The man I married was born a troubled soul, lived in a troubled family until he left to seek his own troubles, which eventually became my troubles. Genetically predetermined for alcoholism and a plethora of mental issues, he came to the marriage with LOTS of baggage. I fully admit to my own baggage, mostly concerning how I see myself (the fact that someone was willing to marry me was, and still is, a miracle). When we mixed the two cargo trucks full of bulging suitcases, it was a difficult marriage at best. During the last three years of our nine year marriage, he finally became sober, after hitting his rock bottom (which I will probably talk about at some point). The last couple months of our marriage was the best it ever was.
Here's the story of how my new life began on a seemingly average day, May 13, 2009. I wrote this two days after he died and posted it on Facebook.
I'm trying to cope with the loss of my husband and best friend. He died very suddenly Wednesday.
I came home from work at 7:30pm and found him on the bed. He looked like he was napping even though I thought it strange to be napping at that time. It kills me say that I was briefly angry that he hadn't fixed me dinner like he had promised. I grabbed some food from the freezer and stuck it in a pan to cook then went back to the bedroom to wake him up.
I heard his very shallow, gurgling breath. I got on the bed, calling and calling his name, shaking him, trying to wake him up. His face was ashy gray and his hands and finger nails were blue. He was still trying to breathe but his chest wouldn't move. After being married to an alcoholic for almost nine years, I always watched his chest for breathing. I knew the day had finally come and I started screaming "What did you do, what did you do!" His legs and arms were still warm.
I ran to call 911 and the operator stayed on the line for 10 until the EMTs got here. She had me roll him on to his left side. He was on the edge of the bed and I had to prop him up with my body to keep him there. Then he started to vomit as the EMT's came in the door. I moved away and let them do their job.
I can't believe how calm I was on the phone while my love was laying there, dying.
I went to the kitchen, turned off the stove and started keening and wailing, feeling his death attack my heart and soul. I called my sister, Kyra, who lived 15 minutes away, and then my mom who was visiting a friend in Vancouver, Wa, then a friend, Sharon, from work. They all left immediately. The six EMT's worked on him for an hour, trying everything they could to bring his heart back from flat lining. His lungs were full of his vomit and couldn't fill with air even though they kept suctioning stuff out.
I watched everything. I watched the heart monitor move only during the chest compressions. The room (they had moved him to living room where there was more room to work) felt so cold to me. I kept wishing for his soul and spirit to come back and wrap me in his arms.
They pronounced him at around 8:45pm. Everybody is pretty sure that it was a massive heart attack or a stroke.
My brother-in-law, Scott, and then Sharon, showed up about that time. Then the flurry of EMT's, questions, a cop showing up, then the funeral director, started. I'm assuming either Scott or Kyra called the funeral home but I'm not sure who did. Kyra prayed over his body, which I know he would have wanted. She was the last person to touch him before he was taken away a couple of hours later. I kept staring at him, covered in a sheet. Kyra tried to block my sight but I told her I wanted to watch him. I knew he was already gone because I felt a big part of me gone.
I called his sister, Linda, in CA. John was the baby of the family, at 41 years old, last remaining son of three. The other two died in their forties as well; one from the complications of life long alcoholism and the other from brain cancer. Linda drove up to Medford to tell her parents in person. They then called the other sister, Jeanette, in Morocco. She is like a sister to me and I love her so much. She is flying in to be with me and help with the "business" side of things... and to help spread John's ashes in his favorite place in the mountains... where we buried Kenji last Sunday.
My family has rallied around me and I feel so much love pouring into my heart, but the emptiness is only getting more pronounced. My mom is staying with me for a few days. I am not ready to be alone. I'm thinking of staying with my sister for a few days. Nephew hugs will do wonders for my heart.
We had so many plans for the future. John was doing so well in school and he had been clean and sober for almost 3 years. I'm so proud of him. He recently started working out and riding his bicycle. We started going for walks together. Today in the mail, a speedometer he ordered for his bike arrived. I just ordered a new bike seat and riding gloves so I could work my way into biking with him. He was 41, turning 42 on May 23. We would be married 9 years on September 25.
It's 1:25pm on Friday and I just received a conference call from two of John's instructors from the welding program he was almost finished with. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude. I'm also feeling lost, confused, angry, and very lonely. In about an hour, Mom and I will go down to the funeral home and sign papers for the cremation. Hopefully I can pick up his wedding ring and the silver necklace and cross he wore. I'm not religious but I'm going to wear the cross because he wore it. He was trying to figure out his beliefs and reading the bible.
There is soooo much to do, accounts to close, money to pay. Sharon opened a fund at the Virgil T. Golden Funeral Home to help me pay for his cremation and other things. John had no health insurance and no life insurance and no savings. We lived off my small pay check and his unemployment and school loan. I have no idea how I'm going to get through this.
I miss you so much, Whubie.
