It was an ordinary work day. I had a heavy bout of bronchitis and considered staying home, but I sucked it up and went to the office because I had work to do. He kissed me goodbye, said “I love you” and left for work. I pushed myself through the day until about 3:00 and decided I had to go home. Before I left the office, I decided to page my husband to let him know of my plans. He didn’t call back. Instead, within ten minutes my phone rang and it was his office manager. She said that he’d been in an industrial accident and they were taking him to the trauma center hospital. She had no idea what his condition was but told me to get to the hospital.
A special welcome to anyone who is new to The Grieving Room. We meet every Monday evening. Whether your loss is recent or many years ago, whether you have lost a person or a pet, or even if the person you are "mourning" is still alive ("pre-grief" can be a very lonely and confusing time) you can come to this diary and process your grieving in whatever way works for you. Share whatever you need to share. We can't solve each other's problems, but we can be a sounding board and a place of connection.
I got to the emergency room, explained who I was and they said he was there and they were working on him. When they put me in a private room, I knew it wasn’t good. A resident came in and told me that he had head injuries and they had put him into an induced coma and were waiting for the neurosurgeon. At this point I was still alone in the private room. I called my mom (I wanted Dad, but his mother had passed away 11 days earlier and he was out of state helping my aunt deal with the paperwork.) My mom arrived and stayed with me while I waited, and waited, and waited. I discovered that when they tell you a test will take 45 minutes, they really mean that it will take three hours to get him ready, take him to the testing area, and bring him back. My pastor came and went (it was Wednesday and he needed to be back for services.) At about 9:30, they were ready to take him to surgery and I could finally see him. It wasn’t pretty but I got to tell him I loved him. We waited until Midnight to find out how the surgery went. We didn’t get to talk to the surgeon because they had put us in another private room and he didn’t know where we were. They told me I wouldn’t be able to see him because they would be transferring him to intensive care and I should get some sleep and come back in the morning. My brother stayed with me through a sleepless night.
The next morning in intensive care, I got the full results. He had shattered almost every bone on one side of his face, but they were still in place so he looked normal, except for a shaved head, a black eye, and a heart shaped burn on one cheek. When I talked to the surgeon, he said we were in a waiting game, hoping for the swelling to stop which would take time, more than we’d like. Two days later I arrived at the hospital and the surgeon met me and told me they needed to do more surgery and couldn’t risk moving him to an operating room so they would do it in intensive care. He was very blunt. “His chances of being functional are not much more than zero, but you never know what God can do.” I was in intensive care with him for three weeks. They let me stay with him as much as I wanted, because his monitors showed improvement when I was in the room. (This is when I became a health care advocate, but that’s a different diary yet to be written.)
On a Monday morning they called me in at 6:00 because he was not doing well. He had developed staph and the antibiotics weren’t touching it. At 8:30, because we hadn’t had time to discuss it, because we didn’t think it would happen, he coded and they brought him back. It didn’t look good, but they continued the antibiotics and at about 7:00 that night, they sent me home to get some sleep. Thank God for my brother, who again spent the night. At 3:00 the next morning, I got another call. This time, it was a matter of time and he would code. Did I want them to revive him? Because my husband and I had talked about this earlier in our marriage (very unusual at our age, but I am so glad we did) I said that we should let him go. His fight was over. Begrudgingly, I called my parents and his mom at 6:00 a.m. to let them know. Everyone came to the hospital for the “watch.” At 9:00, I told his mother that she should call her daughters and give them fair warning, because they were in another state and didn’t know that he had taken a turn. Frankly, I just wanted to be alone with him. I talked to him for awhile and knew that he was struggling so I leaned over and kissed him and said “if you need to go, it’s all right. I’ll be okay.” Within two minutes, the monitors started dropping drastically and I watched while they went to zero. At that point, the nurses let my family know what was happening and my parents and his mom came into the room as I collapsed on top of him crying as though the world was ending. My dad tried to pull me away and I wouldn’t let him. The resident came in and made it official. I turned to my dad and asked “what do I do now?” His response was that I had to let him go. I was actually asking what my immediate actions needed to be. Did I have to call someone, would the hospital call someone? I’d never done this before (and God willing I won’t have to do it again anytime soon.)
Being the practical person I am, I dealt with the funeral director, the hospital, the family and managed to get through the next few days. My brothers stayed with me until after the memorial service on Friday. My days were okay, but nights sucked. I tried so hard to be a normal person, but I couldn’t deal with sleeping in an empty bed. His side wasn’t warm and it startled me if I happened to reach out. The worst part though, was trying to remember him living. I had spent so much time in intensive care that the only memories I could recall were of him in the hospital and those damn machines going to zero.
This went on for months. People were afraid to talk about him alive because I might cry. Of course I’d cry. Who wouldn’t? But I needed memories from anywhere I could find them because I didn’t have any of him living. My biggest fear was that I’d never have memories of him alive. I finally spoke to my church to let them know that I needed to talk about him. A lot! I found out who my true friends were. They were those who didn’t try to make me feel better, but realized that I needed to know that how I felt was okay (and certainly not contagious) and would talk about my wonderful husband and how he had made such an impact on everyone around. We would talk and cry together. What a blessing. For a long time, I would look at pictures of him and he wouldn’t be real.
Then one day, in the spring, I was looking at the bulbs coming up, and the grass turning green, and I had a glimpse in the past of my husband coming home from work and parking the van in the front of the house. I was mowing the front lawn and he walked over, kissed me, handed me his jacket and lunch cooler, and took the lawnmower and finished the lawn without saying a word. I could see him. I could remember his touch. I had found him again! My life was going to continue and I would always have memories. At my grandmother’s funeral the week before his accident, I remember standing in the cemetery and clutching his arm, in his wool tweed jacket, and could literally feel the texture of the jacket and the strength of his arm. It was a turning point for me. I went from hell to living again. Yes, I still missed him, but knew that I had a part of him forever.
C.S. Lewis, in his book “A Grief Observed” talks about losing his wife. He likens it to losing a leg. Your life will be changed forever, but you will walk again. Seventeen years later, I still miss him occasionally. I will always love him, but now I also love my new husband. I don’t have to choose between the two of them. People talk about loving again, but the loving never stops. I did learn to walk again.
This song has been one of my great comforts. If you can get the Turtle Creek Chorale recording of "When We No Longer Touch" it will be a gift to your soul. In meantime enjoy this version.