By Hui-wen Sato
“You’re a good mom,” I told her.
I marveled at her photos of the all-out birthday bash she had thrown for her four-year-old foster child. So many kid-party companies had temporarily shut down their services due to pandemic fears, leaving her unsuccessful at finding any available party entertainer who would come to their home decked out as Spider-Man, Joshua’s clear favorite among the superheroes. She finally convinced her brother, an otherwise shy and reserved personality, to dress up in the stuffy Spider-Man costume she’d hunted down at a thrift store and surprise Joshua for his birthday. A few other kids and parents from their apartment complex joined them on that hot Sunday afternoon, and she’d lavished Joshua with huge spider-shaped balloons, vanilla cupcakes, and a generous pile of gifts. Previous foster families had never kept him long enough to know, much less celebrate, his birthday. His biological parents were nowhere to be found. She was determined to give him an experience that would let him know his life was valuable, celebrated, treasured.
To her brother’s great relief, the kids eventually lost interest in Spidey and begged for permission to jump in the apartment-complex pool as the heat sweltered. The blue water was calling to them, promising relief.
“Pool time!” she called to the crowd. Cheers erupted, the kids stripped off their outerwear, and the adults threw floatation devices into the water. Those who could swim cannon-balled into the deep end with explosive splashes. “CANNON BALL!” Adults lowered the younger children into the shallow end, strapping life vests on the littlest ones, guiding others to hold onto the wall or the floaties. “THIS IS THE BEST BIRTHDAY EVER!” shouted Joshua, as he floated without a care on top of an oversized, inflated duck.
Her heart swelled as she watched his face light up in the midst of giggles and splashes. I tried to imagine what she was thinking: This is incredible. I can’t believe I get to do this as a foster mom. We’re gonna get him on a good track. He deserves the world.
After some time, the smell of hot dogs and burgers on the grill wafted over to the pool, and empty stomachs began to growl. The chorus of hungry voices rose from the pool, “Is it dinnertime yet?!”
The adults rallied all the kids out of the water, and chaos ensued as kids called out for towels and shoes and help to the potty. Adults were attempting to sort out all the clothes that had been
strewn about the poolside. “Whose shirt is this? Whose striped shorts are these? OK everyone—get over to the front lawn, we’re eating dinner over there. C’mon, let’s go!”
As the crowd generally moved in the direction of the food, and adults continued to chase children and track down personal items, no one noticed Joshua look back at the oversized, inflated duck, which by this point had drifted into the deep end. He wanted one last glorious float to close out his pool time. So he quietly turned away from the hungry group, went to the edge of the deep end and lowered his body in, thinking he could reach that big duck just an arm’s length away. He’d probably get in trouble for it, but he knew his foster mama loved him and wouldn’t be too hard on him on this, his best birthday ever.
***
The doctors had just informed her that his first brain death exam was consistent with brain death. “We’ll do the second exam tomorrow around this time to confirm. We’re very sorry.”
“No…no…NO, JOSHUA, NO! NO!”
With one hand, she grabbed his motionless hand, and with her other she stroked his face, partially obstructed by the breathing tube and the tape on his cheeks securing it in place.
“No…no…wake up honey, open your eyes…Oh my god, oh my god…”
I went to her side and just barely caught her weight against mine as her legs buckled. I helped her get to the wall so she could sit up against it, and then quickly reached over for an alcohol wipe at the IV pole. I ripped it open and held it up to her nose, a nursing trick I’d learned years ago to help keep people from fainting.
“Oh my God, Joshua…you were going to start kindergarten. Oh my God…We just got you new shoes. You gotta wear your new shoes. Oh my God…No, Joshua, no, no, NO, NO, NO!”
I sat with her, both of us weeping. I couldn’t leave her but I could barely stay. I thought of my own daughter who’d just completed kindergarten. I thought of how hard I’d worked to get my kids access to pools during the pandemic because I couldn’t stand the thought of them losing their water-safe skills. I thought of my own struggles to throw memorable birthday parties for my children. I saw her child, and I saw mine. I saw her, and I saw me.
She had tried so hard to be such a good mom to him.
“Nurse…please…tell me there’s still hope. Tell me he can still wake up! Please!”
I looked at her, helpless to fix anything.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please know…
You’re a good mom.”