The storm flew into my life without warning and with such a force that it brought me to my knees, threatening to rip apart the last remaining fragile threads of my faith. In a single moment, my life and that of my two daughters were forever changed and were faced with the task of sifting through the chaos and destruction this storm left of our lives. This is my story….
Nothing could prepare me for what I had to face that day.
It was Sunday, February 13, 2005. I was in the middle of giving report to the next shift at an assisted living facility where I was working as a nurse. My cell phone rang just as I finished reporting. It was my husbands phone number that showed up on caller ID but it wasn’t his voice that I heard on the other end of the line. It was a friend and team mate of his from the city league basketball team. He was calling from my husbands phone to tell me that Gary had collapsed after the game and had been taken to the hospital. He told me that he and his wife had my daughters with them, and that I should come to the hospital as soon as I could.
I distinctly remember that I didn’t believe that it could be that serious when I got off the phone. And as I made my way to the hospital, I began to come up with logical explanations for why he would have collapsed and needed to go to there. I was thinking something along the lines of dehydration. I imagined Gary hooked up to an IV in the ER, fully alert and oriented, but with his typical sheepish grin on his face as I walked into his room. I honestly thought that everything was going to be just fine, but at the same time, I couldn’t seem to get there fast enough as I hit nearly every red traffic light along the way.
When I first walked into the waiting room at the ER, I saw all of Gary’s team mates huddled together as a group. Before I could ask questions or say a word to them
or my daughters, a nurse came and asked if Gary’s wife had arrived, and she told me to follow her. I walked into the main part of the ER, and was immediately led to a room where I saw the tear-streaked face of my mother-in-law, but no sign of my husband. At that moment, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. It felt as if I had entered another dimension of reality; a sort of twilight zone. I knew that if things weren’t serious, they would have been taking me directly to see him.
I was desperate for information as I was seated next to my mother-in-law in this tiny room. A man was also in the room with us and as I began my series of questions. He began to speak to me very slowly, TOO slowly, as he proceeded to tell me what happened to Gary when he collapsed after the game. He told me that once Gary collapsed, he was defibrillated twice before the ambulance arrived.
This does not compute…
I was shocked when I heard this because there was no mention of CPR when I received the call…
‘Once the paramedics arrived, they continued CPR all the way to the hospital…..’ (At this point, I just wanted him to get to the point and asked him what he was trying to say.)
‘They continued CPR for an hour…’ (Please! Just tell me! What are you trying to say!?)
‘I’m sorry, Samantha…they did everything they could, but Gary didn’t make it…..’
Nothing could have prepared me for those words. Nothing.
At that moment, I felt like I had been hit by a freight train. Complete shock mixed with excruciating emotional pain swept over me and flooded my conscience like a tidal wave as I tried to wrap my brain around the idea that Gary was no longer alive. There must be some mistake. Maybe I didn’t hear correctly. Maybe I’m only dreaming…stuck in some horrible nightmare. Denial, shock, and grief competed with one another but could do nothing to block the tears and the wailing sobs that I could not hold back.
I felt like a part of my own flesh had been savagely ripped from me. I felt like the part of me that was left behind was an open, gaping wound left hemorrhaging to death. I felt completely helpless and at a loss for what to do. I could only cry as bits and pieces of memories of my life with Gary flashed across my minds eye.
I don’t remember how long I was like this but once I settled down, another wave of pain and grief hit me as I realized that my two little girls were still out in the waiting room. They did not yet know that their daddy was no longer here. The idea that my little girls were now fatherless was almost unbearable to me. To imagine my children having to go through the same amount of pain as I was currently facing, if not more, was devastating to me. But it could not be avoided. So when my mother-in-law and I felt ready, someone sent for my girls and brought them in.
Jessica was 12 at the time, and Makaila, my youngest, was 5. And as my eldest sat on my lap, and the youngest sat on her grandma’s lap, the chaplain told them that their daddy had passed away. As Jessica clung to me crying uncontrollably, all’s I could do was hold her as I looked helplessly into the eyes of my youngest as she stared back into mine. And with trembling lips but no sound, she layed her head against grandma’s chest as a single tear slid down her cheek.
Life seemed so unfair…..
I don’t recall how long we all sat in that room holding on to each other. Time no longer had any meaning. But eventually, I asked to see Gary. I needed to see him with my own eyes. Although I had been told that he had died, there was a part of me that didn’t want to believe it. There was a part of me that still clung to the idea that perhaps this was all just a dream and that soon I would wake up and my life would be back to normal…that Gary would be alive.
As I approached the room where I knew Gary’s body would be, I tried to brace myself because I didn’t know what reaction I would have when I actually saw him. I was frightened, but my legs kept propelling me forward until I found myself in his room and standing beside his lifeless body. A sheet was laid over him and the intubation tube was still in his mouth. There was no color to his skin, and he felt so cold as I touched his hand. And yet his skin was still so very soft. I traced my hand along every exposed surface…up his arm, across his chest, along his face as I felt his whiskers underneath my fingertips. I ran a finger along his lips; the same lips I had kissed thousands of times since I was 18.
His eyes were slightly open and I could see his brown eyes still shining. It was at that point that I began to bargain with God. I believed that if I prayed hard enough…if my will was strong enough, maybe he would come back to life. As I held onto him and sobbed into his neck, I imagined that he would completely open his eyes at any moment, that his chest would begin to rise and fall with new breath, and we would have him back. I also laughed at my absurdity. Here I was a nurse, still in uniform with a stethoscope around my neck, praying to God with everything in me, and expecting my husband to suddenly come back from the dead! And as the moments passed, I knew that he was never coming back.
He was gone. Forever.
I had a difficult time leaving Gary’s body behind at the hospital. Intellectually, I knew that Gary’s spirit was no longer residing in his body, but emotionally, I felt strangely protective of it. I felt like I was abandoning him by leaving. Or perhaps unconsciously struggling with the terror that I was the one being abandoned, even though it wasn’t on purpose. I also knew that I would never see Gary’s body again once I left. But eventually, the fatigue from being up since 4am and the shock and grief of losing Gary, forced me to part with him, once and for all, and I drove home.
(Originally written in 2006.)
Very moving story Samantha. I can’t imagine the journey you have been through. Your courage is amazing and the message you are sharing with others is so valuable. Thank you.
Thanks Scott. Although this event happened 7 years ago, I wanted to share a piece from my heart that reveals some of my real life; the unexpected nature of change and it’s impact, to share a glimpse of how one can cycle through various stages of the grieving process with lightening speed in the midst of a crisis as the mind tries to ‘accept’ the reality of what just happened, etc.
And most of all, the reality that life is precious. Death is certain, yet the day and hour is not known for most of us. Appreciate those we love and never let a day go by that we take them for granted and neglect to let them know they are truly loved. Life is too short.
If you love someone. Tell them. Show them. Let them know.
Samantha, I’m speechless…I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like for you, even though you told the story so beautifully that it made me feel like I was in the hospital with you. You’re so, so right about letting people know now you love them, as you may not get another chance.
Thank you for sharing a piece of your heart and soul here–that’s exactly what you did.
Thank you so much for reading it and your heartfelt reply. I don’t know if it affects everyone exactly the same way, but for me, I know that this event made me so much more aware of the brevity of life. And how important it is to not take our relationships for granted. Even in those that for whatever reason, it is best to go separate ways. The lesson is in learning to appreciate the people we have in our lives while they are here. Whether that’s a lifetime, a day, or just a passing moment and exchange with a stranger.
Thanks again, Alice. 🙂
Thank you, it is beautifully written.
I cannot say what loss is to me, in any format, I cannot know the mind of another. I understand these words too well, Unfair, gone and Forever, ‘miss’.
What does loss mean to me? sorrow and despair, then fire.
It is a want.
Loss is a reminder to do better.
Thank you so much for taking the time to share. Your words remind me of a poem but without it rhyming. 🙂
I am also sensing that you are no stranger to loss. May you find the lessons in the losses on this journey in such a way that it gives way to tremendous peace. And grace.
There is always room to do better. Yes. And sometimes the most important and freeing truth we can learn is that in the ‘knowing’ that there is always room to improve, we are also already enough. A bit of a paradox! I share this as it has been the source of many a lesson in my own life. And finding that special grace and balance in the union of the two is an ongoing challenge and practice for me.
Thanks again for visiting and sharing. 🙂
Thank you for sharing such an intimate, personal moment that changed your life and the life of your daughters forever. I always say to my kids to not say hurtful things to each other, friends or parents because what if it was the last time that they would ever see them and it’s the last thing they ever say to someone they love.
Your story is incredibly moving. I admire your strength. Must have been hard to write even years later. All I can say is that your story, and your love for your husband and children will stick with me now too.
Thank you Alli. You bring up such an important truth that sometimes we don’t realize or become conscious of until we do experience a major loss, such as the death of a loved one.
I remember when Gary first passed away, especially in the first few years… how things were so acute that every time my children walked out the door my conscious thought was, ‘What if this is the last time I see them?’ Fortunately, although the ‘reality’ of it is still present, it’s no longer a thought on the verge of paranoia! 🙂 I finally learned how to relax in the knowing that some things in life are completely out of my control and it will serve no useful purpose to live in fear that death lurks at every corner. And the fact that I can smile as I type this lets me know that I have come a long way. 🙂
My youngest also went through a period of separation anxiety for quite awhile. She didn’t want to sleep alone at night and it would break my heart when she would curl up next to me and say, ‘I’m afraid you are going to die and leave me too.’ Just heart wrenching! She has come a long way too. Both of my children have. Yet they still struggle at times. Their father was such an important figure in their lives.
Thanks again for taking the time to read and share your gracious reply.
Samantha, I don’t know you and haven’t ever been to your site before, but wow, this post caught my eye and almost choked me up! Why do these things happen?? If it was me, I’m sure I’d be down for the count, but I suppose there is no way to prepare yourself in advance. Do people who encounter similar circumstances seek you out since then?
Thanks for taking the time to visit, read, and comment Nathan. 🙂
As for your question, ‘why do these things happen?’ I have spent a great deal of time pondering that one myself…more time then I care to admit. It has taken me a long time to simply accept the fact that he is gone. And what I mean by that is that although his obvious lack of presence was a constant reminder, yet it was something I did not and could not accept for a very long time. I exhausted every ‘what if’ question that came to mind day in and day out…’What if I could have done something to prevent this and I wasn’t aware enough?…Didn’t pay enough attention?…If he wasn’t working rotating shifts all the time….What if…what if…what if?’
And it has always come back to the same thing. He died. I can’t go back and change it no matter how much I wish that were possible.
And although I didn’t and don’t have the power to change it, I most certainly have learned a great deal from the experience. I’ve learned that although each and every one of us is not exempt from death at some point…It’s a fact, we are all going to eventually die. Yet most of us don’t know when it will be. We assume we are going to live long lives. We assume there is plenty of time to put off really important things…the things that matter most in order to acquire ‘stuff’…the new house, the new car, new toy, etc. And all the while, we take each day and each other for granted. Most of us don’t do this consciously and on purpose. However, many of us live (or used to live) as if we have more time here on earth then we really do. When the reality is that we can do our BEST to live healthy lives…be accident free…yet…anything can happen. While SOME things are within our own power and control. Far too many things are not.
I’ve learned that EACH day that I wake up with breath in my lungs is another period of time I have to opportunity to love my daughters and the significant people in my life. I now live with the experience in knowing that it could be my last day…or one of my childrens, or someone else I love…a friend…it could be anyone’s … last day.
Occasionally I connect with someone who is either in the midst of grieving over a form of loss or has gone through the loss of someone close to them and we share our experiences.
Thanks again for commenting Nathan. I appreciate it. 🙂
I don’t think I could take it. The adversity in my life has been tough enough without being touched by the death of a loved one (yet). I’m sure if it happened under similar circumstances I would come crawling to someone who had been through it seeking how to cope. Nothing like this kind of story to break the fantasy of a “perfect life.” Anyhow, I think it was good for me to read this.
Hi Nathan. Thank you again for coming back to share some more.
Everyone I have known so far in my life goes through their own version of the grieving cycle. It is too difficult to predict how we or anyone else would react unless/until it happens. And wanting to be with others to help cope during any type of adversity is the most natural and human response. Frankly, there are far too many who don’t have anyone to help them cope during periods of adversity. I wish that every single person on the planet had at least one other person they could reach out to without fear and shame when hurting or in some form of legitimate need.
Thanks again for returning to comment. My hope is that sharing what happened would not create or increase fear in people, yet raise more awareness to treasure what is truly important in our lives. Right now. 🙂
When I asked you “was” something inside told me it was death. I hoped it wasn’t and for some reason I couldn’t help but ask. I cried the entire time I read your story, Samantha, so beautifully written and poignantly taken. I am sorry to know that this is what you and your precious girls have gone through but blessed to be brought to the awareness to remember “don’t take relationships for granted”. I am deeply grateful that you had the strength to share your story as I am sure it can help a lot of people. As I write, I hear my son chatting with my sister and the realization that life is fleeting makes me want to leave and hug him and not let go. Bless you! You are definitely as Positive Fabulous Woman!
Thank you so much for taking the time to read and share Lori. I appreciate it!
Yes, my husbands very premature death has really taught me a huge lesson in not taking people for granted. To this day, it’s something I”m acutely aware of every single day and hasn’t left my conscious awareness. Although I must say that early on it was more of a hyper-awareness that created a great deal of separation anxiety in me when my children took their first plane trips without me, etc! I wasn’t quite aware of just how much I feared the loss of my own children as a result of my husband dying unexpectedly, until my oldest went on her first plane ride to visit her grandma in another state. It was very emotional and I even felt embarrassed for feeling so emotional. I wasn’t prepared for it. The intense feelings caught me off guard.
Fortunately, my oldest has flown so many times, including to China TWICE since then that I don’t go through the same thing now. haha Thank goodness!
For me, I’ve had to learn to balance my deep appreciation for human life while not allowing it to become or remain a paranoia…a debilitating fear. So when that fear does crop up, I’ve become better at allowing it to ‘appear’ and accept it like a guest while I grant safe passage and release.
Thanks again for stopping by and sharing!
Samantha,
Six years ago, I lost one of my closest friends to an accidental drowning — the result of a sleepwalking episode. It was devastating to many, but especially her family and those closest to her. I have known more loss since that time — of marriage, of job, etc. — a stripping away of the external that reminds me of the temporal nature of life…that we are nowhere near as in control of our lives as we like to think we are.
Like you, the hidden blessing has been a deeper appreciation for the now, including the gifts of my family and friends. I’ve come to realize that the future is simply 1,000 present moments strung together, and in that realization, have learned to surrender illusions of control and live more intentionally in the process. It’s an imperfect journey, at best, but the loss has enabled me to live with deeper gratitude for what is.
Thank you for sharing your heart and story with us, Samantha. I consider you a brave warrior who inspires me through the courage with which you live your life.
Sharon
Dear Sharon,
Thank you so much for sharing your heart and some of your own experiences with loss. It’s the unexpected deaths or otherwise what we would consider to be entirely premature that can be the most unsettling. All sense of control that we had before is stripped unmercifully away right out from under us. No supports. Just gone. It IS the one thing that has taught me that I can’t take people and life for granted.
We can only love people today. There is no guarantee that we will still be here tomorrow. Or the ones that we love will.
So while it is still called today, I want all of my loved ones to know that I love them and I want all conflicts resolved as much as it depends on me. If it’s out of my hands or is being held back by others, there’s nothing I can do about that if I do my best each day and try. That’s how I’ve been learning to live my life since my husband passed away.
I love what you said here:
‘I’ve come to realize that the future is simply 1000 present moments strung together, and in that realization, have learned to surrender illusions of control and live more intentionally in the process.’
I value your friendship, Sharon, even in this limited way on the internet.
Thank you so much for sharing.
With love,
Samantha
Samantha, your love speaks well of Gary. It is my personal belief it is because of love–your ongoing love–that Gary is at wonderful peace. I also believe when we remember our loved ones, they live forever.
Your thoughts and words speak well of YOU. You remind me of the age-old adage: “When Peter talks about Paul, one can learn a lot about PETER!”
I know you attribute your love, goodness and character to Gary–which is wonderful and to a large extent true, since the spouses we love and who love us truly influence us: They “unfold” us and share in completing us. What qualities did you have to attract Gary in the first place? Where did your will and ability to “accept” Gary’s love over the years come from? That’s the love that I envisioned in the “years” before the “day” of your storm, and your “years” after…now.
As I was reading your thoughts, I was thinking about my mom. I would drive 130 miles from Los Angeles to Bakersfield to care for my mom every Thursday thru Monday morning for some 15 years. My sisters cared for her the most as they took mom to their homes during the week. Toward the end of her life, mom would be hospitalized more frequently—and usually during the week. One Wednesday at about 3 in the morning I arrived at her CCU bedside and she had ECG wires, and Oxygen and Nasal-gastric tubing, etc. She sensed my presence, and turned to me and said in Spanish: “Son, have you had breakfast yet?”
I couldn’t handle the love. Tears started to stream down my face. I gargled “Yes mom. I’ll come back later,” as I hurried out of her room so she wouldn’t her grown, professional, physician son crying like a baby. Here my mom was on her deathbed, and she was more worried about her son having breakfast. Love brings us to our knees.
Like yourself, Samantha, that was the “day” of my storm. Yet, that “day” was not the “whole” of my mom’s life. I remember the many years before that day—of a vibrant and even a fun mom. And that “day” was not the end of my mom—perhaps like Gary for you. Mom is still who I can lean on, and also the person who makes leaning unnecessary.
Thank you for inviting me to read about Gary’s final act of love.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read and comment Rick! I’m touched by your comments and appreciate the somewhat new perspective you’ve gifted me with.
I am TOTALLY resonating with what you shared about your mom. My own mother was recently diagnosed with cancer and is having surgery on Monday. I went with her to the initial ultrasound and there I was trying to be strong for HER and couldn’t help but tear up at the idea that we were possibly facing cancer.
Yes, love does have a way of bringing us to our knees.
Thanks for being vulnerable enough to share about your own experience with your mother. : )
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A beautifully tragic story, Sam. I am very sorry for your loss.