How Are You Doing?

I get this question a lot.  “How are you doing?”  And now I usually reply “hanging in there”.  Which is the truth.  But if you were to ask me how I am feeling, you’d get a different answer.

In the past year, when I got the “HAYD” question, I usually replied with “I have my good days and my bad days.” And oddly enough, I never had to say if it was a good or bad day.  People left it at that.  When in fact, most days started off good and got progressively worse.  Most good days ended badly.  This was because the evenings were the worst for me so while I kept busy during the day doing my mom job, by the evening it all caught up with me.

The question “how are you doing” is really more of a greeting for people and in all honesty no one wants a long drawn out discussion on how they are doing.  Not the asker or the askee so we usually say “fine”.  I still do this to random strangers who ask me the question because I really don’t want to get into it and they don’t want to listen.  So why do we ask the question?  I don’t know but I know I am trying to cut the question out of my life where I can, except for the friends I really do want to know how they are doing.

So what if you asked me how I was feeling?

I feel overwhelmed.  I am now a single mother of two young boys.  And each of those boys has their own problems with dealing with their father’s death.  I went from being a stay at home mom to working part time and knowing I am going full time sooner than I would like.  I have a house to maintain myself.  I have demands made on me and the pressure to comply with no one to share it with.

I feel lonely.  Yes, I have friends and yes I see my friends a lot.  But I lost my best friend, my companion, my lover.  That is a hole that isn’t filled with friends no matter how many you have.

I feel like a failure.  I failed to save Jeff’s life.  I did CPR, I called 911, I did what I could but in the end it didn’t work. There was no happy ending. 

I feel responsible for Jeff’s death.  I left him alone.  What did I do?  I texted a few friends and took a shower, nothing that had to happen in that timeframe.  I could have stayed with him, but I didn’t.  I know deep down in my soul that had I been in that room I would have saved his life. So on the flip side, since I wasn’t there, I feel responsible for his death.

I feel guilty.  I left Jeff alone.  There is no way out of that.  I try to forgive myself for neglecting Jeff.  I’m not there yet, but I try.

I feel like an actor in my own life.  I smile, I say the right things, I try to fake being happy for my kids.  But in reality, all the joy has been sucked out of my life and I mostly pretend.  I see quotes that say if you act happy you feel happy.  It hasn’t worked yet.

I feel isolated.  I am a young widow.  Who do I talk to that has had the same experience?  Where do I go? 

I feel jealous.  I see posts on Facebook about how wonderful their husband is or happy birthday to their husband and I am jealous.  I want that life back.  I want to be happy. 

I feel tired.  It’s been a year and I have a long road to go.

Sincerely,

Jeff’s wife

It Was a Good Weekend... Until

What seems to be messing with my mind these past few weeks has been just how clueless we really were last year.  From January 30th up until the day Jeff died, we lived a normal life, minus all the doctor's appointments. 

We went to church and work, Jeff taught in his AWANA Cubbies class, our oldest played hockey, I was co-leading a MOPS group, we went to every school function under the sun.

The Weekend of: Friday night Jeff went out.  This may not seem like much, but it was.  He was the consummate family man and rarely took time for himself which meant I often had to spend time convincing him to do a night out with the guys.  This usually only worked if there was a gimmick involved, like a beer tasting or in this case the release of Star Wars in 3D.  He met a friend for dinner and a movie on Friday night. 

The next day, while I ran our oldest to hockey practice and then a playdate with his best bud, Jeff sanded the drywall in a bathroom remodel he was working on.  In classic Jeff fashion he must have thought that sanding by hand was taking forever (or it aggravated his carpal tunnel) so he got out the power sander and went to town.  The only issue: there was drywall dust in every corner of my house.  Literally.  Everywhere.  From the bedrooms upstairs to the far reaches of the basement.  I got home from the playdate with enough time to load the kids up and head our to our evening at Monster Jam.  I can't even begin to tell you how thankful I am that I chose to let the dust go.  I didn't say a word.  I could have picked a huge fight over what was destined to be an all day cleaning event for me.  But I didn't.  I didn't want to ruin our evening out with friends and I knew that fighting over it wasn't going to change the bottom line... the dust.

So we loaded up our kids and met up with two families for an evening out at Monster Jam.  We grabbed a quick bite to eat and then watched the show.  Lights, noise, smashing trucks, what's not to love?  Then back home.  The boys fell asleep instantaneously in the car and Jeff and I talked for two hours on the drive back.  Most of our conversation was about our planned trip to Disney World and the decision to postpone until the fall when Jeff could drive again.  Jeff also talked about his plans to help a friend who's military husband might be gone for a year.  Talking about the kids and random stuff but having a good time.

We carried the kids to bed and then fell asleep ourselves.

It is a phrase I have used a lot:  It was a good weekend... until.

Sincerely,

Jeff's Wife

Change in Terminology

Everyone with kids knows how many forms you fill out for school, sports, doctors, and seemingly random events.  It can be exhausting.  It is also a new source of pain for me.  I buckle down and plug away and I reach the box for father and I enter Jeffrey Beaupre (deceased) and then hit NA on all the other boxes.  It kills me.  Every single time.

But the worst?  The absolute worst was the forms I filled out at Social Security in the weeks after Jeff's death.  All the forms were done and after battling with Social Security and finding an office I could go to within days vs a month I was sitting at the desk signing my life away so that my children and I could receive our "survivor's benefits" when I get to the page that said "Date Marriage Ended" and it listed 2/26/12.  Jeff's date of death.

It was a shock, total wind sucking shock.  My marriage ended?  Since when?  I know I said "until death do us part" but you know what?  I think I lied.  Because I didn't part on the 26th I am still, almost a year later, Jeff's wife.  I do not identify with the term widow nor do I believe my marriage has ended.

It all boils down to terminology am I his wife or his widow?  Barely a year later, I am his wife.  It is a state of mind and heart not an adherence to the term.  Yes, he is gone.  No, I don't feel widowed.  I am alone, I am a single mom of two boys, I am still myself. 

I have, however, taken the step to take off my ring.  I stopped wearing jewelry shortly after my first child was born.  Necklaces and earrings were just too tempting for those chubby little fingers.  I even stopped wearing my engagement ring after I accidentally scratched my baby with it while changing his diaper.  Instead, I have only worn my wedding band for years.  Which was great.  I had actually picked out the band based on the fact that I would most likely wear it solo given the jobs I usually do. 

My finger looks strange and I can still see a slight indent from where the ring should be.  But I know I have to start taking some steps towards widowhood or I'll never get there.  I have to push myself into some painful experiences so that I can get through it, survive and move on to the next thing that will hurt.  The next form I will fill out, the next painful letter I receive in Jeff's name, the next time someone says "isn't he the boy who's father died?", the next, the next, the next.

Someday, but not today, I will change my terminology.

Sincerely,

Jeff's Wife

A Day Just Like Any Other

Missing Jeff is like walking around with a sword through my heart: you can't fathom how it keeps beating. 

And then there is Valentine's Day.  And you know what?  It is a day just like any other.  I miss him the same today as I have the past 353 days.  It isn't worse and it isn't better.  But I am alone.

Last Valentine's Day started off well.  Jeff had given my oldest a card and a heart shaped box of chocolate to give to me when he woke up.  Later that day, I got a delivery of flowers.  Then, the day turned wacky as only my days can.  Just before leaving to pick Jeff up at the train (remember, he couldn't drive for 6 months after the first seizure so he was taking the train into work) the power went off.  Now, the power had mysteriously been going off every Tuesday evening for 3 weeks.  Don't ask me why, I never figured it out.  But the transformer at the end of my street kept blowing for 3 weeks straight, only on Tuesdays.  So the power went out, I had to load the kids into the car and my oldest was having a meltdown of some sort.  I loaded my youngest into the car, had it running and the movie going (Kung Fu Panda) to keep him warm and happy while I went back to deal with whatever was ailing my oldest.  I returned to the car to discover that I had locked the keys in.  With my baby inside!

OK, I won't panic.  I dashed into the house to get Jeff's keys.  No keys.  What???  Why the H-E-double hockey sticks would he take his keys with him?  I gave him a call. No hello, just "Did you take your keys?"  He wasn't getting me.  I was screaming at this point.  "DID YOU TAKE YOUR CAR KEYS TODAY??!!!"  Finally, I had to tell him in a rush that I had locked the baby into the car because my question just didn't make sense to him.  Yes, he did take his keys.  Why?  Habit.  So there I was, baby locked inside the car, no power in the house and no way to A) pick Jeff up from the train or B) get the baby out of the car.  Time to freak out.

(ok, freak out over)

So, I'm standing by the car and I notice two things.  One, my oldest has stopped his fit.  He is very smart not to interfer with Mommy when she is in the middle of a freak-out and two, my youngest is perfectly happy eyes glued to the DVD.  I get about 200 calls from Jeff.  Namely, to keep me calm and make sure I don't bash a window out of the car in order to reach my baby.  Jeff knows me too well.  What mother wouldn't do such a thing?  Oh, and to make sure I didn't call 911 or something stupid like that.  Although, it sure as heck felt like an emergency.  Then he called roadside assistance, it would take them approximately 2 hours to get to me.  Then he called all our neighbors to see if anyone could check in on me and make sure I wasn't going to spontaneously combust over the issue.  Then he worked out how to get a cab from the train to home.

So, as the cab was coming closer to the house he beeped the car and poof!  I could reach my baby.  And surprisingly the power came back on too.

The end of the story?  Well, the babysitter arrived right about then, the power was on and I figured I deserved a margarita or two for my troubles so we still headed out for a Valentine's dinner.  I was still jumpy from locking the baby in the car.  But in the next few days all my Facebook friends piped in and I found out it isn't so rare to do this.  LOL.  Yes, I felt better knowing 5 other people had done the same thing.  OK?

I got my two margarita's and then we spent the evening doing the most romantic thing ever: our taxes.  True story!

This year, I will spend the day like any other.  Missing my husband, wondering how this could have happened to me, and holding my kids close.  There will be no chocolates, no cards, no flowers, no dinner out, no Jeff.  Happy Valentine's Day.

Sincerly,

Jeff's Wife

Giving into the Fear

Today I did something I thought I wouldn't do.  I gave into my fear.  It bubbled up inside of me racing my heart and consuming my thoughts.  I was positive I would find my youngest child dead in his bed.  I couldn't shake the thought, it would not pass even though I told myself I was in the throws of panic.  I forced myself to take a shower and to ignore the fear that something was wrong.  Nothing was wrong I told myself this is just mindless fear.  And yet, it isn't.  I have a very rational fear of sleep.  It is only logical after finding my husband dead of SUDEP.  Dead while taking a nap on a Sunday morning.  I don't fear my own sleep, I fear for my children.

The night Jeff died, I went into their rooms every hour, every half hour, laying my hands on them and assuring myself that they were breathing.  For my own sanity I have not done that since.  But twice now, I have been struck with the all encompassing panic attack that I would find one of my children dead as I found Jeff.

In November my oldest was sick with a stomach virus and was taking a nap.  As it neared 4pm I decided to go wake him so that his nightly sleep schedule would not be affected.  As I walked up the stairs I was struck with this engulfing panic that I would open the door and I would find him as I found Jeff.  Face down, dead.  My heart raced that afternoon even as I held his feverish, breathing body.  I had a panic attack. 

This morning, I could not shake the feeling that I would find my youngest dead.  I woke up with the overwhelming knowledge that something was wrong.  I fought it, I knew I was panicking.  And yet, after 30 long minutes I went into his room.  I laid my hand on his back.  I stroked his hair, I laid my hand on his back again.

And I woke him up.  SO STUPID!  You never wake a sleeping baby.  I held his sleepy body and told him I was sorry for waking him to which he replied "That's OK Momma, I don't mind."  Even in the midst of a panic attack I had to smile at him, at his acceptance that I was there and that it was morning.

I don't let fear rule my life.  I accept that the world is unpredictable and that any "control" I think I have is an illusion.  But that doesn't mean that fear can't fester inside of me like a virus, and seeking a weak moment rear up and overwhelm me. 

I have a right to be afraid.  But I also have the will to conquer it.

Sincerely,
Jeff's wife

February 26th - The Second Seizure

The next day, I took Jeff to his primary care physician who examined him and reviewed
his physical and agreed that nothing in his medical history could account for the sudden
seizure. Again, we were told he could not drive for 6 months.

Jeff had his MRI that Thursday and the EEG on Friday. We had a follow-up appointment
with the Neurologist the following Wednesday. At the follow-up we were told that
nothing significant was found on the MRI and that the EEG could pinpoint that he’d had
a seizure and the region of the brain that it occurred in. We were told to come back in 3
months or to call if he had another seizure.

Two weeks later, I accompanied Jeff to a visit with his pulmonologist. I was not happy
with the “why” of Jeff’s seizure and was looking for a cause that made more sense. I
was wondering if his asthma medication could be a cause. Of course the pulmonologist
was adamant that the medication could not be the cause. He was also rather upset that
Jeff was not put on anti-seizure medication and demanded the phone number of the
neurologist so that he could speak to him directly to discuss Jeff’s care. He was also
unhappy with the “cause” of the seizure as defined by sleep deprivation and wanted Jeff
to see a Cardiologist and have a sleep study, stress test, and a cardiac event monitor to
rule out a heart condition as the cause.

Jeff never got a chance to do those last tests. On Sunday, February 26th again at 5:30am.  Jeff had his second grand mal (tonic clonic) seizure. He cried out loudly (ARGHHHH!!) and thenconvulsed at the waist with his hands fisted at his side. I removed the covers of the bed and watched the clock to determine how long the seizure lasted. I remember saying “oh, please don’t do this!” knowing that now, this was a medical condition that he would have for the rest of his life and how much of an impact that would have on us. About a minute into the seizure I heard and saw Jeff loose control of his bladder and wet the bed. When the seizure was over, he went into a deep sleep. At that point, I called his parents to tell them that Jeff had done it again and to come over. I waited with Jeff until he awoke and could move, about 30 minutes. At that time, I helped him up and changed his clothes and moved him into the guest bedroom so he could lie on a dry bed.

I got to work stripping my bed so that it could dry. Jeff’s parents arrived and we talked.
Around 7am Jeff got up from the guest room and came downstairs (our children were
up). He laid on the couch and realized that the first seizure was not a fluke. He didn’t
stay downstairs long, the kids were all over him and he said he felt tired and nauseous so
he went back upstairs to lay down.

I went in once to make sure he was feeling OK. He had me lay down next to him for a
bit and I started to cry. I cried because now the had a "seizure condition" something that we were going to have to deal with for the rest of his life.  He spent some time comforting me up until I told him to stop being so nice (best way to get me to stop crying). We laughed and I told him to get some
sleep and I left.

My in-laws left with the kids, deciding to take them for the day so that Jeff could have so
peace and quiet and recover. I went and took a shower. After my shower, I went in to
check on Jeff again.

I read a book years ago, Little Earthquakes by Jennifer Weiner, in the story a mother had lost her child to SIDS and she remarked that she didn't "feel it" when her child past on.  That something of that magnitude should have registered on her psyche on some level.  I feel the same way, that somehow I should have known when Jeff was in trouble, that I should have known that he was dying as I took a stupid shower.

There are no words that can convey the way the room looked, the jolt of adrenaline, the way I just knew as I opened the door to the guest room.  I found him lifeless, facedown on the bed.  There is no mistaking it, when you see someone lying like that.  You know they aren't asleep. I immediately rolled him over and I could see that he was ashen in color and wasn’t breathing, his tongue was protruding slightly from his mouth. I ran and got the phone and called 911. While on the phone with 911 I pulled Jeff off the bed, shoved the bed out of the way to have room (gouging a hole in
the drywall) and began CPR.

CPR seems like an innocent abbreviation, unless you've actually done it yourself.  In which case, it is violent, exhausting, and devestating when it doesn't work.  I counted, I breathed, I pounded on his chest, and I begged Jesus the entire time.  I hope to God I never have to listen to that 911 tape.  I was hysterical yet functioning. 

I knew that the CPR was working because I could hear the breath expel from him after I had breathed into him. I performed CPR up until the ambulance arrived and I had to run down to open the door.  As the EMT's took over, I threw myself on the floor, genuflecting in a way I can't figure out how without hurting myself.  I had enough time to call Jeff's parents (I don't even know what I said).  Then the EMT's moved me into another room having two people to calm me down and take information.  The EMT’s worked on Jeff for over an hour. Jeff was in one ambulance, I was in another.  I don't know why they seperated us.  I kept asking if they had gotten his heart started.  I texted my sister and my BFF to meet me at the hospital so that someone could take the kids from my in-laws.  I texted my friend at church thinking maybe she had her phone next to her.  We raced in the ambulance to the hospital.  They didn't let me get out until after Jeff was wheeled into the hospital.  Then they directed me into a small room just off the ER.  A small room with a couch and a few chairs.  A room, I never knew a hosptial ER had, a private waiting room.

He was pronounced dead shortly after arriving at the hospital.  And that is why I say surviving.  Surviving after SUDEP.  That has been my life this past year.  Surviving.  Surviving without Jeff,  the father of my two little boys, the love of my life.  Surviving.

Sincerely,
Jeff's Wife

The Lord is near the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Psalm 34:18

January 30th - The First Seizure

Sunday morning January 30th 2012 at 5:30 am Jeff had a grand mal (or the new term tonic clonic) seizure. The first ofhis life. Awoken from sleep, at first I did not know what was going on. Jeff had cried out loudly (ARGHHHHHH!!!) and it appeared he was pointing to his stomach.

Honestly, my first thought was that the cat had jumped on him in his sleep - which has happened before.  So I kept asking him "Jeff what's going on?  Are you OK?  Jeff, Jeff?"

I later realized this was part of his convulsions, he was having a very violent seizure. I
kept asking him what was wrong, while I watched him, hands fisted at his stomach and
convulsing so hard his upper body came off the bed. When the physical symptoms
stopped I was afraid he’d had stopped breathing and I jumped out of bed and called 911.
While on the phone with the dispatcher, I could hear Jeff take in a breath and snore.

At that point, Jim, my father-in-law rushed into the room. He had been staying in the
guest room and had heard me tell 911 that I thought my husband had stopped breathing.
While I was on the phone, Jim went to Jeff and rolled him to his side. He slapped his
face and tried to roust him awake. After a few minutes, Jeff did wake but his speech was
slurred and he was very confused. While on with 911 I talked to Jeff, he was confused
as to what was going on, but was talking. He kept asking what was going on and then
forgetting I had told him the answer. At that point I was afraid he'd had a stroke. When the
paramedics arrived and took over, I could see him looking over at me and giving me the
look that said “What the hell? Why are all these people here?”

I swear 12 firemen were in my bedroom that morning. They ran a bunch of tests on
Jeff, glucose, blood pressure and took information from me before loading him into the
ambulance. The firemen asked Jeff questions, and it became obvious that he had some
memory loss. He looked over and asked “why is my dad here?” When he had just spent
three days with him in Florida. Jeff did not have any memory for about 48 hours at that
point (later most of it returned) and he never had a recollection of the seizure. After about a half an hour with the paramedics, Jeff was able to walk down the stairs. As he neared the front door he asked me why his pants were wet. I just looked at him, and said “oh, honey, you must have wet yourself.” It was at this point that I knew Jeff had experienced a seizure. Jim rode with Jeff to the hospital while I waited for someone to come to watch the kids (this was because my 2 year old is very clingy after the excitement and would not stay with his grandfather).

I got to the hospital an hour later, Jeff had already had a CAT scan. They had also
given him medication for nausea. The hospital released him and told us to follow up
with a neurologist. Jeff had no recollection of the seizure and had a hard time believing
anything had happened. The only “evidence” for him was that he had wet his pants and
that his tongue hurt. His tongue hurt him for days and he said it actually felt numb for up
to a week.

I made an appointment with a neurologist that day at 4pm. He told us that the seizure
happened because Jeff had been sleep deprived and that he had a 50/50 chance of
never having another seizure. He ordered an MRI and an EEG and told us Jeff could not
drive for 6 months. I specifically asked what to do if he had another seizure. I was told
that I did not need to call 911 or take him to the hospital unless Jeff fell and hit his head
as a result of the seizure.  I was told I only needed to call the Doctor and schedule another
appointment.

Sincerely,
Jeff's Wife

The Lord is near the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Psalm 34:18