Rise Up by Andra Day

William had just gotten transferred to an adult-sized hospital bed so Alex and I could lay on either side of him before, during and after he was taken off of the support machines keeping him alive. He had four tubes called “cannulas” coming out of his abdomen that were his heart support. They were connected to a machine on a cart to his left. His medications were on a pole to the right of him. His medical team had asked whoever was going to crawl in on the left side of him to be careful and go slow getting in as to make sure the cannulas weren’t moved a ton; they would be laying across whoever was on that side. I was going to lay on his left side, so I did exactly as they asked.

Alex, being the one who would be on his right side had to also go slow and be careful of the tubes that would be laying across him. It seemed like hundreds of clear, small, tangled tubes that carried the medications he needed. When they were ready for Alex to get into the bed with us, he slid in as I had a couple minutes before. We hadn’t laid together like that since WIlliam was four hours old. It felt good for a moment being there as a family. It was going to be short-lived though.

His core nurse shut off the monitors in the room so we wouldn’t hear them beep or alarm through the process of saying goodbye and then, everyone left the room. They gave us about half an hour with him. We read to him, we talked to each other, and we each said goodbye in our own way. I will write about these private last moments with our William and intend to share them in the future, but for this, it’s important we talk about the music that was playing. 

The playlist on my phone called “William” was created that morning. It played through the songs on there over and over again all day long. It played as our families came in, as all of his medical staff came to say goodbye and hug us… and it played in the moments after we said our goodbyes- as he was being extubated and as he died. His attending doctor that day was one who had been there for a few of William’s really scary moments. That doctor had been there a few days before this when he crashed after he started crying and nobody could console him, not even Alex or me. This doctor, after taking out the tube that had kept him breathing for weeks, heard and acknowledged “Rise Up” humming in the background while his chest puffed up and down, breaths slowly coming further and further apart. His doctor whispered, “rise up little man” and a new stream of tears fell from my face onto the pillow all three of us were laying on. 

When I listen to this song now, I will never not think of that doctor and the team that helped us have over three months with William. I will never not picture William’s sweet, peaceful face at 6:30 pm when that same doctor pronounced him dead. I will always think of him rising up in that moment, his doctor encouraging it, and Alex and I laying with him for the final time. 

And I will listen to the lyrics, “we’ll rise up, high like the waves, we’ll rise up in spite of the ache. We’ll rise up and we’ll do it a thousand times again… for you” and think of our sweet William. He continuously was rising in the 97 days he was here and when he rose that final time, I knew it was to somewhere better for him.