The Bravest Thing I've Ever Done

There is a Bare Naked Ladies song that says "the bravest thing I've ever done was to run away and hide."

I wish I could say that sometimes.

Instead on February 26th, 2012 I left the hospital, and my husband's body behind, and went home to tell my boys their father had died.

I was sitting in that private waiting room in the ER. My sister was with me, waiting until my in-laws could arrive and she could take the kids. An EMT that had been with me at the house came in to talk. To this day, I don't know what this woman was thinking as she related the story of conducting CPR on her father but that he died anyway. I remember thinking how inappropriate it was that she was telling me her sad story when I didn't know what was going on and it laid the groundwork of fear in my heart that this wasn't going to have a happy ending.

My mother-in-law arrived and after a small fight with my sister, my sister left so that my father-in-law could join us. Before Jim could join us, a doctor arrived. He said they had been unable to revive Jeff and "whatever had happened he didn't suffer." He barely finished those words when I shot out of my seat and went to the door saying "I need to see him". I didn't want to talk to this man, I didn't want to hear what he had to say, I wanted to see Jeff and I headed in the general direction that I'd last seen him. The doctor tried to stop me in the hall but I wasn't going to stop. There was nothing left to talk about.

I didn’t wail.  I cried, I assure you I cried, but I didn’t throw myself down and scream. I sat next to Jeff and it was like the lights had gone out.  I was suddenly numb.

I remember when my father-in-law arrived, I remember him calling family, I remember when my sister returned and that my best friend SL arrived. I sat with Jeff as the hospital coordinator came to talk to me.  I signed forms.  The police officer came in and informed us there would be no further review of the case.  I signed more forms.  At one point, I called my friend from church BA in order to reach our pastor who was just getting out of Sunday service.  I had to leave her a message.  What a terrible way to tell someone their friend had died.  Then I called Jeff’s best friend BT.  I remember that call clearly.  The last BT had heard from me was a text that morning saying that Jeff had another seizure but was fine.  Now I was calling to tell him Jeff was dead.  I then did the most cowardly thing imaginable.  I asked him to start informing friends.  I couldn’t do it.  I knew the hardest job, telling my boys, lay before me at after calling BT I was done.

Around this time I was informed that the hospital was not going to conduct an autopsy.  This seemed very out of place considering at that moment in time we had no idea what Jeff had died from or why.  SL took charge, calling his primary doctor to see about getting someone to order an autopsy.  She battled with this task for two days before admitting defeat and we ordered a private autopsy.

SL’s husband, TL, took the boys from the hospital parking lot, and to this day I think he is a saint. He wrangled 4 kids, took them out to pizza, tried to get my youngest to nap, endured the "crazy spray" of my youngest as he was potty training, and generally kept the kids calm all the while knowing his friend had died. That isn't easy, doing what he did, and I know it.  He will always hold a special place in my heart for sheltering my boys that day.

I don’t know how long we stayed at the hospital, but I think it was close to four hours.  We all left shortly after the Pastor’s arrived.  My in-laws Pastor got their first and mine was close behind.  A few prayers a decision on which church to hold the service and then it was time to leave.  My Pastor followed me home so that he could be there as I told the boys about Jeff.

I arrived home just as two friends were pulling up, AR and her husband PR, both had been with us just the night before at the Monster Truck show.  I couldn’t spend much time with them as I was headed inside to speak to the kids.  I felt bad to turn them away, I know they were hurting too.  But the timing was just bad at that moment.

I walked in, my youngest was sleeping.  My oldest was sitting on the couch.  Curled up with his lovey, a small stuffed horse he calls Moe.  He had a look on his face that said he already knew something bad had happened.  I knelled down in front of him and told him that Daddy had died, and went to heaven.  I answered all his questions even when they were “why did Daddy die?” and I had to say “we don’t know”. 

The rest of the day is pretty much a blur other than the call I received at 6:30pm that night a call asking me to donate Jeff's tissues.  Why they called I don't understand.  We were at the hospital for HOURS wouldn't you want to ask this question in person?  A phone call is a terrible way to try to accomplish a very noble task.  As much as Jeff would have wanted to help others I had to think of my children.  We still did not know what had killed Jeff and I needed an autopsy.  I had to say no.  I hung up the phone and threw myself down and wailed.  Screamed into a pillow.  It was like that call unleashed a dam inside.  I would now feel the pain again.  I have hated that transplant group since.

On February 26, 2012, I informed my children that their father had died and I've been irreparably marked by that day since.

Sincerely,

Jeff's Wife