These days, I spend alot of time alone. Therefore, I spend alot of time in my head going over the events of Thursday, Febuary 19 and Friday, Febuary 20 of this year. This was the 24 hour period when my life was forever changed. So I am thinking that if I write what I remember here, maybe the thinking and the analysing may stop (at least for a minute so I can organize my thoughts and feelings.)

Thursday morning was normal, except I was running late for work and was rocking the wrath of god look we all have when we jump straight out of bed and run out the door within 15 minutes. My husband wasn't feeling well so he stayed home from work. My hten 19 year old son was in the shower and I called him back to tell him to stay at home with his Dad that day. I told him to trust his judgement rather than his Dads and to call 911 if he needed them. I was uneasy to say the least but never did I think I would never hear my husband say "Babe" again or see his eyes smiling when he walked into the door. Trips to the hospital was what we did rather than a vacation. Going to the emergency room was as normal in our house as going to the movies. A brittle diabetic, my husband had been in renal failure for 11 years. Our first transplanted kidney was done on June 1, 1999. It stopped functioning on Good Friday in April of 2008. We had begun hemodialysis that Monday. We had also been through 2 unsuccessful pancreatic transplants, diabetic retinopathy and various car accidents, motorcycle accidents and a blood clotting issue. We were seasoned in the art of fighting for Richards life. I was good at it. I was his advocate and his taskmaster. I did not beg and plead for his life as a normal wife, I stood up, squared my shoulders and sounded my voice loud. I declared that he would live or I would know the reason why. I jerked him up by his hospital gown and said "You've had one day to mourn, today we put our feet on the ground and our fists in the air. Today we fight. You will not leave me and your son here alone. He needs his father and I need my husband." A sheer and unforgiving force of nature is how my husbands doctor's described me. I have called them at 3am if I wanted an MRI or a CAT scan. His medical file has written on the outside in wide red Sharpie "Wife is Aggressive." So I did what I normally do, I went to work.

I had begun crying in the car and continued at my desk. I was on the phone and working thru the tears at 8 am. I was doing my best to do my job while I watched the clock for 915 when I could go to break and call my son. When the clock hit the right time I jumped to my feet and ran to the elevator since I had no signal inside. Down 4 floors and straight out the door, his phone was ringing when I stepped into the frigid air. He checked his Dad and said he wasn't responding and I told him to call 911 and said I was on my way. I hit the door in a dead run. Back to my desk to grab my purse and tell my manager there was an emergency and I had to go. Back down the elevator and I called my son again. He said 911 was in their way and I told him to call me as soon as they got to him so I could give them his medical history. Looking at it now, I should have heard it in his voice, but God made me headblind because I was 36 miles from home. When I hit the interstate I was flying and the phone rang. I rattled off his medical history and told her we preferred a specific hospital to which she responded "In these situations we go to the closest ER." In 11 minutes I had traveled 36 miles and I met the ambulance coming out of the subdivision. I called my son and told him I had the ambulance. He told me then "Mama, he doesn't have a heart beat and he's not breathing."

When I got to the hospital they put me in a little room with a strange little man who was a patient representative. He was making stupid small talk when the doctor came into the room and sat down. He informed me that they had gotten his heartbeat back in the ambulance and then he coded again. They got his heart started again and all I could say was "Take me to Richard." The little man was mumbling again about "it doesn't look like it does on TV" and he tried to put his arm around me. Truth be told the rest of whatever he was prattling on about was drowned out by the beating of my heart in my ears as we rushed to the Trauma room.

And then the curtains parted and there lay Richard. He was helpless and lifeless. His spirit did not greet me when I arrived. The silence was deafening. It felt as though my heart had been removed from my chest. The world made a hard stop when I took his hand in mine. My spirit was screaming, searching, pleading for his to answer, but I couldn't make a sound.

My son arrived and the little man was back asking me what to do as I ran to the waiting room leaving him talking to himself in that strange hushed voice. I sent him to his father and stepped outside to call my husband's mother. I don't know how long it took them to get there or how I got back inside the hospital. About 5 minutes after she arrived Richard coded again and my world went pear shaped. They sent everyone out and they ran for the waiting room. I stood at the door and prayed. I don't remember what I asked for, how long it took or even the act. I was evidently swaying when the doctor stepped out of the room because he sat me in a chair. Then I was back at Richard's side. I remember how cold his hand was in mine. I reached down and opened his eye. Those beautiful, laughing green eyes were silent and his pupils were fixed and dialated. The family returned but I wasn't listening.

Then the doctor told me that they were going to fly him to another hospital within the next 10 minutes. I waited as they made him ready to fly. I made sure I kissed him last. I told him how much I loved him. And then they flew away.

Enough for now.....

Is that really me?

Today has been a strange day. I find that the things that drag me into the hole in my soul are often small and meaningless to other people.
Early this morning, like at 4am when I couldn't sleep, I was cruising through the movie channels thinking I could find something so stupid it would literally bore me to sleep. So I settled on "Footloose." Could there be anything more inane and mind numbing. It was just at the part where Lori Singer falls to her knees in church and begs John Lithgow (her preacher father) for forgiveness and spits the "I"m not even a virgin!!" line at him. I did really well, almost dozing off until the last, obligatory prom scene when they were playing the title song and Kevin Bacon was shaking his money maker. It was at that point I flashed back to 1988 when Richard and I had the sunroof out of the RX-7 with my hair blowing in the wind. We were singing the "Footloose" soundtrack at the top of our lungs, laughing and smiling on Interstate 81 in Virginia. When I refocused my eyes they were filled with tears and I was swallowed again. Lost in yesterday because today is far to painful to remember. They aren't the soul wrenching sobs of the beginning but the slow steady heartbroken ones that come when least expected. So, I cried myself to sleep hoping to find solace in my dreams.
I awoke to the show on BBC America about the people taking their junk from the attic to the auction so that they may pay for something they cannot afford if they keep their treasures that are collecting dust. All really touching but I was in a hurry as I had to get ready for a job interview so sentiment was not paramount in my mind. I simply hit the high spots and ran for the door with a disposable cup of french roast coffee in my hand. As I drove to the interview consuming the chemicals, (caffeine and nicotine) that make me fit for human consumption these days, my mind was lost. Going over the correct things to say and what they would expect of me. Nerves jangling and checking my lipstick I pulled into the parking lot and put on my best work persona to have my best foot forward.
The interview went spectacular and I am a rockstar. They have already called and I feel good about the second interview. But, as I drove home, with the half hot coffee (as I do live on the sun it seems but at least the heat keeps the coffee hot) again my mind began to wander. How do I do this I thought? I turn my work persona on like she has a switch. My husband always said that my suits are like armor and I hide behind her mask. She is very career oriented and drives a hard bargain. Calm and collected, she never shows her emotions and argues with cold logic. Shes a stonecold bitch. But she is the rockstar that is gregarious and always has a good word. She inspires loyalty and leads by example. A perfectionist that expects no quarter and gives none. People like her. Hell, I like her.
What was quizzing my mind was is she really me? And how did I get so disjointed from myself that I can't see what everyone else sees? I have three close and dear friends that tell me they marvel at my strength. They see my heart and they love me anyway. How do I make the face I see in the mirror match the one that I show to the world? All I see is my weakness in my grief and my failure to stand up straight. My closest friend tells me that I will come out of this and that I will be whom I was again. But my life is forever changed and so am I.
My husband's illness was long and torturess. We fought agianst the dying of the light for over 13 years. Side by side and shoulder to shoulder, we made it work. We laughed and cried together. I would never say our marriage was perfect, but I would say that through all of the stress and strain we made it through together. And now he's gone. I wish were angry so that I could organize my thoughts and dismiss the tears. I wish many things. But like my sainted, wise grandmother used to say, "You might as well wish in one hand and shit in the other. See which one fills up first."
Well Granny, at this point, I've a hand full of shit.

trying to find my feet

I have no idea who might read this or what they make think, but this is a fresh start for me. I would suppose in this entry I should tell you a little bit about myself. I just turned 42 on July 31. I live in the suburbs of Charlotte, NC and I have been here 15 years last week. I am originally from North East Tennessee. I have a 20 year old son and have been married 21 years. Or, I suppose I should say I was married. On Febuary 20, 2009 my husband Richard died. This is why I am trying to find my feet. I am lost. It is my hope that blogging will give me an outlet to the world as I work through my grief and find my independence in this foreign land.
Please do not think this is to always be sad with me crying and whining about my loss and my life. I tend to look at the lighter side of things in a strange and practical way. There are funny things that happen to me every day and hopefully I will put them here. I am very open to suggestions and questions as well so if you read it, let it rip.
At this point I am trying to find my feet financially. I am a typical southern girl who moved straight from my fathers house to my husbands. There are alot of things I have never done and I am unaware of how these things work from time to time. Now to my credit I have an IQ of 138. I am not stupid by any means and I have good common sense. I am the person that everyone asks every question. If anyone knows anything about this, 'buni will. But, I'll be damned if I can crack the code on being a widow at my age.
I have discovered that I cannot go to the local gas station/truckstop alone. Not because I am afraid, but because the filter in my head that used to keep me from saying things I shouldn't has disappeared. The first of a few incidents happened on a Sunday morning after a rough Saturday night. I was hung over and out of smokes when I woke at 11 am with a blinding headache. I jumped in my flip flops with my tshirt and sweats, hair in a birdsnest that had began Saturday in a chic ponytail, and huge rockstar sunglasses (used to hide Saturdays makeup that had turned into Sundays crackwhore) and hurried to my car. I was desperately in need of nicotine and caffine. I am not fit for human consumption until both substances are present in my bloodstream. Thats the set up. Now, I had just exited my car, which I had to park on the outskirts of the parking lot due to some unexplained Sunday morning festivities at the Wilco. I had literally stepped out of my flip flop and was bent over putting it back when I was approached by a strange man. He said to me, "Excuse me miss, have you ever had Anal Sex??" Needless to say, I was absolutely gobsmacked. I replied, "Not this morning ....... No" to which he replied "Well I know it suprises people but I am only 43 years old." My non existant filter did not stop me from saying "Well damn, I look good!!" I then got back in my car and went straight home shaking my head. No smokes and No coffee.