My name is Katelyn; my husband’s name is Brian.  We are the proud parents to three handsome boys; Brandon (17), Braxton (13), and Briggs (forever 2), as well as one newly-added baby girl, Bradlee HOPE-Marie (6 months).  We are the Welch Family. This is our story of HOPE and our beautiful Briggs.

Faith.  What is faith?  Some say so convincingly that it is our blind belief in God and the promises He makes to us in the Bible.  Some say more simply that it is our ability to believe in something bigger than ourselves and this Earth.  I don’t think either is a “wrong” answer.  However, prior to August 24, 2017, I probably, in efforts to be politically correct and to not offend anyone, would have given you an answer more like the latter.  Then, in the blink of an eye, my world shook and our family’s lives were changed forever, our hearts were broken into a million tiny pieces.  That was before we experienced what I can only describe as my son Briggs’ “double death.”  You may be thinking to yourself, “double death”?  I’ll get to that.  

As a high school special education teacher and softball coach, my summers are my golden, shiny treasures every year, the time I get to relax and recharge. This was my motto the summer of 2017.  Relax? With a toddler?  Maybe that was wishful thinking, but recharge while spending every moment I could with my almost two-year-old son, Briggs, was all that I had on my agenda.  No extra coaching, no extra camps, no extra work, just me and my boy.  It was beautiful and magical. I could go on and on about how great June and July were to us.  We watched Moana probably 200 times, ate all the Chick-Fil-A chicken nuggets, played at the park, napped together, swam in his pirate-themed backyard pool together, and read his favorite book, “Wherever You Are, My Love Will Find You,” too many times to count.  We were thick as thieves.

Like all great things, the Summer came to an end, and back to work I went.  It’s so hard to imagine how life is so normal. Until it’s not.  Typically, August was always one of my favorite months.  Several of the people I love the most are born in August; my father, Murray; my mother, HOPE; my father-in-law, Harold; my niece, Henley…and our youngest son, Briggs. We celebrated Briggs turning two with a pool party at my folks’ house. It was a beautiful, sunny day spent with all of our pals, full of presents and cupcakes.  Normal.  Happy.  Typical.  Eleven days later, Hurricane Harvey would roll into town and turn our world upside down.  

It was a Thursday.  A normal Thursday.  August 24, 2017 to be exact.  On my way to work, I sent out a Remind101 message to my softball team reminding them that we were only one short day away from the release of Taylor Swift’s Reputation album, pretty standard business for a Thursday.  Everyone was talking about Hurricane Harvey, when he’d hit, how hard he’d hit, but most of all, everyone wanted to know if school was cancelled.  Brian and I had been texting all day about what we should do.   Should we use this as an excuse to take the kids and get away for the weekend?  Should we hunker down, buy a ridiculous amount of junk food, and ride out the storm?   On my way home, I got the news that school was indeed cancelled. My husband got word he was officially off work as well, so we decided we’d head to a friend’s house to hang out and eventually decide what we’d do about the storm.  We had time.  So we thought.  Again, normal.  I picked up Briggs from my parents’ home where he stayed during the day, swung by and picked up Brian’s two older sons, and we headed home to meet him, grab our suits, and make our way, all together, to the pool party.  I do remember thinking how the weather seemed to be making its way to us sooner than expected because the sky was already so dreary and painted a dark grey.  Now, in retrospect, I suspect some foreshadowing.  This dreary day would become the day of my Briggs’ first death.  

In short, the thing happened that every parent thinks can’t or won’t happen to them.  Us included.  A parent’s worst-case scenario.  Briggs wandered away. I was inside the home, my husband outside, he saw Briggs come inside to me, I knew he was outside with my husband. In all actuality, he was finding his way through an ajar side gate to the backyard and into the pool.  A pool much like the one he had just celebrated his birthday in not even two weeks prior, only this time, he didn’t have a puddle jumper strapped to him, and he didn’t have his mommy or daddy watching him.  We will never know how long he was in the pool, anywhere from one minute to five.  I went outside asking my husband where Briggs was, that’s when we discovered he was with neither of us.  I ran frantically through the house calling his name, desperately looking for him.  When no sight was made, I darted to the backyard.  Our friend, Andy, had already jumped in, retrieved Briggs, and was administering CPR to my lifeless baby.  I froze, time stood still, the Earth literally shook.  I screamed, but no sound seemed to come out.  I fell to my knees, beating my hands into the pebbled concrete around the pool.  I knew in this moment that my son was gone forever.  The paramedics arrived quickly, and he was rushed to the nearby hospital.  

The next hours and days are hard to recall.  We were living every parent’s worst nightmare. There, in a spare hospital room, I fell to my knees yet again, only this time I began begging God to save my son while continuous tears streamed down my face.  I begged and pleaded for forgiveness, to please not punish my son for my shortcomings as his mother, to please take me instead, to please give me another chance, to please not take my baby.  I was convinced if he died, I would die too.  I wanted to die.  Who wants to live in this situation?  I prayed that if He took Briggs that He would take me too. I didn’t deserve to live.  The guilt, the shame, it was all so real and so palpable that it took over my soul.  I simply wasn’t a good mother, I had done the worst thing a mother could do. I allowed my son to die. My sweet, innocent, full-of-life son.  

After 45 minutes of working diligently, the nurse, who was also a friend of mine from high school, came and got me, told me it was time to be with him, that there was still no heartbeat.  I walked into the room, saw my beautiful baby on the gurney. I took his cold lifeless hand in mine and began telling him how sorry I was, how much I loved him, how he had changed me, how he had made me a better person, how he was my greatest achievement.  Then, just like in the movies, suddenly, his heart began to beat.  A drop of HOPE washed over us all.  Briggs was airlifted to a Houston trauma hospital.  The next four days were torture, but, in hindsight, necessary.  The night he arrived at Memorial Hermann, the first thing we wanted was for him to be baptized, so he was. In a beautiful and intimate ceremony. Unfortunately, Briggs would never regain consciousness.  

Hurricane Harvey hit the following night. It rained and rained like it was never going to stop.  We prayed and prayed to God.  To be completely honest, I remember telling Brian how guilty I felt praying so hard.  We are both Christians, both baptized, raised in the Methodist and Baptist churches, but we weren’t consistent church-goers.  Here we were asking God for the biggest miracle, and, in my eyes, we weren’t his most devoted fans. Briggs had been to church once in his life, and I knew once again that I hadn’t done my part in making sure he was a child of God. In that moment, I felt terrible in all aspects.  The guilt covered me like a thick, scratchy, burlap blanket.  The blanket was heavy and hot, I could hardly breathe.  I spent those days in between reading to Briggs from a children’s Bible his grandmother, Betty, had given him.  We prayed over him. I shared all my love and aspirations I had for him, and Brian did the same.  We stayed, all together, my parents were there too.  They spent a lot of time with Briggs as our pain was their pain.  We all soaked up every moment we had with our son’s Earthly body.  

On Monday, August 28, 2017, the time came to say goodbye to our Briggs.  While I held and rocked him in his final moments, Brian shared the story of Jesus with Briggs. It was the sweetest, most genuinely loving moment. It was in that moment that God brought me this unexplainable sense of peace that I so desperately needed. I felt Him lift that heavy, scratchy blanket off of my shoulders. I felt fresh air on my skin. I felt His forgiveness wash over me.  I felt Briggs’ love, and I knew in that moment that he knew the depth of my heart and love for him.  God carried me through the hardest, sweetest, and most raw moment that I will ever experience here on Earth.  He walked beside me through my son’s second death. I realized how thankful I was to have gotten to hold my baby when he came into this world and to hold him in my arms again when he was lifted up and taken home to Heaven. And while I sit here writing this story of HOPE, it has occurred to me that this was God’s reasoning for Briggs’ “double death.”   It was so that I could share in that moment with Briggs and Brian, the moment of Brian sharing the story of Jesus with Briggs with God present so that all three of us could be completely immersed in His love and mercy.

        I won’t lie and say the road to today hasn’t been and isn’t still paved with some hurt and heartache.  It most certainly is.  But since Briggs’ home-going, I have learned so much about my God and built such a stronger relationship with Him.  He doesn’t keep score.  He is merciful.  He promises eternal life where our entire family will be reunited with not only Him, but with my Briggs. I rest on that promise. Our family will be all together again one day. The time I have left on this Earth is a mere blip to our loved ones in Heaven, my son doesn’t miss me.  His days were predetermined. He lived 745 days on this Earth. In those 745 days, he taught us all so much about love and compassion.  

Briggs was loving, rambunctious, adventurous, funny, and full of life.  He fulfilled his mission and was called Home.  Too soon for me, I would have loved to have more time with him, but because of God’s promise, I will have all the time one day.  That is what gets us through this as a family.  We speak of Briggs every day. We tell stories, share memories, and see his sweet, beautiful face EVERY SINGLE DAY.  

We have since welcomed a baby girl into our family, Bradlee HOPE-Marie.  She reminds us of Briggs so much that we just know he had his little hand in her being given to us, and we take comfort that he met her long before we ever did.  We are devoted to always sharing her brother’s legacy with her.  HOPE is what we have, HOPE carries us, HOPE is God’s gift to us daily. That, my friends, is our story of HOPE and my newfound definition of FAITH.