You don’t know you’re in a life-changing moment…until it’s over.
My husband knew about trauma. He worked with kids with trauma, and he had experienced trauma himself. There is only one way to know about it, though – and that is to experience it first-hand.
Now, it’s happened to me. And there’s no hiding from it.
BEFORE
Getting a text midday isn’t a strange thing, but I received one from a family member who was at my house with my husband. It said that he was having trouble breathing, but they were monitoring him and there was no need to come home. I made sure I really wasn’t needed and decided to keep working, because he had been having these problems off and on and nothing had come of it. I had told him to GO SEE THE DOCTOR and get it checked out. He didn’t.
I decided to drive home early, about 2 hours later. It was an hour drive, which meant 3 hours had passed since I received the text. When I arrived, I checked-in with the family members who were at my house. My husband had yelled at them to “get out.” I went into our room and found him gasping for breath in the bed. He couldn’t walk. We had a brief conversation and I said, “I’m calling 911.” We argued – mostly about money – But I won.
IN THE MOMENT
I’d never had to call 911 before. Is that strange?
I got information from the family members on what was happening, his current blood oxygen level, 87 to 90 (anything below 92 is dangerous), and his heart rate, 135 (anything above 100 is dangerous). I still have the sticky note I wrote it on.
When shit is going down, you don’t think. You act. At least, that’s what I did. It’s all I had. I took the info, I wrote it down, and I called 911. After I told them what was happening, they told me to stay on the line.
“When shit is going down, you don’t think. You act.”
Within several moments, I heard the sirens, and they said I could hang up. I went back into our room and cleared a path for them – we had piles of laundry ready for the washer. I don’t know – I was just DOING stuff! I opened the front door and let the ambulance and fire department guys into my home. A team of men went into my room. A few minutes later, they were helping him walk out of our room and into the main area where they could get him on a gurney.
One guy began asking me questions about what had been happening and the others were working on him in the background, gathering blood pressure, blood oxygen level, etc. My husband kept pulling the oxygen mask away from his face and gasping for breath, but they told him to leave it on because he needed it. The guy speaking to me asked me if he had health issues. The answer to the question is yes, but since my husband never went to the doctor the entire 9 years we were married, I said I don’t know. My brain was also in a state of chaos due to what was going on and I wasn’t able to think clearly.
Eventually, they said they needed to take him to the hospital and asked which one I wanted. There’s one 3 minutes from the house so I chose that one. They wheeled him out and told me to go to the emergency room and I just stood there. I watched them take him out the front door on the gurney. I didn’t say anything. That was the last time I saw him alive.
PAUSE HERE FOR TRIGGERS
Some of the things after this point could be triggering for some, so feel free to click here and skip to the end.
SPOILER ALERT – He dies.
(Sorry, dark humor)
WHERE THE WORLD STOPS
I gathered some items at home – some shoes and socks for him, a sweater for me, his wallet and phone. I was expecting to be there overnight. It was about 10 minutes since they wheeled him out and I went to the garage to get in my car. I raised the garage door and was startled to see the guy who had been talking with me standing right outside. The ambulance was also still parked on the curb. He tells me he’s sorry he startled me, but he wanted me to know that my husband wasn’t doing well and that they had started CPR. My brain was in chaos – I said OKAY. He then asked me if I needed someone to drive me to the hospital. I noticed another guy hovering behind him with an iPad and his face was drawn. I say I’m OKAY to drive myself. He said OKAY and that they were leaving now and to not try to keep up. He walked away and started talking in low voices with the guy with the iPad. It looked serious. They got in the ambulance and took off.
They didn’t invite me to ride in the ambulance, and I didn’t ask to. I don’t know why.
I drove in a daze and arrived at the emergency room. A family member meets me there. The charge nurse met us as the doors to the treatment area and asked if we knew what had been happening. I relayed what the EMT told me by the garage. She said that we should talk in the room. She led us through the hallways to a room and opened the door. It said “family consult” or something similar. My brain felt that this wasn’t right.
“They say there are moments where the world just stops. This was one of those moments.”
The family member and I entered the room, and the nurse closed the door. It was tiny with a couch and 2 chairs that barely fit. I hated that room. With no lead up, the nurse told us my husband was brought in unresponsive and that they were doing CPR upon his arrival. The ER doctor took over and continued to try and revive him, but his heart never responded. She said, “I’m very sorry, but he has passed away.” They say there are moments when the world just stops. This was one of those moments.
THIS ISN’T HAPPENING
The family member with me started crying but all I could do was stand there. My brain said that this wasn’t right. It wasn’t true. If only they’d take me to him, we could clear this up. It was a mistake! The only thing I could do is say, “I don’t understand, I don’t understand, I don’t understand,” over and over and over. They tried to get me to sit down, but all I could do was repeat that phrase.
After a few moments, the nurse said that my husband was in the room across the hall and that we could see him at any time – to take as much time as we needed. Then, she left us alone. Eventually, I sat on the couch. We discussed that I should call my parents. I called my dad because that was the first number that came to my mind. When he answered I said, “Dad,” in a croaky voice. He asked me what was wrong – because he could tell, simply by my voice, that something wasn’t right. I tried to speak more words, but nothing would come out except, “I… (gasp)…I… (gasp)…I…” The family member took the phone from me and was able to convey what happened. My dad said he’d notify the family and that he was on the way.
Time passed.
The ER doctor who worked on my husband came and sat on the floor in front of us. He said some stuff. I think it was mostly reiterating what happened, the initial diagnosis of cause of death (blood clot to lung – AKA pulmonary embolism), condolences, and asked if we had any questions. I didn’t have the capacity to think of any. He also told us that we could go see him at any time.
The man from pastoral care visited us next. He and the family member talked for a few minutes and then he turned to me. He said I had been very quiet and had not said anything. I said I didn’t have anything to say. I was really, quite pissed. Why was I expected to say anything at this point? Didn’t he understand what shock was? I was not required to speak. I was not required to put on a show.
My dad showed up sometime after. He sat with me and held me. He didn’t press me to talk.
Time passed.
A LIVING NIGHTMARE
I contemplated whether to go and see him. It kept rolling around in my head. When you get married, you don’t sit around thinking about whether you ‘ll want to see your dead spouse’s body when they die. It’s not something they cover in pre-marriage counseling. It was fucked up, but it was happening, and I had to decide.
In the end, I did decide to see him. My dad went with me. We walked across the hall and into the room he was in. He was lying on the bed, eyes closed. The sheet was drawn up his body to his upper chest. I approached the bed and my dad stayed back by the door. My husband had tubes in his nose. At the time, I didn’t know why, but later I realized they had been trying to get him oxygen.
“It was fucked up, but it was happening. And I had to decide.”
I was afraid to touch him. He was still – so very, very still. I stroked his arm, his hand. I kissed his forehead. I told him I loved him. Time stood still in that room. It felt like I was either in there for 5 seconds, or 5 hours. The hardest thing in the end was when I told him goodbye – and then I walked out.
There are things I thought of much later. Like, what about his wedding ring? Should I take anything off his body? None of that occurred to me then.
After we left his room and went back to the family room, stuff happened. People came and went. People talked. People hugged me. I don’t remember crying, but at some point, I stumbled into a bathroom and saw myself in the mirror. It was like something out of a horror movie. My makeup was running down my face. My eyes were puffy. I could not have cared less.
We left the hospital – and it felt wrong. It felt wrong to leave him there. To drive away from him. It still felt like this wasn’t really happening. I’d see him at home….
He was supposed to be with me. Forever. But he wasn’t. He was gone.
THIS IS WHERE I LEAVE YOU
There’s a lot that can be unpacked here and many different opinions on what could or should have occurred that day – including my own. But I’m not interested in any of that, because at the end of the day, stewing on those “what if” scenarios will drive you crazy. The fact is, you can’t go back and change any of it.
So, what’s the point?
I’m sharing my journey for several reasons:
- It’s an outlet for my pain and trauma.
- Others will experience life changing events, trauma, and loss, and hearing someone else’s story can provide a much-needed light in the darkness.
- Some of you knew him (or me), and it can help bring “closure” to hear what happened.
The truth is though… the story’s not over.
Since You Been Gone 
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