A Tribute to My Brother Ryan, An Angel in Disguise

My brother was a very special little guy. I don’t think he was unhappy one day in his whole life – even after he was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer in July of 2008. And when it was time to go, he was prepared.

He went rather quickly. In fact, just three days before his death he went out to the grocery store, the toy store and other places. Because of chemotherapy, he couldn’t eat chocolate. Just last week I had eaten chocolate in front of him.

He had just gotten off of chemotherapy, and one of the things he wanted to do was to eat chocolate right in front of me!

I went down and seen his Friday. This was when he started to go down hill. He had mom call me earlier in the day because I wasn’t coming down until about 5 pm. He wanted me down sooner. I told him I’d come down earlier. Then mom called back and said “Ryan wants to know exactly when you’ll be down!”

He really wanted to see me. When I came down Friday, he was suffering a bit from headaches, but I figured it was just a minor illness and he’d get better. However, right before I got ready to leave, he got really sick. It was the first time my brother showed signs of losing his battle with cancer.

When he went to sleep, I left and cried for almost the whole 50 minute drive back home. I hated seeing him suffering.

Friday night before bed is when things got real bad for Ryan. He lost his ability to talk and swallow. However, his mind was 100% sharp, and he knew exactly what was going on around him.

I was planning on coming in early Saturday morning at 10 am, because that’s when the hospice nurse was coming. Again, we had no idea Ryan was going to go so quickly. When I got there and saw him, I immediately knew he was on his death bed.

It hurts seeing a child with so little energy that he could barely move. He couldn’t swallow, so all this phlegm was built up in his throat, and when he breathed it sounded like a coffee maker percolating. That sound haunted me for the first few hours.

The saddest part was that he couldn’t talk. He could only nod his head up and down for yes, or left and right for no. We asked if he was in pain. He shook his head no. The hospice nurse took his vital signs and they, too, indicated that he was without pain.

From the time I showed up at 10 am Saturday morning until he passed away early Sunday morning, I was right by his side. So was my mother and Ryan’s step father – he was surrounded by the three people he loved most in the world.

We took him to the hospital to get a line put in his arm, so we could administer his medication at home. A line is more permanent than an IV, you can keep it in for up to a year. We all hoped Ryan had at least another month or two, and was going to get better – but I know in the back of our minds we knew what was coming.

We took him home after the hospital and just sat there and talked to him, made his as comfortable as possible, and let him know we loved him and that whenever he was ready to go back home, it was alright with us. Suprisingly, Ryan still had a sense of humor.

I told mom that I would give him his medications through his line. I wanted her to be able to focus completely on him and giving him as much love and comfort as possible, so that’s why I stepped up. His medicine schedule was 7 pm, 1 am and 7 am.
Sometime after I gave him his medicines at 1 am, Ryan became very calm and relaxed, and looked completely at peace.

You could tell he wasn’t in pain. Nor was he in anxiety. This kid had made his peace with earth and was ready to go back home. I had been a monk for three years of my life, and I remember thinking as I watched him – he looks like a perfect yogi.

A perfect yogi is someone who is in complete control of their senses, to the point that they can decide when they want to leave their body. I had seen lots of picture of these yogis and had even met one before, and I noticed they all had a certain way about them… and Ryan had the same demeanor now.

The other interesting thing was Ryan had this black mark on his forehead. When he had brain surgery a few weeks back, they had to make marks for where to cut. Well, the mark on his forehead wouldn’t come off. And it was in an interesting shape – in the form of a tilaka.

In the spiritual path I followed, we used to decorate our bodies with a certain type of clay. We’d put a marking on our forehead, and this was called a tilaka. In one of the holy ancient Indian Vedic scriptures, it is said that someone who is decorated with the tilaka mark on their forehead at death goes directly to the highest of the spiritual worlds.

Ryan had the tilaka mark perfectly on his forehead.

My mother told me to go into the next room and take some rest so I would be fresh for giving Ryan his medicine at 7 am. So I managed to get about an hour or two of sleep. During that time, I had a dream where Ryan and I were walking up a mountain. I got to the top and looked back, and Ryan was running after me, laughing and with a big smile on his face.

I went into my brother’s room upon waking to talk to him a bit before giving him his medicine. My mom stepped out for a minute. You had to do that every so often or you’d drop from exhaustion. As soon as I came in, my brother started to go. It was like he had been waiting for me.

His step father was in the room with me, and he ran back out to get mom. For some reason, I was 100% calm. I grabbed Ryan’s hand and I told him I loved him and that it was okay for him to go back home, and that it was going to be alright, that everything was going to be alright. And I meant it, too!

He quit breathing. I was still holding his hand, and was looking him directly in the eyes. I told him I loved him and that everything was going to be alright over and over again.

His eyes moved momentarily and then locked directly on my own… he squeezed my hand… and then he passed on to the next world.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something. I look up out his window, and it had just began to snow. Big, half-dollar coin sized snow flakes, about two feet apart from each other. They looked like a million angels who were coming down to take Ryan home.

I looked back in Ryan’s now lifeless eyes and I noticed something else. For three weeks prior, Ryan’s left eye had slowly been going inward, and had become crossed. That’s one of the symptoms that’s associated with the type of tumor Ryan had.

Now, as I stared into his eyes, I noticed his eyes were perfectly straight.

I stepped back and looked at his body, and I could tell he went as peacefully as anyone could hope to go. He went as calm and as painless as anyone could go. And he was surrounded by the three people who loved him more than anything in the world, and whom he loved more than anything in the whole world.

Ryan was a very special boy. The way he left his body was so angelic, so beautiful, that it has held me together and kept me strong in this sad time.

We had Ryan’s pastor come in Saturday night when he was dying, and we all prayed. When she left, she told me she had never felt God’s presence so strongly before. Neither had I.

It is tragic to lose a loved one, especially a child. But I choose to be grateful for all that I have instead of be cross at what I don’t have. What I had was an angel in disguise for a brother. The most special person on this earth I have ever meant.

And if you ever get a chance to spend even one minute with such a special person, you’re very fortunate. I got 8 whole years – and I’m so grateful for it.

I love you Ryan.

-Jason Fladlien