The Heartbreaking Reality of Losing a Child

By: Brian Hoeflinger, MD

March 9, 2025 | #37

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Disclaimer: Opinions are my own. Not medical advice.

Medical Trivia of the Week

Which imaging modality is considered the gold standard for diagnosing acute intracranial hemorrhage following head trauma? (the correct answer is at the end of this email)

A) Non-contrast CT scan
B) Ultrasound
C) MRI
D) PET scan

Bearing the Weight of Loss

As a neurosurgeon, one of the most challenging and emotionally devastating aspects of my job is having to inform parents that their child has died. It’s a question I’m asked frequently: “How do you tell a parent that their child has died?” Today, I want to share a story with you that brings you into this experience on a profound, emotional level.

The Tragedy

Many years ago, a young man was involved in a horrific motor vehicle accident. He was driving in the left-hand lane on an expressway when his car collided with a semi-truck that had come to a complete stop in the lane. The impact was so severe that it tore the majority of the roof off his car. When emergency responders arrived at the scene, the young man was unconscious, and it took nearly 45 minutes to extract him from the wreckage.

He was transported to the hospital via LifeFlight, and during the flight, his heart stopped multiple times, each time requiring CPR and the insertion of a breathing tube. When I arrived in the trauma bay to examine him, his face was barely recognizable as human. In that moment, the busy trauma room fell silent, all eyes waiting for a sign of life. There were none. His reflexes were absent; he was brain dead. Despite the efforts of our team, there was no hope for his recovery, he was only being kept alive by medications and machines.

Breaking the News

Later that night, the young man’s parents arrived at the hospital, unaware of the grim details surrounding their son’s condition. We escorted them to a secluded room where I could speak with them privately. In that dimly lit space, with the family priest and my physician assistant present, the stage was set for the hardest part: telling them that their child had died.

I began by asking what they knew about the situation. Their answer was simple, they knew nothing. Gradually, I explained that their son had been involved in a terrible car accident and had sustained a catastrophic brain injury. I paused, giving them a moment to absorb the gravity of the situation. The atmosphere shifted; their eyes reflected an intense, anticipatory dread as I described the examination findings.

I went on to explain the CT scan results, which revealed massive brain injury and swelling. As I spoke, I could see their eyes beginning to turn away, intuitively bracing themselves for the inevitable. In a calm yet firm tone, I informed them that their son had no brain function and that he was being maintained only by artificial means. It was critical to be clear, there was simply no hope for recovery.

At that moment, the raw, unbearable pain and anguish became visible. Their crying was not a simple expression of sorrow, it was a cry that defies description, a sound as if their hearts were being ripped from their chests, their future stolen in an instant. I know this feeling all too well, as I remember when my wife and I were told that our 18-year-old son, Brian, had died.

The Aftermath

The young man’s mother was inconsolable, repeatedly screaming, “It can’t be my son! It can’t be our son!” In that heart-wrenching moment, the father put his arms around her, whispering that they needed to let him go. I waited, feeling each agonizing second pass, until their crying subsided enough for them to ask if they could see their son. I gently cautioned them that he would no longer resemble the son they once knew. With heavy hearts, they were led back to the trauma room by a nurse.

This scenario, though not uncommon for healthcare professionals, remains a foreign, devastating, and unforgettable ordeal for any parent. Only those who have witnessed such raw loss can fully grasp the overwhelming pain when life is abruptly transformed into death. The finality is a harsh truth, one that shatters the beautiful future envisioned by parents, replacing it with an unbearable reality that time cannot erase.

Reflections and Hope

As a neurosurgeon who has also experienced the loss of a child, I understand the immense grief and deep pain that follows such tragedy. By sharing this story, my hope is to cultivate a deeper sense of empathy and understanding for those who have faced the unimaginable loss of a child.

If you or someone you know has experienced such a loss, please know that you are not alone. Support groups and resources are available to help navigate this incredibly difficult time. It’s important to remember that it’s okay to grieve, and it’s okay to seek help when you need it.

May we all strive to be more compassionate, understanding, and supportive in the face of life’s hardest challenges.

New Podcast Episode - The Fight to End Drunk Driving & MADD's Mission

Check out this week's new podcast episode with Stacey Stewart, the CEO of Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD)

YouTube, Spotify, Apple Podcasts

Impactful Quote of the Week

"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.”

- Albert Camus

All my best,

Brian Hoeflinger

P.S. - if you enjoyed this newsletter, you may enjoy my book that details my life as neurosurgeon and the loss of my oldest son, Brian (see below a synopsis).

My Book

Life and Death . . . Two words with such opposite meaning and which inflict such contradictory emotions and yet are so closely intertwined in our lives. As parents, we bring meaning and life into this world through our children. Our lives become defined as a result. We learn the joy, hardship, and responsibility of shaping an innocent life. But a day will come when that life will be taken. For some, death will come too soon. This is the story of my son, Brian Nicholas Hoeflinger, who died unexpectedly at age 18.

https://doctorhoeflinger.com/products/the-night-he-died-the-harsh-reality-of-teenage-drinking