How am I Really?

BREAKING PROTOCOL

-Our Journey of Sunflowers and Rainbows-

By Angie Jennings

I love connecting with people. Honestly I do. I enjoy sharing and I glean from the experiences of others. In our particular circle we may only see some people at our Assembly of God District functions or maybe our Sectional events. Inevitably I will at times be asked “How are you doing?” This is hardly ever a pleasantry, but rather a sincere inquiry of my mental and emotional state after literally watching my oldest daughter’s heart stop on this earth and begin to beat in heaven 1,008 days ago (depending on when you are reading this, Rachel went to be with Jesus on a Thursday afternoon, August 19, 2021). And I appreciate every single genuine inquiry.

My oldest son Ryan was at my side when this transition happened and held me close to him as I clasped my hands over my mouth while screaming out “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” I have no idea how many times I said that. I was raised that we don’t take the Lord’s name in vain and to say “Oh my God” was not a good thing. This was different. My very inmost being was crying out to God because it was the most horrific thing I had ever experienced.

During this time, other family members were downstairs in the hospital lobby. In this group sitting in the circle of chairs blocked off for us was my faithful husband Jeff with whom I had conceived this child, my daughter Nicole who was actually an answer to Rachel’s prayer for a baby sister with her husband Alex, my youngest son Nicholas, my son-in-law Fabio who had married Rachel and began a family with her, as well as our Presbyters Pastor Russ and Shari DeBord and a fellow ministry friend John Michael Gibson who was there because, in his words, “God told him to go.”

Most of us had gone up two at a time to say our special words to Rachel through a special phone the nurse placed by her ear. I have only been present during my Papa’s death which was expected and monitored by Hospice. I had no way of knowing what this would look like. The nurse realized that there was no DNR (do not resuscitate) on file and quickly pressured the family for Fabio to sign this. During the pandemic no one was allowed to enter the room of a Covid patient except the medical staff. The CEO of the hospital came up and I begged him through tears to allow me to be with Rachel as she took her last breath. He told the nurse “give her ten minutes.” Thankfully, she allowed about twice that.

Jeffrey recorded as I went into my daughter’s room, opened her eyelids to see those sparkling blue eyes and told her “there you are!” I touched her. I sang to her. I prayed for her. I anointed her with oil. I let her know I loved her. The nurse walked behind me and asked “did you tell her yet?” She had previously instructed me to tell Rachel I was “allowing” her to go. I told my daughter “Rachel, they are telling me to tell you that it’s okay for you to go, but if you don’t want to, then fight like crazy because we are.” It was very shortly after I had to exit her room.

But a short time later as Ryan and I stood watching through the sliding glass door to her room, the same nurse quickly did something on Rachel’s left shoulder, walked behind her, and her heart rate rapidly plummeted. It was then that I clasped my hand over my mouth and began screaming “Oh my God!” Evidently two people are required to pronounce a person before the ventilator can be turned off. These moments of watching Rachel’s body “breathe” were excruciating. A respiratory therapist came in and said “I’m gonna call it.” There was no wait for the doctor to come in. Once she turned that machine off, she invited me to come back into the room. This sweet lady encouraged me “Tell your baby goodbye. Hold her and tell her goodbye.” I did the best that I could behind the curtain that she closed for us. Then I walked out and watched. I watched until my firstborn was taken from that ICU room out the double doors.

How am I doing? I don’t think I am able to answer that question without asking “Which Angie are you talking about?” I honestly feel like part of me left when my daughter went to heaven. 1,008 days later and it still doesn’t feel right. It’s not right. My daughter Nicole wisely pointed out to me that it is because “we were created to live, not to die.” How true. But I can admit that I now have many more good days than bad days. I now look forward to “memory photos” coming up on my phone. I still catch my breath when I hear someone call the name “Rachel” and cherish the videos where I can hear her voice. Admittedly, I still have to stop myself for the brief moments when I really do think “I should text that to Rachel.” Rachel’s birthday is a hard day. The anniversary of her going to be with Jesus is a hard day. Sunflowers and rainbows make me smile and I wear my sunflowers as a badge of honor. And I love talking about my Rachel.

Note: On day four of Rachel’s hospital stay, she called to tell me that she was about to be intubated to be on a ventilator. I was shocked but I assured her we were praying. When the nurse called to tell me just a few minutes later that Rachel had been sedated and intubated, he also told me “she told me to tell her Mom and Dad to not turn this machine off.” As much as I hate sickness and death, I am so grateful that God allowed that to happen. Rachel’s heart stopped so her family did not have to make the decision to take her off that “machine.”