The “one more” procedure didn’t end up working; which we knew. We didn’t know how much longer and we wanted people to be able to come up and see Julian with whatever time he had left.
It was around 11:00pm when I called my mom, brother, and sister.
“I need you to get up here, Julian’s not going to make it.”
Me saying those words. Those dreadful words. You don’t even believe that they’re actually leaving your lips. The shrilling cries on the other end of the phone from my mom and sister will stay with me forever. Within a half hour my mom, brother and sister were up at the hospital. I was so relieved that they were able to meet Julian.
By this point our room was no longer being shared. I found out after that they moved them to a different room for our sake and for theirs because of the constant commotion and people going in and out nonstop.
We all just stood in his room. Holding each other in the midst of our sobs. Touching Julian. Asking God why this was happening. Talking to him.
My mother in law was next to come up. Mind you, Angelo, our 5 year old, was sleeping over her house. Not only did I need to wake her up at midnight to tell her that her grandson wasn't going to make it much longer, but she needed to rip Angelo out of bed, and bring him to our cousin's house in the middle of the night. Needless to say, Angelo was in great hands, but it was traumatizing for him to be dropped off somewhere else and not know why as he watched his Grammy leave him while he was calling out to her begging her not to go. He had a very hard time with that afterwards and still.
More and more phone calls were being made as the night went on. By 4:00 am we had about 12 people up in the NICU; ranging from family, friends, Julian’s Godparents, etc.
You know that rule where only four people can come in at a time? Yeah, that didn’t apply to us. They never questioned us. They just let our family and friends do what we all needed to do, and that was to be present for Julian.
Our neonatologist, once again, sat down with us around 6 am. He told us some options of how we can say goodbye to Julian; we can take him out to the garden, we could do it in private, we can do it with whoever we wanted to be in his room.
Ever plan how you wanted to say goodbye to your child? Me either.
It’s just a wrong conversation to have. A very wrong conversation; it’s so inhumane.
We finally decided we wanted to just be in his room. He told us he didn’t think Julian would last passed the afternoon on that Sunday, whether he was on the ventilator or not. His little body just kept getting fluid and he couldn't fight it much longer.
By 8 am, more people came up.
14, 17, over 20 people.
Remember in a previous post when I wished we weren’t in a double room?
Now I know why we were.
You see, we had over 25 people, and that's estimating, who came up to see our beautiful boy. Friends, sisters, brothers, aunts, cousins, uncles, grandparents, midwives, doctors.
God knew we would need that double sized room, just to fit all those people.
This army of people.
Julian’s Army.
Our boy was so loved. He was loved more in those short 36 hours than some people get to experience in their lifetime.
There was one moment when I just looked around. People were everywhere in his room. Siting on chairs, sitting on the floor, standing against the wall, leaning on the tables, sitting on top of the radiators. Tears coming down their faces; both men and women. The amount of support we had was truly incredible. Staff kept commenting that they’ve never seen so many people up here, ever. That was the moment I realized we would be okay. That no matter what the outcome was, to have this amazing support system, this army of people, was truly what was going to help pull us through.
Knowing we had so many people to lean on, so many people who cared, even those who were there in spirit and couldn’t be up there; we knew.. We felt it.
One of my cousins came up to me and told me how she commended my husband and I for having all these people up here. How it was remarkable to see everyone who came, how she didn't know if she would be able to have this many people up here if she were in the same position.
I told her how all of my life, whenever there was a problem, our family was lined up right behind us. Maybe it’s the Italian in us where no one likes to leave anyone alone, but that’s how I grew up, and its also how my husband grew up. So my husband and I couldn't have imagined doing this alone. We wouldn’t want to.
So there we all were. We just sat in his room for hours. All 25 of us.
Some chose to talk to him. Some chose to sit in silence as they sobbed. Others were holding on to each other as they cried into one another asking God why this was happening. Those who weren't there but kept checking in or were continuously finding information out through others. They were there for us.
They were there for Julian.
That’s not something that you see all the time. These people, this army, Julian's Army, will forever be a force to reckon with.
We are big.
We are strong,
and we will forever speak his name.
