STT. Brielle’s Family Shares Final Moments as Her Mother Returned for a Private Goodbye

There are moments in life when you don’t need to ask permission.

They arrived unexpectedly, plopped down in the room, and changed the meaning of everything that followed.

For Mitch and his wife, that moment came in the quiet hours after their daughter, Brielle, took her last breath.

No alarm sounded.

No dramatic scenes occurred.

Only silence, heavy and unfamiliar, remained, enveloping every corner of their house.

The house still felt familiar, but everything had changed completely.

The walls are still there.

The furniture is still in its original place.

But the presence that had filled that space for five years suddenly vanished.

Brielle had been sick for a long time.

Five years spent in the hospital, guided by palliative care staff, whispered prayers, anxious nights, and unwavering hope shaped their lives.

They have learned to live with uncertainty.

They have learned to celebrate small victories and overcome devastating defeats.

They learned to love more deeply than they had ever imagined.

However, nothing can prepare parents for the moment when love is no longer strong enough to protect them.

In the final moments before Brielle passed away, her parents spoke to her softly.

They asked if she felt comfortable.

They asked her if she needed anything.

Brielle replied.

Her voice was very gentle.

She said she’s fine.

She said she didn’t need anything.

Then she closed her eyes.

And though they waited, they never heard her voice again.

Three hours later, she was gone.

Death doesn’t always come violently.

Sometimes it comes like falling asleep.

Sometimes it comes so quietly that the heart can’t believe it happened.

For Mitch and his wife, that realization came gradually.

The energy in the house suddenly changed.

The atmosphere became heavier.

Something sacred has disappeared.

They no longer care about Brielle.

They were asked to say goodbye.

Just an hour later, the experts arrived.

Brielle is still too young, so she needs thorough preparation.

They need to make sure her body is handled properly.

They wanted her parents to have the option of having an open coffin for the funeral.

Those sixty minutes flew by in a flash.

No matter how much time we have, it’s never enough.

When Brielle was taken away from home, something else left with her.

Mitch later said they were angels.

These are the things that have helped them get through the past five years.

She felt as though everyone had come together to bring her to a safe place.

Take her to a place beyond the pain.

Take her to heaven.

In the days that followed, people spoke to Mitch and his wife with concern and caution.

Many people didn’t know what to say.

Some people avoid this topic entirely.

Others offered good advice about the need to be stronger and move forward.

But the grief could not be eased.

It expands.

It is absorbed into the body and alters the way a person breathes.

And Mitch’s wife knew one important thing that few people talked about.

She knew that her parents were allowed to return.

They were allowed to sit beside their child’s body at the funeral home before the funeral service.

A few days before the farewell that everyone else would witness.

This is something many parents never learn.

And many people never think to ask.

There was a quiet room.

There was no audience.

There is no schedule.

I had no expectations.

Parents can sit.

They might cry.

They can speak.

They can touch their child’s hair.

Simply put, they can coexist in the same space once again.

There’s nothing to be afraid of here.

That’s nothing unusual.

It is love trying to understand a reality it has never accepted.

As for Mitch’s wife, she needs more time.

The first time I stepped into that room, it was truly unbearable.

Stepping through that door, one feels as if they are entering the truth without any protection.

But she knew she needed to see Brielle again before the room got too crowded.

Before the grief was made public.

Before whispers, condolences, and shared grief filled the space.

Medical professionals and hospice care workers often talk about the senses in the final stages of life.

They often find that hearing is usually the last sense to decline.

Even if someone appears to be unconscious.

Even if they don’t respond.

The brain can still register sound.

Especially familiar voices.

Vision usually deteriorates first.

Next, the sense of taste and smell will gradually diminish.

The touch screen has become less responsive.

But hearing is usually the most preserved.

That’s why people are encouraged to keep talking.

Whisper.

To pray.

Play familiar songs.

To say what still needs to be said.

Mitch and his wife spoke with Brielle right up to the very last minute.

They told her that she was loved.

They told her she was safe.

They told her she could rest.

A few days later, standing in that quiet room, Mitch’s wife spoke again.

She didn’t know if Brielle could hear what she was saying.

But love doesn’t need certainty.

Just being there is enough.

She told her daughter everything that was still weighing on her heart.

She told her that she was very proud.

She told her that she was good enough.

She told her daughter that she would always be her mother.

She cried.

She smoothed her hair.

She sat silently, in no hurry to leave.

There was no pressure on them to be strong.

There’s no need to express grief in a way that makes others feel comfortable.

She can stay as long as she likes.

And when she was ready, she left.

It’s not because the pain has gone away.

But because love has been celebrated.

This is what Mitch and his wife want other parents to know.

You are allowed to spend that time.

You are allowed to say goodbye privately.

You are allowed to sit with your child without needing another person present.

You have every right not to go.

There is no right or wrong way to deal with grief.

There is only one path for you.

Four weeks later, the house still felt different.

The pain doesn’t lessen with time.

It simply changes shape.

Silence still prevails.

But love is the same.

It comes from memory.

In moments of silence.

With the belief that Brielle was never alone.

She was loved until the very end.

And more than that.