‘Holding on for Higgo’

TO MY DARLING BROTHER… HIGGO 🍺

As Ayla and I sit here listening to the last few beats of Jay’s heart, we want the wider community to know that we’ve had considerable time with Jay and together we said goodbye to Higgo this morning 1/7/25 at 6.20am

It’s been the most beautiful, fucked up time.

I’m Jay’s littlest sister, Sarah, and I’m writing this while I rest my head on Jays still beating heart and I’m holding onto the hand of my beautiful sister-in-law, Ayla, who has lived in ICU since Thursday 26th June 2025.

Let me rewind a bit, and start somewhere near the beginning.
Jay’s Pop; Clifford Higgins, was born on this land.
Our dad, John Higgins or better known as ‘Old Boy’ was born on this land.

Jay, Kristie and I were born and raised here too. This land is who we are.

We’ve always followed the traditional view that the farm would one day become Jay and Ayla’s legacy. A couple of years ago, Jay stopped working off the farm to be here full-time for Dad; to carry the load and to let Dad rest his tired body. Jay’s dream was to make sure the farm stayed in the family’s hands.

Thursday the 26th was an ordinary day on the farm for Poppy and Jay.

“Let’s rip a few nuts off, hey old boy!”

I will never unhear his bogan humour and I’m glad we are ‘same same’

Calves in the race, Old Boy up front tagging ears and Higgo on the back end elastrating some nut sacks.

Two born-and-bred farmers, working without words… just a rhythm. Every calf had all the boxes ticked by these well-oiled nut and ear tagging machines.

Near the end of the day with Jay standing in the race behind a small calf, elastration tool in his hand, loaded with the nut-destroying lackey band, ready to launch on another scrotum, he crouched behind a young calf and it kicked – it kicked hard. The hoof connected with the tool in his hand, which then penetrated through his inner eye socket, missing his beautiful blue eye and lodging itself deep into the left side of his brain.

I’ve relived that scene in my head from the words Old Boy has shared – it’s something you wouldn’t expect to see in a horror movie.

My beautiful dad went to hell and back that day, and then we took him there again every day for four days as he has sat next to his dying son holding his hand, begging and praying for him wishing he could just swap places.

Pop you kept showing up – for four full long arse days. I’m so proud of your bravery, grit and determination; you gave me the nod and a thumbs up when eventually it felt easy and you were able to have your final goodbye. With my eldest boy James holding one hand and me holding the other we walked you out of the ICU for your last time!

Jay’s brain injury was so severe that, as a family we made the heartbreaking decision not to operate. We couldn’t offer Jay a life as a vegetable.
He was the hardest person to pin down on a good day – let alone forcing him into a life of no free movement or speech.
He loved the land, loved the freedom, loved being himself and most of all he loved to move his body.

Since being in ICU, Jay’s vitals were able to thankfully been kept stable. He’s been wrapped in love, surrounded by stories, beer, wine and greeted with so many faces who’ve adored him throughout all stages of his incredible life.

Jay was a registered organ donor for ‘all organs’ and a perfect candidate due to his age, dad bod and genetics.
As a family, we agreed to keep him on life support to prolong his death and donate his heart; it meant it would never stop beating and it gave someone else the chance to live. But, of course, there were boxes to tick. So many tiny boxes.

We planned for every outcome and every decision, although impossibly hard it was made together; unanimously. Hard decisions became easy because he is ‘same same’ and we are ‘same same’ and somehow it was seamless.

On Monday 30th June, around 4:30pm, we got our confirmation from the organ donor team.
Jay’s organ donor checklist was all ticked off; an arm’s length of little boxes, and this hairy fucker ticked them all; every fucking box.

The logistics teams had travel plans set. Surgeons were booked, operating rooms were kept free and recipients across the country were waiting. All of Jay’s organs would be used except his heart… which unfortunately we had to ask him to let it stop beating.

This has been the cruelest, most prolonged goodbye I’ve ever known – but we’ve kept going and prolonged our pain so we could keep the pumping blood through his beautiful heart, while still breathing so we could do every test possible to find the perfect matched recipients to receive his incredibly strong, irreplaceable parts.

Through all this grief, and the logistics of managing 8 grieving kids in the city, we’ve also realised just how shit we are at this stuff.

Everyone who knows our family knows how much we laughed that after 5 days we still can’t even get from the ICU room to the toilet and back without getting lost.

Our navigation comes from sun on our skin and feet in the soil.

This morning, Jay was given the choice – keep fighting, or rest eternally so he could save four lives immediately, and potentially 40 more once donation is complete.

He chose to rest so peacefully with me and Ayla by his side and him not alone for one single second of the way. We held a hand each as he made his way to heaven and as many of you know him and you know me I asked him to ‘SEND IT’

Jay is now part of the first ever liver transplant in WA from donar to recipient in the same hospital. Not bad for the miles on that liver.

And so, as I sit here – the person who never switches out of ‘go go go’ mode; I know I need to be still for my family. For the farm. For Cliff and Joy. For Mum and Dad. For my sister and brother in law. For the legacy of Jay and Ayla, and all of these beautiful kids we created.

We’re asking for help.
This is going to be a tough financial road for our family. Kristie, Darrin, Ayla and I are committed to keeping the farm going and honouring Jay’s legacy.

We have a long road ahead, and there’s no way to put all the tiny pieces of our broken hearts back together.

We don’t know what’s next we but we relate to what Jay said to Ayla every morning when he would get up to the kids, a full-time job, a shit mess, and no sleep.
Through tired eyes that still sparkled, right to the end, he would say to her:

“Darling, everything is going to be ok.”

Asking other people for money and help isn’t something we’re good at, it’s never been our strength.
But right now, I’m being really brave, and I’m putting my family’s hands down to rest for a little while.
If you can help, even just a little, it will carry us through what feels like the hardest stretch we’ve ever faced.

Thank you for reading, for loving him, and for holding space for us ❤️