Ayan lived for one more day after being disconnected from the ECMO. Despite all the attempts to help his heart become stronger, his heart function did not improve, and his blood pressure began to drop on Tuesday afternoon.
As he lay in the big bed, with his chest open, and connected to many cables and tubes, his beautiful mother stood over him, praying and hoping and willing for his healing. “Wake up, dear Ayan,” was a repeated prayer, as she stroked his head and kissed his hands and feet. Arranging and rearranging his blankets, crying and crying for her only son.
As the night came around, she asked to hold him, and two nurses came to help facilitate this. Before long, little Ayan’s blood pressure dropped completely, and a doctor came to tell her that he had died in her arms.
All of the other Kurdish mothers in the hospital gathered around, crying with her, and lending their support, as well as many other Arab mothers from the department. We all sat together on the floor; there was almost nothing to say, and nothing to do, but be together.
It is hard to describe what happened on this evening. How loudly she cried, how deep the longing that this wasn’t true, how painful the idea of picturing life now without Ayan, how important was their faith, and to speak the words “Alhamdulilah,” and to thank God for his will in this situation.
In the days which followed, two of our other Kurdish mothers, the mothers of Shadi and Samem, looked after Ayan’s mother at our home. I saw a flicker of the joyful lady we first knew when she had arrived to Israel, as she was holding some of the babies, holding their cheeks the way she had held Ayan’s.