I'm not unfamiliar with loss or grief. At seventeen I lost my Grandfather who was the only father I had until I was much older. Why do they say you've lost someone, as though they are just missing and you have a chance of finding them a couple of blocks over? They aren't lost, they are gone. They cannot be recovered or located. There is no lost and found to plow through like you did as a child looking for a mitten. I find that a strange expression but I know right now I'm strange. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't see the same woman when I look in the mirror. Staring at my reflection I search for her. Perhaps she's lost as well, never to be recovered? Bill died on a beautiful morning sitting across the table from me. One moment he was there, the next he was gone. I felt it, like something torn from my soul and I knew immediately. We did all the things we were supposed to. We called 911 and started CPR, but I knew he wasn't coming back. His blue eyes were vacant, not a spark of recognition or life. The chanting began. Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me. I was only certain of one thing. If he could come back to me, he would. He loved me more than anything and he told me everyday. Bits and pieces of those hours stand out and others are blurred and vague. The image of our granddaughter standing in the hall with her best friend, Laura, their arms wrapped around each other as they watched in silent horror will be forever imprinted in my mind. I remember running out to the porch when the EMT's arrived and screaming over and over for them to hurry. It seemed as though the more I begged the slower they moved. Later Aislinn, my granddaughter, told me I had almost no voice, my cries had no volume. I find that really odd but I remember that as a child I would have nightmares and wake with silent screams. I drove myself to the hospital, plowing out across the lawn and through the ditch to get to the road. There were cars and emergency vehicles everywhere. I don't remember the drive, only that I pulled up in front of the Emergency Room doors and left my car there running with the door open. Bill was in Trauma Room One, the same room my dad was in when he had a massive stroke three years ago. They would not let me in but I could see Bill was surrounded with people trying to save his life. Family was all over the place, our kids and grand-kids, brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, close friends arrived, it was chaos. They took us to a conference room across the hall. We waited. Finally the doctor came to me and asked if I wanted to come in. There was not enough heart activity to sustain life. Inside they let me stand next to him while they pumped his chest. She stopped every few seconds. No pulse. No pulse. No pulse. Each time she pushed blood came from his nose and mouth. I kissed his forehead. It felt cool. I looked in his eyes. He wasn't there. I stopped chanting. I turned to the doctor, saw the sympathy in his eyes and asked, What is the outcome of this? He shook his head. Then stop, I sobbed, and call a priest. They all backed away. I whispered in Bill's ear. I love you. I love the life we made together. I have no regrets but for losing you. I kissed his forehead, his cheek, his huge hand, his wedding ring as a quiet nurse wiped the blood away. Father Hearn came. He was very kind. He'd been called away from premarital counseling with a young couple. I asked him to wish that couple all the happiness Bill and I had for so many years. I drove away from the hospital and went directly to my mother's grave. Getting out of the car I knelt and asked her to welcome Bill and show him around if she could. Sort of take him under her wing. She loved him so and he loved her. I know I drove home, but I don't remember anything else from that day. In fact I don't remember anything else until we went to make the arrangements for his funeral. I guess that's a blessing.
17 Comments
Isabella
10/14/2016 04:11:53 pm
God bless you and help you through this difficult time. You describe all of our biggest fears with clarity and emotion.
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Cherime MacFarlane
10/14/2016 06:39:41 pm
Hugs love. It really is horrid.
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Lynne Docile
10/14/2016 07:08:05 pm
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10/14/2016 08:55:55 pm
Oh Stevie, how I wish there was something I could say or do to help you. Thank you for sharing your raw emotion with us. Your love for Bill comes shining through in every sentence. Sending hugs and hope you can find some peace in knowing you have a guardian angel looking out for you.
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Joyce
10/15/2016 12:59:55 am
Really feel for you lost my Ron 8 weeks ago for me I can get lost in a book just finished yours
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Stevie
10/15/2016 08:01:40 am
Oh, I am so sorry and I know that doesn't help. My heart is hurting for you as I understand what you're going through. It's the loneliest thing. Even surrounded by family, I am still alone. I'm glad you are able to read and lose yourself. I haven't read a thing. My mind is so scattered. I hope you liked the book and it helped you escape for a while. I am praying that one day soon I'll be able to write again and that will be my escape. Bless you and I pray you find peace in your struggle.
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Donna Carr
10/15/2016 05:36:40 am
Stevie you are so brave to share your story.It touched me deeply.There is no words to express my sorrow at what you and your family are going through.
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Jonathan mochrie
10/15/2016 06:00:44 am
Very powerful. Love from mine to yours.
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Nicolle
10/15/2016 09:07:59 am
Stevie,
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Debbie
10/15/2016 10:46:18 am
My long-distance friend,
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Jade
10/15/2016 05:26:19 pm
Stevie, this was simply breathtaking. The beauty with which you spoke of Bill and his passing will be forever embedded in my soul. Your love for him, and your love for each other will lift you during those times when the ache is so bad you feel you can't endure it. I look forward to your posts. This must be so incredibly cathartic for you. Trust that it will be so for others as well. Much love to you. xo
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10/16/2016 07:28:09 am
This was an absolutely beautiful but heartbreaking read. I hope that writing your emotions down might help you to at least sort through some of your thoughts. I will look forward to your posts. xoxo
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10/16/2016 12:21:09 pm
Stevie, this is such a raw post. It took my breath away with hurt for you, and yet I know I can't fully understand this depth of loss, not having experienced it myself.
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Erika Galbaugh
10/16/2016 06:34:37 pm
Aunt Stevie,
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Stevie
10/16/2016 08:25:43 pm
Thank you, sweetheart. I love you too.
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10/18/2016 08:24:16 pm
Thank you for sharing your story. It made me cry like a baby. I hope it gives you some measure of solace to write about it, and I hope you'll be able to get back to writing books, too. If there's ever anything I can do to help, just say the word.
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Caitlin Elizabeth
11/5/2016 09:44:20 pm
It's a blessing you don't remember the rest of the day. I remember every second of it. There were dozens of people in the house but it felt empty and lonely. I remember crying because I was in my room and needed to pee and he wouldn't be at the table when I came out. It was awful, almost worse than being at the hospital.
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This page is now my blog/journal about Widowhood. I'm not qualified to give advice. I'm new at this. I don't want to be qualified. I don't want to be a widow, but no one asked me. These are my thoughts, fears and feelings. Please don't equate them as anything but that. Archives
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