Letting Go

2018. In response to a call for submissions for a local two-pages, two voices play writing contest, I wrote a play based on a conversation I had with a social worker in the ICU when my youngest child died. My play was not selected, but writing it was an extremely helpful process--a kind of exposure/expressive arts therapeutic process that helped me come to terms with some traumatic memories I was having trouble processing. The play does not represent exactly what was said or what happened. Unfortunately, though, that makes it no less real. 

Setting: an ICU hospital room. The lights are dim. A PARENT in their late 40s is huddled in a chair next to an empty hospital bed. As the scene opens, a SOCIAL WORKER in their late 20s enters and sits down next to the PARENT. 

SOCIAL WORKER: Did you camp out here all night?

PARENT: No, I went home last night and came in early this morning. He was still in the coma, and the cats needed to be fed, and I needed to get some sleep.

SOCIAL WORKER: Were you able to get some rest?

PARENT: Yeah, I managed to sleep a little. It’s hard going home and going upstairs. That’s where we found him and where the paramedics worked on him. I expect that’s going to be hard for a while.

SOCIAL WORKER: Sometimes memories like that take a while to process. He’s still out for tests?

PARENT: Yeah, in order for the doctors to stop the protocol they have to do an MRI. I think it’s a liability issue more than an ethical issue at this point. The other tests confirmed what we already know.  He was dead when we found him. [PARENT starts to cry.]

SOCIAL WORKER: I heard that you decided to sign a DNR, so I came by to see if you have any questions or if there is anything I can do for you.

PARENT: Thank you. [Several seconds elapse before the character speaks again.] Everyone has done their best to help. I appreciate that. I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know what to ask. I’ve had stepparents and in-laws and grandparents die. But not a child before.

SOCIAL WORKER: This feels different.

PARENT: Yeah. Very. Because of the drug use, we’ve known for years this was a possibility. This wasn’t the first time I’d knocked on his door, terrified I wouldn’t get an answer.

SOCIAL WORKER: You’ve all been through a lot together.

PARENT:  [Nods.]

SOCIAL WORKER: So the doctors determined this was drug-related?

PARENT: No, they don’t know. It wasn’t an overdose. The drug tests all came back negative. And all his drug tests at rehab have been coming back negative. His blood pressure has been ridiculously high and hard to treat for years. Could be rebound hypertension from one of the drugs helping him stay clean or from drugs that don’t show up on drug screens yet. Could be other health problems. We’ll never know for sure what happened.

SOCIAL WORKER: Not knowing is hard.  

PARENT: Yeah. I just wish…[Starts to cry again.] I should have checked on him sooner.

SOCIAL WORKER: I’m sure the doctors explained that there was really nothing else you could have done. Sometimes it’s still hard to not think about “what if” though, isn’t it?

PARENT: Yeah. I expect the guilt will take a while to get over, too.

SOCIAL WORKER: Guilt and thoughts of “if only” are normal parts of the grieving process. If you think you’d like to talk to someone about that, or about any other part of your experience, I can give you some names and contact information.

PARENT: Thank you. I have a counselor already, so I think I’m good with that for now.

SOCIAL WORKER: The palliative care team will follow up in a few months, in case you change your mind. I also understand that your son was an organ donor. Have you spoken with Nancy from the donor recovery center yet?

PARENT: Not yet, no.

SOCIAL WORKER: She should be here soon. And if I can do anything, let me know. I’ll come by again in a bit.

PARENT: [Short pause]. Actually, could you…could you help me process something before you go?

SOCIAL WORKER: Of course.

PARENT: I, um… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. They’re going to bring his body back to this room. And eventually they’re going to do all of the things they need to do to unhook all the machines and harvest his organs and all that. And…what do I do? Do I stay here? Do I leave? He’s not here anymore.

SOCIAL WORKER: Different families do different things. Some parents leave. Some choose to stay. There’s no one right thing to do. There’s just what you need to do that’s right for you.

PARENT: I just… I’m not sure how to explain this. I’ve…I’ve loved him, and cared for him, and counting the time I was pregnant, I’ve spent 28 years doing whatever I could to help keep him alive…When I leave here, it means that’s not my job anymore. And I don’t…I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to leave. But I don’t know how to stay. I just know that he’s not here anymore.

SOCIAL WORKER:  You’ll always love him. And when you’re ready, and you’ve said your goodbyes, it’s OK to let go and to let the hospital staff take care of your child. You don’t have to come back to this room or even to the hospital unless you want to. You’ve done all you could and should.

PARENT: I’ve already said my good byes. And I’ve let other family members know so they can do what they need to. 

SOCIAL WORKER:  [After a long pause.] Maybe you’re not ready to let go just yet.

PARENT: [After another pause, PARENT stands, wiping eyes as the lights fade.]