The anesthesiologists came at exactly 6:15. She asked me if there was anything she could do and I said to take note of the time when she turns the ventilator off. She promised.
We all walked Owen down to the operating room. A warrior needs his army when marching on to battle. And that’s just what we did. The nurses silenced as we walked by. Doug walked with his shoulders puffed up. I felt so proud of my son. I could feel the respect from the staff for my little Owen.
I pictured all of Doug’s army men standing along the wall, paying their respects. Samurais and everything.
We walked down to the swinging doors, where we said our goodbyes. One last kiss. One last pat on the head. One last hand hold. There I stood. Waiting for the doors to swing open from someone else coming or going. Sneaking another peak of my little warrior marching on to his last battle.
While I already know he wins this battle, I asked Doug if thought Owen would be scared. He told me of course not. He died in bravery and in strength. Our child completed more in his life than anyone else we know.