The Day My Life Changed Forever

“We need to start CPR”

“Code Blue, Code Blue”

“Your daughter will be brain dead if she survives”

“We will perform CPR for approximately 45 mins”

“Time of death, 1:12am”

These words will never leave my mind. It’s like a tape recorder on constant repeat. The day my daughter passed away changed my life forever.

August 31st, 2017 – It started out as a typical day of me going to work. I dropped Aubrey off with my mom first thing in the morning. I packed all of her stuff up and brought her down to spend the day with her Grammie. I remember setting her on her pillows that were used to prop her up. Kissing her and doing a little dance to make her laugh. Then getting that big ole cheesy grin and telling her I would see her later.

My mom had planned to take Aubrey to my in-laws house that day to continue going thru the house and preparing it for an estate sale. They got to spend the morning there along with a few other family members of ours. Mom said Aubrey would not let her put her down almost the entire time. Which is not typical of her. Aubrey did not like to be held, she was the most happy laying down or sitting in her stroller watching Baby Signing Time. I was told she was a bit fussy until her daddy showed up when she gave him the biggest grin.

When they decided that it was probably time to head home, they packed everything up and were on their way. Mom said that Aubrey was super tired which was typical, it was about nap time. So on their way home she began to doze off. It was when my mom went to get Aubrey out of her carseat that she noticed something was horribly wrong. She was not breathing. Her eyes were sunk in, her body purple. It is so hard to think about this scene. My mom, Aubrey’s Grammie, we have talked about this a thousand times, I just thank God that it was you she was with that day. I am so incredibly sorry that you had to perform CPR on your own grand daughter. I am so so sorry that you are the one who has this scene running through your mind. Just know that you did everything in your power that you could do. You are the most amazing, strong woman I have ever known. I am so proud to call you my mom.

Mom began CPR immediately, as some construction workers next door heard her screaming and called 911. The ambulance came, scooped up my baby girl and flew to the nearest hospital. I’m not sure at what point but they did get a heartbeat back and when my husband got to the hospital and to Aubrey’s side she gave his finger a little squeeze.

I remember getting that call at work, the call I always feared I would get. My husband saying “something is terribly wrong, they are taking Aubrey to the hospital”. And then calling my mom to try and figure out what was going on and all she could muster was “Angie, I’m so sorry”. I didn’t know what to do. With my work being about an hour away from home, when they got her heartbeat back they wanted to transfer her to one of the children’s hospitals which were closer to where I was working. At this point, it was do I go home and risk having to turn right back around or do I just sit and wait to see where they were going to transfer her.

At this point I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I probably shouldn’t drive myself. So I mustered up the strength to walk back into my office and try to explain things. Immediately the secretary told me to get in her car and she would drive me home. But as we were headed out I got the call that they were going to life flight her now to the children’s hospital where all her doctors were. So I decided that I would be okay to drive just across town to the hospital. Well when I got there, I knew that I had beat her there. But I went in to just verify that she would be there. Guess what…nope their beds were full. So they now had to send her to the other children’s hospital in town. I then head over there and I still beat her there.

Sitting there in the waiting room, watching out the window for what seemed like hours on end. Watching, waiting to see that helicopter that carried my sweet girl. Sitting in that room, all by myself, trying to hold it together. Knowing that my family was racing down that freeway to get to us. Praying to God that everyone made it safe. Praying to keep my baby girl alive.

Finally, after I don’t know how long it really was, I got to see my Aubrey. I got to kiss her cheeks and hold her hand. I got to tell her how much I loved her. Although she was unconscious, everything was looking good. Her vitals were good, she was even breathing over the ventilator that was there to help her. She was staying so strong.

It was time for everyone to leave as it was getting late. My husband and I were the only ones allowed to stay the night. As we were getting settled, tests were being ran and there was constant monitoring. I remember there was finally a moment where I got to sit with Aubrey, just her and I in the room. It was brief, but it was enough time for me to tell her just how much I love her and to sing “You are my sunshine” to her. I will never, ever forget that moment.

It was probably around midnight that my husband decided to lay down for a nap as I sat at Aubrey’s bedside holding her hand. And shortly after that the doctor showed up to do an echo and check her heart. During this I stepped away from her bedside and not what couldn’t have been more than two minutes I hear “we need to start CPR”…… from this point on was a whirlwind. I had never had an out of body experience, but I believe that at this point I was having one.

Out of nowhere there were nurses, doctors, chaplain, and everyone else you can imagine. I think we ended up counting 23 people in that small hospital room. People to switch out giving CPR every few minutes. People to note every single thing that happened. People to assist the nurses who were administering whatever they were giving her. All I could do was stand there, numb. Trying to understand what was happening. Holding my husband. Hiding. Watching these grown men stand over my baby, my sweet sweet Aubrey, giving her CPR. Turing to the chaplain asking him “why? Why would God do this?” The doctor coming over to us, as we try to understand what he is saying. Telling us that they will do CPR for approximately 45 minutes. Informing us that if they do recover a heartbeat that she will more than likely be brain dead. Every so often coming over to update us. I have no idea what he said in those updates. Because deep down I knew that this was the end. I knew she was on her way home to be with Jesus.

And then the unimaginable, that doctor, standing in front of us saying, “time of death 1:12am”.

After that, I don’t know what happened. All of a sudden, it was me, my husband, the one nurse, and Aubrey. I don’t remember where all of those people went, or when they all left. The nurse preparing Aubrey so that we could hold her one last time.

Sitting in that room, holding my sweet, perfect angel for hours. It was just the three of us. Telling her how proud we were of her. Telling her how much we loved her. Telling her to go have so much fun with her grandma and great grandpa. Memorizing every curve of her face, those eyelashes, that beautiful hair. Oh how I miss my sweet girl.

Then, the time came. The time that I would never be able to see my baby girl again. I had to leave her in that room. Leave her on that bed that wasn’t hers. My feet felt as if they were a thousand pounds. The walk to the car, without my baby girl. The drive home that seemed to take hours, and walking into our home knowing that our Aubrey will never be physically with us again.