In looking back and remembering the past year, I realize how very far God has taken me in such a short time. I am deeply and forever thankful.
It was a day so mundane and regular that it nearly slipped into the past unnoticed, indistinguishable from the rest. Almost. This is not to suggest that everyday that was regular and not out of the ordinary was forgettable. They were not. Every calm and expected day was simply compiled in the past and saved in time as our story together, one that we were happy and thankful and satisfied in. We were on a steady course into forever. And maybe forever still would not be long enough.
The day began quietly. I woke up anticipating a good day. Typically, I was the first one awake in the morning. I would read and enjoy the first few quiet moments of the morning alone. Shortly after I woke up, Marianne was downstairs getting coffee, journal in hand. She was great about journaling and airing her thoughts, prayers, struggles and expectations on pages familiar. I met her in the kitchen for a second cup. We smiled, said our good mornings and talked about something I don’t recall for just a few minutes. This was routine for us. Neither of us were particularly good at mornings, but we both thoroughly enjoyed the quiet of the morning, before the hustle of the day began and the kids were awake. What always seemed like mere moments later, the soft sound of footsteps descending the stairs would transition us into the day and signal the beginning of the rest of our morning routine...breakfast, random stories from the girls about tiny details from the school day before, rushing to get dressed, small arguments and protests from the girls about what they wanted and didn’t want to wear, lunches packed, more coffee. When the dust settled, we were all somehow happy again and ready for the day. As usual, I dropped the girls off at school. Chloe and Marianne enjoyed the morning together in the recliner watching cartoons. On the way back home from dropping the girls off at school, I got a call from one of my co-workers who was training me in a new hospital that day. Something came up and he would not be able to meet until later in the morning so I had an extra hour or so to stay home before our work day would get started. Marianne and I sat in the kitchen sipping coffee and talking while Chloe watched cartoons. It was a great morning, different from most. We lazily moved through conversation about everything and nothing at all. Even with the extra time that morning, I rushed out the door a little later than expected.
I kissed her and Chloe, said goodbye and ran out the door.
And that was the last time I saw her and she saw me.
Later that morning, she called me while I was at work. We talked about dinner later that night, a dinner that never would happen.
And that was the last time I talked to her and she talked to me.
Everyone says goodbye at some point. You just don’t expect to do it unknowingly on a Wednesday.
I finished the day an hour early so I headed home to surprise the girls. I had been working long hours. Getting home after six o’clock in the evening was becoming more normal. We did not like that. So the fact that I would be home before five would be a bit of a surprise. Undoubtedly, the girls would continue playing with their neighborhood friends, but they would still be happy for me to be home earlier. Marianne would certainly be happy.
Just ten minutes away from our house, I received a text from my sister. “Is everything ok with Marianne?” “I guess so. Why?” No response followed my text back. I figured that Marianne once again left her phone upstairs or downstairs or wherever she wasn’t. She was good at losing her phone with regularity. Five minutes later I called Marianne’s phone just to make sure all was well. It rang a few times. Then her mom answered. “Weird,” I thought. And then I heard a barrage of words that invaded our world. Words like paramedics, she’s not responding, Guy and ER, began to divide the world I knew and lived in into two worlds...what was and what will no longer be. I rushed back to the hospital, the one that I now worked in, the one that I trained in all afternoon, the one where paramedics were rushing my wife to. I got there before them and paced uneasily for what seemed like a bleeding eternity. Our friend, Scott and his wife Shannon, were the first to arrive. That’s typically when you know something is really wrong, in a way that causes a genuine but passing pity when you observe the moment the reality of tragedy settles on someone else.
Fear.
Panic.
Dread.
Numb.
It felt like my heart paused. Everything around me was happening so fast. I don’t remember a word of consolation my friend Scott was offering. I just remember him being there. And I remember thinking how thankful I was for him to just be there and not have to say anything. He would be a solid shoulder, taller and more present than most, in the week ahead. I remember threatening a nurse who would not let me through to see my wife. "You will buzz me through right now or I'm coming through." And then I remember standing at the foot of table they had her on, swarming around her, saying things I did not hear. I probably didn’t want to. I heard one nurse ask, “Hey, are you ok?” I looked on the side of me and there stood a nurse named, Becky. For whatever reason, I instantly felt alert standing there on the side of her. It is like my heart un-paused, and I was in real time again, but wading through the heaviness of crisis. They asked me several questions about insurance and what to do in certain situations. “I’m not sure. Give me a minute. Just a second,” was my repetitive reply. I saw them resuscitate her in front of me and everything changed again. They stabilized her condition to move her to ICU. I already felt she was gone.
I just floated between what I could tell was real and memories and what if's.
Then I realized it was the next day.
It was a day so mundane and regular that it nearly slipped into the past unnoticed, indistinguishable from the rest. Almost. This is not to suggest that everyday that was regular and not out of the ordinary was forgettable. They were not. Every calm and expected day was simply compiled in the past and saved in time as our story together, one that we were happy and thankful and satisfied in. We were on a steady course into forever. And maybe forever still would not be long enough.
The day began quietly. I woke up anticipating a good day. Typically, I was the first one awake in the morning. I would read and enjoy the first few quiet moments of the morning alone. Shortly after I woke up, Marianne was downstairs getting coffee, journal in hand. She was great about journaling and airing her thoughts, prayers, struggles and expectations on pages familiar. I met her in the kitchen for a second cup. We smiled, said our good mornings and talked about something I don’t recall for just a few minutes. This was routine for us. Neither of us were particularly good at mornings, but we both thoroughly enjoyed the quiet of the morning, before the hustle of the day began and the kids were awake. What always seemed like mere moments later, the soft sound of footsteps descending the stairs would transition us into the day and signal the beginning of the rest of our morning routine...breakfast, random stories from the girls about tiny details from the school day before, rushing to get dressed, small arguments and protests from the girls about what they wanted and didn’t want to wear, lunches packed, more coffee. When the dust settled, we were all somehow happy again and ready for the day. As usual, I dropped the girls off at school. Chloe and Marianne enjoyed the morning together in the recliner watching cartoons. On the way back home from dropping the girls off at school, I got a call from one of my co-workers who was training me in a new hospital that day. Something came up and he would not be able to meet until later in the morning so I had an extra hour or so to stay home before our work day would get started. Marianne and I sat in the kitchen sipping coffee and talking while Chloe watched cartoons. It was a great morning, different from most. We lazily moved through conversation about everything and nothing at all. Even with the extra time that morning, I rushed out the door a little later than expected.
I kissed her and Chloe, said goodbye and ran out the door.
And that was the last time I saw her and she saw me.
Later that morning, she called me while I was at work. We talked about dinner later that night, a dinner that never would happen.
And that was the last time I talked to her and she talked to me.
Everyone says goodbye at some point. You just don’t expect to do it unknowingly on a Wednesday.
I finished the day an hour early so I headed home to surprise the girls. I had been working long hours. Getting home after six o’clock in the evening was becoming more normal. We did not like that. So the fact that I would be home before five would be a bit of a surprise. Undoubtedly, the girls would continue playing with their neighborhood friends, but they would still be happy for me to be home earlier. Marianne would certainly be happy.
Just ten minutes away from our house, I received a text from my sister. “Is everything ok with Marianne?” “I guess so. Why?” No response followed my text back. I figured that Marianne once again left her phone upstairs or downstairs or wherever she wasn’t. She was good at losing her phone with regularity. Five minutes later I called Marianne’s phone just to make sure all was well. It rang a few times. Then her mom answered. “Weird,” I thought. And then I heard a barrage of words that invaded our world. Words like paramedics, she’s not responding, Guy and ER, began to divide the world I knew and lived in into two worlds...what was and what will no longer be. I rushed back to the hospital, the one that I now worked in, the one that I trained in all afternoon, the one where paramedics were rushing my wife to. I got there before them and paced uneasily for what seemed like a bleeding eternity. Our friend, Scott and his wife Shannon, were the first to arrive. That’s typically when you know something is really wrong, in a way that causes a genuine but passing pity when you observe the moment the reality of tragedy settles on someone else.
Fear.
Panic.
Dread.
Numb.
It felt like my heart paused. Everything around me was happening so fast. I don’t remember a word of consolation my friend Scott was offering. I just remember him being there. And I remember thinking how thankful I was for him to just be there and not have to say anything. He would be a solid shoulder, taller and more present than most, in the week ahead. I remember threatening a nurse who would not let me through to see my wife. "You will buzz me through right now or I'm coming through." And then I remember standing at the foot of table they had her on, swarming around her, saying things I did not hear. I probably didn’t want to. I heard one nurse ask, “Hey, are you ok?” I looked on the side of me and there stood a nurse named, Becky. For whatever reason, I instantly felt alert standing there on the side of her. It is like my heart un-paused, and I was in real time again, but wading through the heaviness of crisis. They asked me several questions about insurance and what to do in certain situations. “I’m not sure. Give me a minute. Just a second,” was my repetitive reply. I saw them resuscitate her in front of me and everything changed again. They stabilized her condition to move her to ICU. I already felt she was gone.
I just floated between what I could tell was real and memories and what if's.
Then I realized it was the next day.
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