Brit snuggled with her baby blanket. This picture was taken the summer before she passed away, when she came to visit me in Northern Virginia as part of the celebration of her 9th birthday.[/caption]It has been six years since that painful night when I held Brit’s hand as she left this world. When I remember that night, I think about how her baby blanket was nestled close to her face as it was almost every time she slept. That image of Brit—with her baby blanket on her death bed—is an image that both comforts and haunts me. It is always unsettling to lose someone you love but particularly so when she slept with baby blanket.
For those who want to know more about Brit's medical battle, see here.
The flashbacks from that night are vivid and real, I can almost touch them. I remember the moment; I realized I would never speak to Brit again. I was standing in her PICU room, after she just had just been connected to ECMO, think heart and lung machine. One of the nurses looked very concerned. I asked her what was wrong. She explained that even though she was pushing fluids, Brit’s blood pressure was not increasing. At that moment, I knew. I knew everything, I feared since I got the phone call from my mom telling me that Brit had an infection in her brain that required immediate surgery was about to come true. I was overcome with waves of emotion that included immense sadness, sorrow, and relief. Yes, relief. It was excruciating to watch Brit experience so much pain and being so scared—so I felt relief, relief that Brit was at peace and would no longer have to endure the torture of inconclusive medical tests and medical procedures that in the end proved to be ineffective.
Over the years, the images have changed. I am thankful the image of Brit seizing on full life support is one that does not enter my mind as frequently as it once did. When I think back to the days following Brit’s death I am more often reminded of family, friends, colleagues, and strangers who offered support to me and my family during our darkest hour. I rarely think about having to track down Brit’s body as the hospital was slow in releasing her remains to the undertaker. I don’t think about how painful it was to write her obituary, the program for her funeral, and her eulogy but rather I remember that when I sent the order to Office Depot to be printed the manager not only printed the programs for free but created a beautiful poster of Brit that still hangs in my parents’ house today.
I still miss Brit every day. But I am now in a place where I allow myself to takes breaks from the pain of missing her and for brief moments relish the joy she brought to my life.I still feel an immense responsibility to keep Brit’s memory alive. I still talk about her and appreciate when others bring up her name because it means they remember.
So today, on the sixth anniversary of Brit’s passing I encourage all who knew her to share a story about her, to remember her, and to be thankful for all that she brought to this world. As for me, I will share clips from the memorial video that played during her wake—a picture is worth a thousand words. Here are some tidbits as to why Brit was so special.
My favorite exchange with Brit:
Me: I am going to tell you a secret, you are my favorite.
Brit: I am everybody’s favorite.
In loving memory of Britney Nicole Wielgus, Aug. 6, 1998-Feb. 9, 2008, a life that was cut far too short.
