My husband had been sick for a few days prior. This was somewhat surprising as he rarely got sick, but considering our youngest child had been diagnosed with the flu almost a month before, and our oldest had just been diagnosed with mono... it wasn't exactly unexpected. He fluctuated too, some days were good days. Some days were bad day.
Last night was bad. He wasn't himself. In fact I begged him numerous times to let me take him to the emergency room. He refused each time. "What can they do at the ER that my doctor can't do tomorrow?" is what he told me. "Except charge me six times the amount for the same thing".
In retrospect. I should have made him go. I know there is a good chance the ending would have been the same, but at least then I would know I tried.
Anyway.
The last time I saw my husband "alive" was around 7:30 this morning. He was breathing, he was moving around on the cot he had set up in the living room (so he didn't disturb me). I felt comfortable enough to go pick up some dog food from the store.
When I returned home, I remember smiling when I saw him. It looked like he was sleeping peacefully, and after everything he needed it. Then I realized his service dog wasn't laying beside him on the cot, but rather on the floor near the chair. A feeling of dread crept over me. But I pushed it off. After all, I was an EMT for ten years. I wasn't the kind of person to overreact. Then I realized something wasn't right. In the dim light, it looked like his eyes were slightly open, but he hadn't spoken to me.
What happened next will haunt me for the rest of my life.
"Hey honey" I called out, "How are you feeling?"
Silence.
"Honey?" I stepped closer, but again silence was the only answer.
"Babe?" I was on my knees next to him now, shaking his arm, the panic threatening to override the calm I was striving so desperately to hold on to.
"Please wake up. Please" I shook his arm, my voice rising, "Please, I need you to wake up now".
It was when his head turned to mine on the pillow, his eyes open but unseeing that dread crept up my heart. Squeezing it. Choking me. I pressed two fingers against his neck. And then I was off the floor and on top of him, straddling him. Instinctively beginning the CPR I was trained in, but had never had to use before. This was not happening. Could not be happening. I knew I had to get him on the floor, but I wasn't strong enough to move him by myself.
The phone call was made. They stayed on the phone with me as I continued to preform CPR, begging him in between compression to please come back to me. To not leave me this way. To not leave me alone.
The professionals arrived, one gently leading me to the side, asking me questions I could barely form the answers to while others, so many others, blocked my view as they worked tirelessly on the man I loved. I watched as they moved him to the floor with an ease I never could have managed, I watched his body jerk as they administered the shocks that were supposed to bring him back. I watched as the machine compressed his chest in a smooth even rhythm, while another professional compressed the air bag, giving the breaths he couldn't draw on his own.
This was not. Could not. Be happening.
Dazed, I allowed myself to be loaded into a car, to follow the ambulance to the hospital. With silent tears streaming down my face, I allowed myself to be lead to the quiet room. Having been told they were still working on him. I held on to the hope I carried inside of me. He would be ok. He had to be. He was at the hospital. They FIXED things.
Twenty minutes later, friends and family gathered around me, the doctor came in and turned my world upside down. The man I loved was dead.
There would never be another dance in his arms. Another kiss or word spoken from his lips. Never again would he make me laugh, or look at me like I was the most important person in his world. Never again would we spend two hours arguing over what movie we wanted to watch. Or spend an easy night in the kitchen cooking together. My life as I knew it was over. Had died right there with him in the middle of our living room.
I wanted to fall to the floor. I wanted to scream. I wanted to give up. To lay down beside him and die with him. There was supposed to have been more time. An entire lifetime. It wasn't fair! After everything we had been through, why was he taken from me? Why now?
I cried until I didn't think I could stop. Would ever be able to stop. I curled in on myself, face pressed against my knees as I rocked back and forth on the floor. When had I slid from the chair?
And then I picked myself up. Told myself I had to be strong. I didn't have any other choice now.
I turned the corner, bracing myself to view his body one last time. To press a kiss to his cold cheek, to hold his body against mine for the last time and tell him that I loved him. That I had always loved him.
I drew a shuddering breath, pushed aside the curtain and walked in.
No comments:
Post a Comment