Episode 2:  Shattered – Transcription

[INTRO] 

Welcome to the Broken Vessels podcast. This podcast is hosted by Carrie Ann Bothmer, a mother who has experienced profound grief following the loss of her daughter, Cassie. As bereaved parents, the lasting impact of losing a child changes us forever, leaving us as broken vessels in search of hope and purpose. 

In each episode, Carrie Ann and special guests will share personal stories about their own Offering insights and coping strategies covering a wide range of subjects. Carrie Ann’s desire is that through these conversations, you will find a sense of connection, understanding, and perhaps even moments of healing. 

Let’s take this step together one episode at a time. Now, here is your host, Carrie Ann. 

Life is a complex tapestry of joy and pain, love and loss. My daughter faced battles that no one should have to fight. including addiction. But her story is so much more than that. She was a person of incredible light, someone who brought warmth and laughter into the lives of everyone who knew her. This episode is titled Shattered because that’s what it felt like the day we lost her, like our world had broken into a million pieces. 

But even in the midst of that shattering pain, there were fragments of beauty. Love and faith that held us together. In this podcast episode, I want to take you through her journey. Not just the difficult moments, but the beautiful ones too. I want to share her laughter, her dreams, and the moments of pure joy that defined her life as much as any struggle did. 

Our faith in God has been the glue that mended the shattered pieces, guiding us through the darkest valleys, reminding us that her spirit is with him now at peace. This is not just a story of loss, but a celebration of a life that mattered deeply and continues to resonate. I believe that God has a plan, even when we don’t understand it, and that my daughter’s life, in all its complexity, was a part of that greater purpose. 

As I share this story, I hope it offers comfort to those who have faced similar battles, and reminds everyone that we’re more than our struggles. More than our darkest moments, my daughter was so much more. And today I want to honor all that she was knowing that her soul rests in God’s embrace. It’s almost impossible to truly capture who my daughter was for so many people, but I’m going to do my best. 

This is just a highlight reel and doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of who Cassandra Brooke was to her daddy and I. She was our daughter. She was a granddaughter revered as the first grandchild in our family. She was a mother, a gift bearer who brought three beautiful daughters into this world, forever weaving them into the fabric of our lives. 

They constantly remind us of Cassie, as we see her in their eyes, feel her in their touch, and watch them grow. Their personalities blossoming with so many of their mother’s attributes and physical beauty. She was a sister, leaving behind memories that her siblings will hold close. Sharing them lovingly with one another as they navigate this intolerable grief and attempt to make sense of the gaping void in their lives. 

She was a niece and the eldest cousin in our family, paving the way for others. She was a friend and a confidant to many. She was an employee, a volunteer, a neighbor, a teammate, a student, an advocate for stray animals. A crossing guard for ducks and turtles, and so much more. Her fingerprints are forever etched on our hearts. 

Above all, she was a precious child of God, gifted to me, her mother, for far too short a time. Cassandra Brooke was born on September 11th, 1990, weighing 6 pounds, 3 ounces, and measuring 20 inches long. I was just 18 years old when Cassie was born, still a child myself, naive to the world’s many snares. We grew up together, Cassie and I. 

As an infant, she was precious and full of joy. As a toddler, she was curious, determined, and very clever, with an insatiable love for the big pink lollipops you find in specialty candy shops. Her favorite movie was Disney’s 101 Dalmatians, which we watched as often as we could. She was never seen without a big, floppy bow in her hair. 

Unless, of course, she managed to pull it out, which was often. I was fortunate to have my mother’s help with childcare while I worked, and I cherish the long car rides to and from work with Cassie by my side. Though those days were long and tiring, they are now treasured memories. I could almost feel the softness of her skin under my fingers as we held hands and sang together throughout the ride. 

She was my best friend, confident, and often my comforter. Grocery store trips were an adventure for Cassie and I. She loved sitting in the cart, greeting every passerby while they admired the large, poofy bow in her hair. She enjoyed helping me plant and water flowers and taking walks to the park to go on the swing set. 

Cassie was also very resourceful. If she needed something, she would find a way to get it. I remember one fall afternoon, when Cassie was sent to her room for some, quote, thinking time, due to a bit of mischief. She wasn’t allowed out for 30 minutes, but, while I was in the living area, I heard the phone ring. 

It was the next door neighbor calling. She told me Cassie had opened up the window and was yelling out of it, Help me, I can’t get out! It wasn’t funny at the time, but it showed her resourcefulness for sure. In school, Cassie was exceptional. She was gifted in many ways. She played the flute and violin, participated in choirs, won first place in county science fairs, and played intramural sports like soccer, field hockey, and lacrosse. 

She was also on the community swim and dive teams and participated in color guard. Cassie loved sharing her victories with family and friends and had a beautiful singing voice. She was actively involved in the Best Buddy program and had a special place in her heart for people with special needs, particularly children. 

Cassie enjoyed helping me cook and took pride in preparing meals on her own. Her favorites included Rocky Road fudge and her grandmother’s chicken divan. She loved her family and our annual fall foliage trip to the pumpkin patch where she was known for picking the largest pumpkin she could find. This led us to create the if you can’t carry it you can’t carve it rule, which, of course, we’ve really never strictly enforced. 

Christmas was magical for her, and family trips to the Christmas tree farm were at the top of her list. Even after moving away, she would inquire about the trip to make sure she could join us. Beach trips were essential for Cassie. She was happiest there. I remember loading up the Suburban at 5 a. m., 

everyone with pillows and blankets. Her dad, Mark, would play Boston’s More Than a Feeling on full blast on the car radio, and we’d all sing along. As we approached the beach, Cassie would roll down the window to breathe in the salt air. She was always the belle of the ball, beautiful and funny. Not in a jokester or crude way, but in a way that made people laugh effortlessly. 

She could have accomplished anything she set her mind to. With her stubborn determination, resilience, and grit, her future was incredibly bright. It’s no secret that she made life altering choices that left a trail of destruction. I will never fully understand how my daughter, who had so much to live for, and so many people who loved her, fell prey to the insidious grip of addiction. 

Addiction knows no boundaries and is relentless in its pursuit, consuming its victims and destroying even the strongest relationships. In my heart, I believed I would see her transformation, a miracle that would restore her, reunite her with her family, and bring us back to the mother daughter relationship we once had. 

Instead, I was constantly bracing myself for bad news. I envisioned her as a recovering addict, sharing her testimony and saving lives. And I prayed for this miracle every day. Although the miracle wasn’t as I had imagined it, we did receive one. You see, Cassie was found before she ever was truly lost. As a child, she trusted Jesus as her Savior, and as a young woman, she rededicated her life and was baptized. 

She longed to be whole, and did not choose to be an addict. But her choices led her down a path where heroin altered her thoughts and created an unrelenting craving for a fleeting high. Guilt and shame only deepened her struggle, pulling her further into a cruel, vicious cycle. During her struggle with addiction, we experienced both discouragement and moments of hope. 

I prayed for God to make a way, and I had my own ideas of what that might look like. I envisioned someone reaching her, perhaps something I said or did would remind her of a time when she was loved, without fear, guilt, or shame. I hoped for a divine intervention that would quench her insatiable thirst for drugs and reveal God’s presence in her life. 

I dreamed that she would realize her potential, turn away from the lifestyle she had lived for a decade, and be reunited with her family and children. I prayed for her health to be restored, for her to share her testimony, and for lives to be saved. But that is not how God answered our prayers, nor is it how her story would end. 

It had been 10 years since Cassie had fallen deep into addiction, and it seemed like there was no way back. As days, weeks, and months passed, she grew increasingly distant from us. Our communication was limited to Facebook Messenger with interactions becoming infrequent. I would often send Cassie notes, reminding her of our love and belief in her, and pleading with her to seek help and find her way home. 

I sent pictures of happier times with family and friends, hoping they would inspire her to fight her way back. Occasionally, she would respond positively, but at other times, she reacted with anger, wanting me to accept her as she was. I struggled to understand why she chose this path. I kept hearing that she needed to, quote, hit bottom before things would improve. 

It was the last week of March 2020, and it had been so long since I had seen my daughter face to face. I missed seeing her bound through the front door. Hearing her voice, giving her a hug and exchanging. I love yous early days of COVID 19 were unfolding with social distancing and shutdowns in effect. 

News reports grew increasingly grim with stories of people falling ill on ventilators, ICU beds, overflowing and the death toll rising. I was adjusting to working from home homeschooling and trying to navigate the ever changing rules and regulations brought about by the pandemic. No one knew what to expect or what would happen next. 

It was a frustrating and frightening time for everyone, and I was deeply concerned for Cassie. I remember reaching out to ensure she was safe, unaware of the challenges that lay ahead. The days leading up to Cassie’s passing are etched into my heart, and I relive them every time I close my eyes. Like a nightmare from which I cannot wake it all began when my daughter Kaylee received a Facebook message from a young woman She had never met before through this message We learned that Cassie had been sick and was in a university hospital in the city This was when the miracles began and it became clear that God was making a way Kaylee was such a blessing She took on the communication role with the hospital staff and translated the information to the family after each call. 

She immediately contacted the medical intensive care unit at the hospital, and we located Cassie. A miracle in itself, because none of her personal information, her date of birth, her social security numbers, was correct. We were advised that Cassie had been admitted through the emergency room the night prior. 

She was in septic shock and had suffered a stroke that impaired her mental status. For She was not able to communicate with the healthcare providers due to COVID 19 restrictions. We were not permitted to go to the hospital to be by her side and advocate for her. By God’s grace, we were able to ask questions and receive answers from ICU doctors. 

Charge nurses and social workers who went the extra mile for us and used their own cell phones to allow us to put eyes on our girl using FaceTime, seeing her confirmed what we were being told, she was in grave condition. We did our best to communicate with her and to our surprise. She responded. She opened her eyes and was trying to speak to us. 

We just cried and told her how much we loved her. Although at the time, it seems very cruel that we were not physically by her side due to the pandemic, God was making a way. Over the next few days, We began to get more information on Cassie’s condition and her extended prognosis. We were advised that sepsis, which originated from intravenous drug use, had gone to her heart and infected the valve and surrounding muscle tissue. 

Every time her heart would pump blood, it would carry with it septic embolisms through the bloodstream and to her organs. It was as if her heart was firing off death shots just left and right. At this time, we were advised to provide consent for life support. Central line placement, an articular catheter to deliver blood pressure medications, dialysis, and so much more. 

All of this over the phone. Just a few hours later, Kaylee received a call from an ICU doctor who was literally standing at Cassie’s bedside. Embolisms had found their way to her lungs, and a decision needed to be made immediately to put her on a ventilator so that she could breathe. We had already discussed this possibility and provided our consents. 

For So, Kaylee responded with the decision to put Cassie on life support. The next few hours, we spent querying doctors so that we could understand better what was happening in her prognosis for recovery. We were advised that her liver, kidneys, spleen, brain, and lungs were all infested with embolisms. The only option to correct the situation was surgery to clean the vegetation off the heart tissue and replace the damaged valve. 

Because of her intravenous drug use, she was not considered a candidate for this surgery. She was dying, and without intervention, the extended prognosis would be Cassie in an IC unit on dialysis and a ventilator for the rest of her life. We were given another opportunity to put our eyes on her via FaceTime. 

It was torture. Her sisters, her father, Mark, and I gathered around a computer monitor, and we all told her we loved her, read scripture to her, and told her it was okay to let go, to fall into the arms of Jesus, her Savior. She was clearly able to hear us, but was agitated by the life support tubing. We finished the call, and I remember just screaming and pounding the floor with my fists. 

Why did I have to make this horrible decision? I did not choose this path for her. Why, God, do I have to choose life or death for my daughter? I could not be there to hold her through it, to let her know everything was going to be okay. It was beyond unfair and cruel. No mother should have to be in that situation. 

Yet, God was making a way. After confirming her prognosis with the ICU doctors and praying, it was clear to all of us that Cassie would not have wanted to be in an ICU bed, attached to machines, breathing for her, cleaning her blood, etc. We made the decision to remove life support and allow her to pass peacefully. 

The doctors advised us that because we were now entering comfort care, that two of us could come and be with her as they removed all supportive care. We made our way to the city with the full realization that we would not be bringing our girl home. We would take her off life support and say our goodbyes. 

Kaylee and I spent a few precious hours just holding her hand and telling her how much we loved her, kissing her and recounting stories of our lives together. We could see the evidence of the stroke on the left side of her body and the evidence of the extreme and horrific damage the drug use had on her body. 

The nurses and ICU doctors let us know as they removed life support that she could live anywhere from 10 minutes to 10 hours. Little did they know God still had work to do, and He was making a way. That night, Kaylee and I held her hand, told her stories, shared memories together, read scripture, sang to her, and assured her that it was okay to let go. 

Midnight became morning, and morning turned to midday. We were well beyond our 10 hour expectancy window. Doctors no longer came to assess Cassie. They just peered in the glass window as they completed their rounds. Nurses came in to turn off sounding alarms and to replace medications. But that was it. 

And then, she opened her eyes. She was with us. She was not able to speak, but she would squeeze our hand and respond by nodding. Within 24 hours of extubation, Cassie was sitting up, asking for water, and began speaking to us. God was at work, making a way. On Palm Sunday, we experience what can only be explained as a miracle of the Holy Spirit. 

Cassie’s body began to heat up. Her breath was hot. Her skin was burning hot. She was agitated and uncomfortable, but there was no fever. Nurses provided us with ice packs, and Kaylee and I placed cold cloths on her body to help her. The heat raged, and Cassie was in an incoherent state. During this time, my mom and dad attempted a FaceTime call to pray with Cassie. 

My dad thoughtfully recited the prayer for Cassie and asked her to open her eyes or squeeze her hand to acknowledge it. And then, she opened her eyes, stared into the phone, and blinked as hard as she God was keeping his promise and making a way for Cassie. As quickly as the heat came, it left. Cassie sat up in her ICU bed and began to speak to Kaylee and I. 

We were just amazed at what we were seeing. I had heard of end of life rallies before, but she was just on life support. We quickly grabbed the nurses. What are we seeing here, we asked them. The nurses somberly encouraged us to just enjoy the time with her. It was likely a lucid moment, an end of life rally. 

We were receiving a gift. So much took place during this lucid moment. Cassie was communicating with her sister and I, and at one point, she turned to me and said, Mom, I am so, so sorry. As she sat in her hospital bed that night, with cool cloths on her neck, and Kaylee and I applying cold compresses to the rest of her body, She spoke. 

I will never forget the look on her face or the posture she took as she said, I rebuke you in the name of Jesus. God have mercy on me. It was clear that we were in the middle of a spiritual battle. We experienced the gift of another lucid moment the next day, which began with another period of intense heat throughout her body. 

Again, as quickly as the heat came, Et left, and she became lucid once again, but this time she was much more alert and her speech was clearer. She wanted to talk to her grandmother. We quickly got everyone on the phone. She sat up, stared directly into the phone, and she saw each of her family members one by one. 

We had arranged a group FaceTime. She stayed on the call for a few minutes, saying everyone’s names, and sharing moments with each before she slipped back into a state of rest. That night, as I was sitting with her and singing over her, She began to talk, but she was not addressing me or Kaylee. She fixed her gaze on something up in front of her and just stared with an expression of wonder. 

She said, It’s so beautiful. She turned her head toward me, looked just over my right shoulder. She said there was a woman there, and she began talking to her. Cassie began to cry. She shook her head no. Looked at me directly and said, Can I please, please take her with me? As she reached up and touched my face, I just kept repeating to her, I love you. 

You love me. You forgive me. And I forgive you. You are held. You are safe. And it’s okay to go. God made a way. Monday was a very difficult day for Cassie, filled with increasing pain. At this point, I began to question everything we were doing. Are her lucid moments God’s answer to my prayer in the form of a miracle? 

Is she going to survive? Do we need to move from comfort care back to critical care, where she would receive dialysis? I continuously queried the nurses and doctors on the prognosis, and if it had changed. On the outside, I had a glimpse of my girl. She was with us, and she seemed to be fighting. The response I received from the doctors and nurses was consistent. 

The damage to her organs is irreversible. She is not going to get better. Enjoy the time with her. It was not going to last. Her pain and suffering was beyond words. But even in the midst of her pain, I saw her true character return. At one point, I was rubbing her back and just crying as I sang and prayed over her. 

She looked at me and said, Mama, this must be what Aunt Kate felt like with Mikayla when she died. Even in her pain, and as sick as she was, she was worried about me. It was comforting me. Preparing me for her passing. We saw her sense of humor in the midst as well. She said to me, Mama, when I die, I want you to And then she paused. 

And I replied, Yes, baby, anything. Tell Mama what you want me to do. Mama, she continued, when I die, I want you to say, she was clearly having a difficult time putting her words together, and I was trying to be patient as I waited for something profound to be communicated. Yes, baby, what do you want mama to say? 

She replied, I want you to say, Man down! She was right there with us, as funny as ever. In her beautiful way, she took a somber moment and inserted humor like only she could. On Tuesday, as the doctors completed their rounds, we were attending to Cassie when she noticed them in the hall. Now, just for context, we were at a university hospital in the city. 

Some of the residents are, well, let’s just say, they’re easy on the eyes. She caught a glimpse of one of the young male doctors. Her eyes opened wide. She placed her hand on her face and said, Oh my. Laughing out loud, I said to Cassie, is there a hottie in the hall, Cassie? And she yelled, hottie in the hall. 

I’m certain they heard her based on the looks on their faces. It was priceless. Her symptoms began to intensify and her condition deteriorated. The lucid moments were fewer as time went on and her pain was much more intense. The medical team consulted with us to let us know that due to COVID, the visitation rules were changing by the hour. 

When she entered comfort care, they did not anticipate her to live as long as she had, and they really did not know how much longer she would hold on. In short, they needed the ICU bed for COVID patients, and they were planning to move her to compassion care in the hospital. With the change from end of life care to compassion care, we would not be permitted to visit with her and would have to leave the hospital. 

This was not a suggestion. This was how it was going to happen. Not if, but when. I was infuriated. How can this be? Visitation restrictions seemed impossible everywhere, and I was not about to leave her alone now, not willingly. It was unacceptable, and I was determined to find a workaround. But, as he had been doing all along, God was in the details, making a way. 

After some research, we discovered that the hospice local to us had a low census, and they had a visitation policy that allowed three visitors at a time. Round the clock, they had a bed available and accepted our request for admission. It was settled. The goal was to get her transported and comfortable with the ultimate goal of bringing her home with me where I would continue in home hospice care. 

It was a victory. I was so grateful to move her out of the ICU into an environment that was less sterile, a place where she could rest peacefully, surrounded by the ones who loved her most. Cassie was transported to the hospice house on Wednesday at 2 p. m. It was a beautiful day, unseasonably warm for April, a day Cassie would have loved. 

Her sisters, Carly Ann and Caroline, made their way to the hospice right away, anxious to see their big sister. They brought pictures of Cassie from all stages of her life. I’m not the type of person that would read these stories. I guess I’m not. It’s funny. I’m gonna go in the house, okay. Okay. I’m gonna go in the house. 

Okay. Oh my gosh. I’m gonna go in the house. The hospice home was filled with sounds of their voices as they sang to her, read scripture, and poured their love over her. Cassie knew they were there. She knew that God had brought her to this place to be with her family, to make amends, to be cared for, and to be loved. 

Mark came to see Cassie as soon as her sisters left. He 30 minutes when she began to open her eyes. I will never forget the sound of her voice as she exclaimed, Daddy! When she caught a glimpse of him. She hugged him with all the strength she had and told him she loved him. What a gift! She was able to be reunited with her family in the hospice house. 

This was the miracle I prayed for. God was making a way. In her last 24 hours with us, her condition deteriorated. She began to experience intense seizures that eventually became continuous, one right after the other, no rest between. Cassie began to succumb to the excruciating consequences of the damage her addiction had done to her body. 

There was no way to continue pain medication as all of her IVs failed and the nurses were unable to gain entry into any vein. Her veins were completely shot from years of intravenous drug use. The nurses attempted sub Q delivery of pain meds in her abdomen, leg, and arm, but her body was not absorbing the medication. 

There was nothing that could be done other than pray as we helplessly held our daughter through the night. I was completely depleted, void of any comprehension as to what was going on and why my baby girl had to suffer. As I sat in anger, lack of faith, and desperate grief, God was still making a way. On Good Friday, the morning shift change brought us two new nurses. 

They were on the scene, in charge, and determined to bring Cassie comfort. Because of COVID 19, the medication we needed to attempt to control Cassie’s seizures would take more than 24 hours to be delivered. They had this medication in oral form, but Cassie was no longer able to swallow. As Mark and I sat in the waiting area while the nurses attempted to settle Cassie’s seizures, one of the nurses approached us with tears in her eyes. 

She said, I want to thank you for posting the Word of God in your daughter’s room. It has been ministering to and comforting us as we care for your daughter. She prayed with us, discussed some options with us. Some new techniques she had researched to help deliver the anti seizure medication to Cassie and provide her with some comfort. 

The plan was to place an NG tube and deliver the oral medication directly into her stomach so it would absorb quickly. The challenge was Cassie was actively seizing and unable to swallow, which made placement of the NG tube very difficult. By the grace of God, the nurses were able to place the NG tube and began delivering the medication. 

I was aware that when the seizures stopped. She may finally let go, and I knew my time with her was short. As Mark and I reentered her room, we could feel a change in the atmosphere. A calm had descended. The nurses not only carefully attended to our daughter, but they took the time to organize and clean her room, thoughtfully placing her ”Lamby” by her head on the pillow. 

I began reading scripture to her and saying over her while I held her hand and told her that I was with her. And it was okay to go, to fall into the arms of Jesus. I began to pray that God would just come get her. She was too weak to come to Him. One of the hospice nurses with attending to Cassie asked me if she could play the song, I Can Only Imagine by Mercy Me on her phone. 

Yes, please, I said. As she played the song softly in Cassie’s ear, we all sang together. As the song finished, my attention was drawn to Cassie’s “Lamby”.   This was a wind-up stuffed lamb that played the song, Jesus Loves Me. That crazy stuffed lamb had not played a note for years, but I wound it up anyway, and it played Jesus Loves Me all the way through without hesitation. 

And as it played, while I held her hand, I could feel the life leave my daughter’s broken body as she entered into the presence of God. No more fear. No more pain. No more guilt, no more shame. She was loved, held, and whole. The debt of her sin had already been paid, and she was finally free. As I laid beside her, studying her body, burning the image of my sweet daughter into my head, the way her skin felt beneath my fingers, the placement of the freckles on her arm. 

I was brought to an understanding of God’s love for Cassie, that He did not wait for her to come to Him. He came and He got her, that He did not leave her destitute, abandoned, and alone. He miraculously brought her back to her family so that we could show her love and provide her with care and comfort. 

Everything I prayed for, I received. She was safe, she was held, I was able to share moments as mother and daughter, each of us expressing love and begging for forgiveness. She received redemption, was no longer held in the bondage of addiction, and was free of her guilt and shame, once and for all. No pain, relapses. 

Just freedom. While I am undoubtedly shattered and grieved beyond measure, I can smile knowing that she is finally home. God made a way. As we come to the end of this episode, I want to thank you for listening to my daughter’s story. It’s a story of brokenness, yes, but also of healing, love, and the unwavering faith that has carried us through. 

Though our lives were shattered by her loss, I believe that God is helping us piece together something new, something that honors her memory and allows her light to continue shining in this world. Sharing this story is not just about our own healing. It’s about reaching out to others who may be struggling with their own broken pieces. 

Grief doesn’t have a neat ending, and the pieces may never fit back together perfectly. But with faith, love, and the support of those around us, we find ways to carry on. My daughter’s story is more than the pain we’ve endured. It’s a testament to the joy she brought into the world, and the belief that her spirit lives on. 

If this story has touched you, or if you know someone who might be struggling with similar pain, I encourage you to share it. We never know who might need to hear these words, who might be looking for a glimmer of hope in their darkest moments.