My Jumbled Thoughts....Part Of Briana's Story

I still can't believe Briana is gone. I keep thinking about her. I think about Christmas when it comes again. Briana is supposed to come here for Christmas. She is supposed to say, like she always did, "Oh, Judy will have plenty of food. She will have her beans and barbequed meatballs." She is supposed to stand in my kitchen and be in my way. I am supposed to hear her laugh from some other room. I keep thinking she can't be gone. She has a son. He is eleven years old.

My thoughts are jumbled. I don't know where to start. I have one thought and before I can write it another one jumps into my mind.

I was sitting in her hospital room. It was a big room. It was a double room, but she was alone. She had the bed by the window. The window was a beautiful bay window looking out over downtown Minneapolis. She didn't look out the window. I wondered if I would have if it were me in the bed.

I sat in the chair and looked at the number 26 on the calendar on the wall. It was January 26. As I stared at 26 I started writing a poem in my head. It is what I do when my world feels big and I want to bring it down to size.

It is January 26
I am going to bed with it
When I wake up
on January 27
Will I still have it?

I couldn't write anything more in my head. Something happened. A nurse came in. Briana needed something. Something was usually happening.

I wondered what it must feel like to go to bed with cancer and what it must be like to wake up the next morning. Is there a moment before a person remembers it is there?

I think I went home the night of the 26th. I remember not knowing exactly how to get home from the University of Minnesota Medical Center. Sarah talked me a little way home on her cell phone. Then I was on my own with the voice from my navigation system. I liked Sarah's voice better.

I went back on the 27th. And, stayed.

The University of Minnesota Medical Center, Ward 7C became my temporary home. It became home for a lot of Briana's family and friends. Some of us didn't feel the outside air for days. I can still see the halls, the nurses desk, the familiar faces of the nursing staff, the family lounge that we kept stocked with food and kleenex, video games for the kids and our ever present cell phones.

Technology became a virtual member of the team. Whenever anyone or anything was needed to help Briana the young people texted each other and the old folks made calls. Every member of the team could be in constant touch with another member within seconds no matter where we were in the hospital.

Briana had left some things untended to in her life that required being tended to as she faced an uncertain future. She was told she needed to take care of things because she had a ten year old son. What did that mean? What were they saying? How could that be? She was 36 years old. No!

She was told she needed to make arrangements for her son. Who would look after him? She was 36. She didn't have a will stating her wishes. She needed to have a will stating her wishes. How else would anyone know? The team had only days to make that happen. There was a window of time in which she was able to sign her name. It was one of the miracles that happened. Her wishes were made known. Had we waited just one more day, she wouldn't have had the strength.

We were all praying for a miracle. We prayed for the miracle of healing and getting better. We prayed her temperature would go down, the fever would stop, so the next round of chemotherapy could be started. It never did go away. They started chemotherapy anyway. They said it was the most powerful chemotherapy available. There was nothing else they could try.

We didn't get the miracle we had been praying for. But, oh my goodness, we got so many other miracles along the way.

One of the best miracles was the day Briana was able to get out of bed and actually sit in a chair so she could visit with her son, Jahmari. It took a monumental effort for Briana to do this. She was even able to talk with him in sentences. Both before and after this miracle she only communicated with her eyes.

We think we have an explanation for this miracle. At the same time Briana was able to be up and talking to Jahmari, a Bible study class at her church had stopped the lesson and simply prayed for her for an hour and a half.

Yes, it was the wings of prayer that lifted Briana up.

On February 2nd, Briana was moved from her big double room with the bay window to a smaller single room. It was here she would live her last hours. There was no more they could do for her. They said to visit with her. Talk to her. Tell her things. Even though her eyes were closed she may not be asleep. She could still hear us they said. Hearing is the last thing to go.

We had the praise and worship music she loved playing in her new room. We had a digital picture frame with pictures of her life close to her bed. We sat by her and held her hand. We talked about memories. She was never alone. We kept the curtains closed. The room was a room with good energy. The nurses said so. They said it felt good when they came in. It was a happy room.

When she was moved to her new room we said she was being moved to her new life. That is how it felt. It felt like we were all on the porch of her new life.

And, then, she turned and left us and went through the door to her new home as we circled her bed and held hands.

It was February 3, 2010.