely difficult for her. The doctor did not want to give her preoxygenation (breathing tube through the mouth) because of possible infection, but as Lumé was fighting so much to get the mask off and not getting the correct amount of oxygen – they decided to proceed. Another specialist came to continue with that procedure. I was with her just before she was sedated, and she did the strangest thing – she sat up straight, three times and showed me something in front of her, pointing her finger, saying, “Mommy, look, Mommy, there…” It was so real, so different, but she absolutely saw something/someone that I didn’t. I believe that by this time she either saw Jesus, an angel or my dad that passed away 21 years ago who came to assist her with crossing over.
If I look back, I just wish I could have done things differently there and then. Pray with her, hold her, but there wasn’t a moment to think of anything. She was surrounded with staff and I was pathetic to say the least. Couldn’t do anything!! I never felt this hopeless in my life.
When Sybrand arrived, Lumé was sedated lying on the bed in ICU, with the tube in her mouth and they were putting some more drips on her. When this was done, they started to suck blood from her lungs through the tube in her mouth. About a litre of blood came out.
The paediatrician told Sybrand then she was very concerned about Lumé, and that they had done everything they could for that moment, and that we just had to wait for the antibiotics to kick in. The monitor showed her blood pressure was very low, around 17/22. Sybrand messaged some people to ask them to pray for Lumé, as she was in ICU and it did not look good. But never had we thought that she would die. It really did not cross our minds at that stage. Maybe the shock?
About 7:15 she flat-lined (no heartbeat on monitor) and the medical staff all rushed in to Lumé and started with CPR and asked us to leave the ICU immediately. I was certain that my own heart stopped beating. It wasn’t just life-changing, that moment. It was the only moment in my life that don’t have words to describe how everything changed. It’s not the picture you dream of as a parent of an 11-year old little girl – or of a child of any age for that matter - lifeless, on a bed, in the ICU room with doctors and nurses rushing about, trying desperately to resuscitate her.
We waited outside in absolute, battered shock. I would have traded places with her in an instant, if I only had the option. But that was not my decision. This was the longest wait of my life. Sybrand contacted more people and said Lumé had stopped breathing, they should all pray. He phoned our pastor, Ds Fourie van den Berg, and told him what was happening and they both prayed on the phone. I cringed on the floor against the hall just outside the ICU; this couldn’t be real, what went so terribly wrong? I can’t remember what I prayed, I know I did ask, “God, please help us, please help my child to breathe again” Everything felt so unreal.
The doctor came out and the worst was confirmed when she started to shake her head sideways. I yelled “NO!!!”. She grabbed me, Sybrand ran closer and grabbed us both and the doctor just explained they did everything in their power, but there was nothing they could continue to do – she was gone. This is the cruellest punishment you as a parent can experience. I truly hope that you never experience such devastating heartache, but also know that no one of us is spared from something like this.
We went into the ICU to Lumé’s bed. To see the lifeless body of your child, to look into her eyes that were not properly closed and see no life in them; just that dullness, I was not prepared for it. We completely broke down and sobbed like never before. We grabbed Lumé and just held her, crying. Our darling daughter was gone. It was now just her body in our hands. Ds Johan Serfontein, the pastor who baptised Lumé and buried my father in 1996, was there shortly after this. We all got together around Lumé and prayed.
Sybrand informed the family and some friends via WhatsApp message that Lumé was now in heaven, and if they needed to say goodbye they could come. It was such a shock to everyone, as most of them had seen Lumé during the previous few days and she was perfectly healthy, playing netball on Thursday, went to school on Friday, and visited friends on Saturday. Some even did not understand the message and phoned Sybrand, who had to then explain that Lumé had passed away. We had to arrange for friends to pick up our other 2 daughters at home and bring them. When they arrived, Sybrand had to explain to them that Jesus had come and fetched their sister and they would see her body now, but that her soul was with Jesus. This broke us further. How do you explain something like this, when you as grownups don’t even understand?? It was really hard for those 2 girls to comprehend this ordeal. They sat on the bed with Lumé and cried holding her. I felt so empty and exhausted.
For the next 4 hours people were streaming in and out of ICU. We prayed as a group around her bed. We cried together. Everyone had their special moment with her. Just after 12:00 the medical staff asked that we move her body to another part of the ICU and that people should stop coming in. We were grateful for the time they had allowed us.
A woman, Nantie Van Aswegen, came rushing in from a church service. She got the message in church and had this feeling in her heart that she should come and pray over our girl. I knew her from school, but not personally. She prayed over Lumé, holding my hands and for the first time I was begging God to bring my girl back, that I would give anything and everything to let her come back. I knew that He could do that, that He can do miracles, even after 3 hours; but instead our worst nightmare come true. There was no miracle. I couldn’t help wondering if I only prayed like Nantie did - earlier - when Lumé was still with us. What if and maybe… I felt ashamed that I did not have the knowledge to pray over my child when she needed it. I failed miserably. Looking back now, Nantie stayed the course and became a huge rock in our lives through this journey.
We were alone with Lumé for about an hour, washed her, dressed her, and I lay with her again, but this time crying like a baby having so many questions. It was so ironic; 11 years, one month and 2 days before, we went into the same hospital without a child and walked out 3 days later with Lumé. Now we walked into the hospital with Lumé, and walked out without a child. She was gone forever, and we were at a loss for words.
She passed away Sunday morning, 2 July around 7:30. No warning, no goodbyes, no time to hold her before she took her last breath – nothing. Just so suddenly, so painfully, leaving so many questions. It took our breath away, took the wind right out of our sails.
How do you cope when your firstborn suddenly passes away? How do you say good bye to your child? How does the life you planned and dreamed of make sense again? How do you put up a brave face for the remaining children? How do you walk out of this place without her, just leaving her? This was against our every instinct in our bodies. It was the longest drive home ever, in silence. Nobody asked for this. We certainly didn’t. Death doesn’t call ahead.
Arriving home was a blur. Family was there helping and supporting. People came and went. The disbelief of what had just happened earlier that morning was still so part of us, but the reality hit us every time we saw everyone around us, and no Lumè. That first night was a horror itself. We could not really sleep, and when we did fall asleep now and then, we were pulled back to reality with the worst thoughts – our child is dead, so young, so beautiful, so suddenly. What did we miss? Feelings of guilt overwhelmed me even more; could I have foreseen any of this? Why didn’t I see something like this coming? Why didn’t she complain about feeling sick - she must have felt bad? Did she notice at all she was sick? Then the questions……. are we getting punished for something? Was I a good mother at all, or was it because of our terrible sins in the past? I remembered all the bad and the ugly of parenting Lumé, as if the punishment wasn’t harsh enough!! Why Lord, Why?
Sybrand thought back to our last Bible study together on Friday morning where the verse of the day was from 1 Thes 5:18, “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” More questions followed. How do you give thanks when you sit next to your dead child? How can you be thankful in these circumstances? Then God said to Sybrand: “Be thankful, for you know where she is now – safely with Me in heaven”. That helped us to lift this heavy burden that was upon us at that stage. We could, or rather had to start focusing on a funeral that had to be planned and arranged, although the horror of what had just happened, was still there right in front of us.
But even when you know your loved one is in heaven, it still hurts like hell. And so our new unwanted journey began….
