Memorial Day is when you are supposed to remember the heroes that fought for us. To me, it will forever be the day that my most favorite, and bravest, hero fought for us. I need to write this down. I need to be alone. I need to read this every year when my memory falters, and be reminded of how precious yesterday was. I need to get this out, and I need for you to read it because I don't "need someone to talk to". I don't work that way. Please don't ask me how I'm doing, can't you tell? Please don't ask me anything that would make me relive any part of that nightmare for you. HERE. Here is a blog. Read this and understand. As extroverted as I am, there's a giant introvert in me that deals with life through journal. Clint would always read my blogs. So this one's for you brother.
We found out Clint had prostate cancer around Thanksgiving 2012. I remember because we were about to do our mock testing at Mendez and I lost it at school that morning. It took everything I had to not be a sobbing mess that day in front of students. I was lucky to spend Christmas in Maryland that year. I was lucky to be on vacation with them in Chincoteague that following summer, which is, ironically my previous post. Over the last year and a half Clint has been in and out of treatments. Some worked. Some didn't. The roller coaster of high hopes and bad news continued until a few weeks ago when my mom called during my lunch break to tell me they had to "stop offering treatment. The cells aren't responding." Again, I lost it at school. Cancer is for other people. It's not in our family. I don't understand it. It's a hell unlike any other I've witnessed before. It happens in sad movies like "My Life". Not to my own big brother. He was only 46.
Last Saturday they told my Mom it was time to come up. She had flights scheduled for May 29th, but they asked her to come up two weeks early on May 17th. That's when I really knew it was serious. Enough to ask her to move her flight. I cried and cried, and Terry just held me and held me. I talked to my sister in law, Angie, after she dropped Mom off at the airport that morning. She urged me to go up to Maryland. I reached for affirmation from Terry who said, "Yes! Go! Why wouldn't you go?". Terry and I already had flights scheduled for June 10th, the minute after school is out. I was so excited for him to meet my other big brother, and the only member of my immediate family yet to size him up and down. But I couldn't wait that long. So instead of changing my flights I just added a new one. I used all my days off and flew up there last Tuesday.
Being at work on Monday was agonizing. Just checking messages and Facebook every 6 minutes for an update. I didn't get there until around 10pm Tuesday night. (SO grateful to Aunt Babs for shuttling me from the airport straight to the hospital). I walked into room 4002 and there he was. Himself, on his iPad, breathing machine attached to his nose. But, he was so thin. So much thinner than last summer. Thin and pale. I sat down and he and Stacey and I chatted like normal, calming my fears.
I think it was Wednesday or Thursday when Mom and I were there he told us we "needed to have a conversation". I've seen my big brother cry twice in my lifetime. Once, on his wedding day, when his beautiful bride came down the aisle and he was overwhelmed with love. He had waited a long time to find her when he was 37. The second, was this day, when he was overwhelmed with fear. He told us that the doctors said the machines and medicines weren't working. That they had tried all they knew to do. He cried through his labored breathing saying, "I'm just not ready! I'm not ready! What about my girls? What about my wife?! And Baby T? She's been such a ray of sunshine. I don't even know her personality yet. And now I won't be around to see it!" Mom and I cried and cried with him. There's nothing to say in that situation. "We love you so very much!" That's all I could think to say. That's all I could offer.
The next day we took shifts at the hospital. He wanted alone time with each of us. As he was sleeping on my shift I bent my head down to pray. I just prayed and prayed. "Lord I want to trust You in this but WHY ARE YOU ALLOWING THIS? You could fix this so easily! Why won't you fix this?!" Needless to say I was a sobbing mess. And Clint awoke from his sleep to a blubbering, punching bag faced, snotty mess hunched over in a chair on the side of his bed. I'm sure that was startling. I just mouthed, "I'm sorry." Went to the bathroom to wash my face as a nurse came in. Then mom came back and we left for the night. I texted him later and said, "I'm sorry. Sometimes I hold it together better than others."
I wanted to say what was on my mind. I wanted to get it out. But any kind of stress would throw him into a coughing fit and it seemed less selfish to be quiet and give him rest. We went back to the hospital later that night so he could have his alone time with Baby T. It was such a sweet time to watch him just be a Daddy. She can't talk any way so no need for coughing fits. She just sat on his lap and played with the pulse monitor…waving it back and forth and making him smile. She kept pulling it off her finger and he would teach her how to clip it on. That was my favorite moment of the week, and I was fortunate enough to capture it.
His resting heart rate averaged somewhere in the realms of the 130's all week. It was as if he was running a marathon for an entire week. His breathing became more and more labored as oxygen found less and less room in his chest.
On Saturday night I took H on a "special date". K had an impromptu date with me earlier in the day so it was only fair to give H a dinner date. We played in a bounce house at the mall, read books in Barnes and Noble, and ate more cheese pizza that humans should consume. We walked by one of those fountains where you throw a penny in and make a wish. She ran up to it and I just happened to have one penny left in my wallet. She threw it as hard as she could, which is really funny to watch a four year old do. We were laughs and smiles all evening until I asked her what she wished for. She looked back at me, and said, "I just wish Daddy would feel better." And I said "H, I think that is the best wish of all."
On Sunday I was ready to say my goodbyes. I had made peace with having no control. Believing that God was fully capable of a miracle, and trusting in a Heaven that gives brand new bodies and no more suffering. Mom stepped out of the room and let me talk to him. By this time he really couldn't talk at all, so he was texting when he wanted to say something, and I would respond verbally. I sat by the bed and grabbed his hand. I looked him in the eye and said, "Can I try to do this without losing it? Can you try and hold it together without a coughing fit so I can say nice things to you?"
He smiled and nodded. I began, "I want to tell you that I love you so very much. You've been the best big brother a girl could ask for. THANK YOU for inviting me into your life. Thank you for all the times you've paid for me to come up here or invited me on vacations. Thank you for wanting me to be part of you. I was thinking in church this morning about how we read these stories and sing these songs about how big God is and He can do anything and He loves us. I have to believe in that. I just know you're going to make it. It wouldn't be a miracle if you weren't on your deathbed. So, this is not goodbye, I'll just see you in two weeks okay?"
He nodded, and then he hugged me. I'll never forget that most precious moment I ever had with him. He wrapped his arms around me, my weight leaning on his labored chest, and he just held me. At one point I started to let go and move back, but he didn't. He just held on. I'll never forget that moment as long as I live. And as I walked through the parking lot of his hospital, to get in his car, and drive home to his house with his girls, he sent me this last message.
Sunday night, while Mom and I were watching Mary Poppins with the girls, I got a text from Stacey that said his heart rate was down to 124. I was SO grateful, and truly thought God was about to create the miracle hundreds had been praying for. Not so.
At 2am I got a message from Stacey that his levels were all over the place. That they had moved him to a bi-pap machine that does most of the breathing for him. My flight was for 10:50am the next morning. I got all the way to the airport with Mom in the car when Stacey texted again. "Where are you?…It may be time…" Just then Wes called and panicking I told him what was happening and said, "Wes tell me what to do! I don't know what to do!" He said, "Go to the ticket counter. Change your flight to the latest one there is tonight. Drive Mom back to the hospital. Pick me up from the airport at 1:15pm."
Okay, I can do that. Straight forward instructions. One foot in front of the other. I went to the ticket counter. I talked to a man who was unbelievably slow. I changed my flight. Got back in the car. Drove Mom and hour back to the hospital. We quietly cried the whole way. We walked in the room. This machine was new. It covered his whole face. His whole body contracted with every breath. His eyes were shut.
At around 2:30pm Wes showed up. Babs had graciously picked him up at the airport so I didn't have to leave the hospital. Clint opened his eyes long enough for Wes to talk to him. "I love you brother. I don't know if you can hear me, but I love you!"
I watched heavy hearted for 7 hours as the two women who love him most loved him in different ways. Stacey would stroke him. Long strokes on his hands, his wedding ring, his arms, his legs, his cheeks. She touched him as a wife lovingly adores her beloved. She did everything she could to make him comfortable every minute. That's the love of her life in that bed. "He's so cold!" She would say. Stacey had not left his side more than a few hours that week.
Then there was my mother. The woman who was there when he drifted into this world. The woman who has a mental photo album of every stage of his life. She would hold his hands and pat him as a nurturing mother would. Holding on for a time and then patting him as she let go. Holding on again, tears welling, and then patting to let go. Throughout this experience she has compared it to "Steel Magnolias". You know…"I can run to Texas and back but my baby can't. I want to know why? Why?"
My eyes were fixed on his monitors. I stared into the screen as his oxygen levels lowered and his heart rate increased. Then after a while, his numbers stopped moving. His chest stopped raising so violently. Wes leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Those numbers aren't right. They stopped showing his real numbers." I heard what he said but I didn't compute it in my brain. I followed him into the hallway where you could see Clint's real numbers. My eyes widened as I saw a flashing red number "36" on his heart rate. "Oh God! Oh God!" I clutched Wes, tears streaming down my face, and ran back in the room to be with my brother, my Mother, and Stacey during his final breaths. It was like watching someone drown, and not reaching to save them.
It's a surreal experience to see someone take their last breaths. To wonder if Jesus himself was walking him out of the room and we couldn't see. To watch his body turn from suffering to peace. To feel the palpable shock that there is no more. There is no more praying and hoping. There are no more chances. That's it. Enough now.
I love my brother very much. I don't say "loved" because I haven't stopped. I still love him. He loved me too. He laughed at my jokes, he was part of my life in every way that long distance allows, he made time for me.
Clinton Wade Brown,
You are loving, you are generous to a fault, you are handsomer than other peoples brothers, you are thoughtful, you are brilliant, you pick out the best birthday cards of anyone I know, you would give someone the shirt off your back if they asked. You mean the world to me. I'm so thankful you can breathe now. I know you are with Jesus and learning all about the way Heaven works. I'm so happy for your brand new body! Keep an eye on us down here, because we are missing you dearly.
Love,
Your Baby Sister
