Janis M. Brooks (synkytten) wrote in spiritualists,
Janis M. Brooks
synkytten
spiritualists

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The Good Always Die Young... RIP Maurice L Cote of RI

Last time I wrote I was 15 or 16 and going through what i perceived at the time to be the worst time of my life... Boy was I wrong...

Im 26 now, this is ten years later. I have gone through debilitating heartbreak, grief that made me want to curl up and die. You name it.

I have an amazing daughter named Autumn, the light of my life, but she drives me crazy sometimes... I work full time right now, Thank god I have my mother and father willing to help me out as much as possible. I'm also in school, still completing prerequisites, but I think I should be able to apply for the nursing program soon.

I realize a lot of families aren't as close as I am with mine... Cousins are just cousins to some people. But not to me. Cousins are our first set of friends. Some of mine are close like siblings... My cousin Maurice. He passed away on the 19th of Decemeber of this the year 2014... He had just turned 30 on the 10th.. On the 14th I got a text message from his sister, another very close cousin of mine, that he was having seizures and was being whisked to landmark hospital. (For those that are in RI... u know that landmark hospital is known for being an intensely shitty hospital). Having not the proper equipment to deal with a case such as Maurice's they then sent him to RI Hospital. 12 hours later! They finally did an MRI and determined that he had 5 simultaneous strokes. But there was still hope. Stubborness runs in our family, and when I tell you he was stubborn, he was so stubborn it was the death of him... :(

The next few days were crucial. He had to have some of his cerebrospinal fluid drained because his brain was so swollen from all the damage caused by the strokes. PS: Our maternal grandmother had her first stroke at 38 years old. They did a chest x ray and found a plethura of pulmonary embolisms, ie clots. Obviously one of those travelled from his lungs and into his brain and became lodged.

Reading and reading and reading. PUlmonary embolisms usually only happens when there are blood clots in the legs (DVT: Deep Vein Thrombosis) which is caused mostly by blood pooling in the veins in the legs... He had none. This made no sense to me... Maybe something genetic? Lo and Behold the nurses said they were testing for genetic clotting disorders because something like this shouldn't have happened to a youg man... They put him on blood thinners, heparin. Which only worked to thin the blood that was not already clotted. What about the clots? He could have another stroke any time now... They refused to give him a clot buster because they were afraid of a bleed in his brain... Understandable, definitely not something one wants. But what if it had helped.

The 3rd night there... he had another stroke. This one affected his brain stem, which is where the rate of his breathing and heartbeat are controlled. There was a lot of damage... They said that day to come say our goodbyes. The family came, his fiance came. We all cried. A good man too young to go. I willed him to fight this. I willed him to wake up, open his eyes... something. But there was nothing.

The next day, we had a bit of hope. They had told us the day before that they would not pronounce him dead until there was no brain activity at all. And if there was even a smidge of it, they would continue to treat him. There was activity. I felt hopeful, positive, like I had the whole time he was in the hospital. Went to see him in the hospital with his sister. We prayed over him, and even the swelling had gone down in his head... I left with shining hope that night. I wondered if he knew what was happening outside his little world. i wondered if he was in pain or scared....

The next day they did a test for brain activity again... There was none. He was gone. They kept him on the respirator in hopes of harvesting his organs as he was a giving man and was an organ donor. It seemed sick to me, disrespectful. Morbid. People kept telling me, that thats how he wanted it, so be it.

Yesterday, December 28th, was his service. Lots of tears. I feel numb, like this is all some bad dream and I should wake up any minute... But Im stuck. During the service, I went through the somber line of grieving family members, his mother and step father, his father and step mother, his fiance, and his sister and her husband. All grieving, all crying. Tight hugs, as if the tighter the hug the more the person is saying, its ok let it out, let it all out... Then I saw him. It didn't even look like him, did they switch the bodies?? D: His lips were flat and discolored. The blood stain remained on his head from when they put the stent in to drain the extra CSF. The bruise from the IV still visible. I did't stay long in front of him. I feel like I hallucinate that his eyes move or twitch because I hope so hard, and so badly wanted to touch him, I dare not.

I mingled, cried some more, brought up memories long lost and ever so precious now in light of his death. I am still in denial that he is gone.... he can't be. His fiance and kids... 5 of them under 5 years old, the youngest 8 months... This can't be real. This doesn't happen in real life does it???  Even as i type this, I sob.

Then the pastor started his sermon for Maurice. Beautiful words, no matter how much i didn't believe anything the pastor was saying. I believe that Maurice has things he needs to say. Final words. To his family and friends. He is not gone. I can feel it. Felt it for days. Things have been happening... that I can not expain. Seeing people out of the corner of my eyes, but when I look there is no one there... Autumn's metal strainer fell right off her play kitchen and clattered to the floor. It was not off balance... And when the pastor returned to speak behind the podium, the microphone let off continuous blasting of feedback... it didn't stop, the pastor had to turn off the microphone to continue the sermon... The music that played for us skipped... It's maurice, he's not gone yet. He's trying so hard to relay a message, i need to help him.

My desire to be a medium, because I know I have it in me, burns bright in my grief. I found some classes at a spiritualism church in ri... Im going tonight. I will listen to trance tapes if I need to to hone my skills. He needs to be heard...

After the sermon, I said good bye again. I made the mistake of touching his chest. Cold, and his body encased in plastic... Infuriated, and grief stricken. Then I stroked his cheek... like ice. I broke down, crying, and wailing my grief for him. No amount of tears seems to be enough... It will never be enough.

RIP Maurice L Cote
"The Good Die Young"
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