Moving Forward

                The day before my first husband died, I had received a phone call that he had been involved in a wreck and was being taken by ambulance to the hospital.  My mind went a million ways and none of them were good.  He was after all driving a small bus when the accident happened, and it was a car that hit him.  How bad must it have been to send him to the hospital in an ambulance of all things.  Not long after getting a call from his company about the accident and his being transported to the hospital he called me from his cell phone.  I was worried and he could hear the worry in my voice.  He assured me that it was just a precaution he went by ambulance and that he was just fine.  Of course, I didn’t believe him as I wasn’t looking at him.  But I decided to calm down some and figure out the next few steps that needed to be taken.  I called my mother and explained to her what had happened and as luck would have it, she was in town at the time.  Our nephew was living with us at that time and said he would watch the youngest two children at home until we got back from the hospital.  I was thankful for that.  My mother picked me up to go to the hospital to get the keys to my husband’s car as that was one thing, he was worried about us getting home.  After getting his keys my mother took me to his job where I got in the car and drove myself back to the hospital to sit with my husband.  I couldn’t help the tears that were flowing as I was driving because I was so scared that something really bad was going on and he just wasn’t telling me.  When I had picked up the keys he was on oxygen, and they explained that he was having trouble keeping his oxygen levels up and it was just precautionary.  I accepted that explanation and hurried on my way so that I could get back as quickly as possible.  When I got back to the hospital, I made my way back to his room in the emergency department where he told me that he was going to be released soon.  I was concerned because he still hadn’t been taken off the oxygen.  When I questioned it and asked if I should be concerned about it when we got home, I was told that he would be just fine, and we shouldn’t worry.  Again, I didn’t question it I figured these were professionals and they knew what they were doing.  He was however, complaining about pain in his left shoulder and after some consultation the doctor had declared that it was an orthopedic problem and that he should see an orthopedic specialist in the next few days.  He was released from the hospital not to long after that and we made our way home.  He had been given a prescription for pain killers, but he didn’t want to fill them he would just take Tylenol or something like that at home. Of course, he was in great spirits and his only complaint was the pain in his shoulder.  I remember he made cheeseburgers for everyone in the house that night and I had marveled that for the first time in twenty-six years he had finally made my burger just the way I liked it.  After getting the kids off to bed he was staying up for a little longer, so I kissed him and told him goodnight.  I sauntered off to bed because I knew the baby would be waking up early as he had been doing the last few mornings, so I needed to rest.  My husband was taken off work for the rest of the week, so I wasn’t worried about him not getting rest, but I still needed to take care of the baby in the morning.                 At four thirty in the morning the baby woke up.  His crib was in our room, and I always did my best to make sure he didn’t disturb my husband with his crying.  So, I got up from bed, scooped up the little bugger and took him out to the living room to play with his toys.  At seven that morning I had to wake my older kids so that they could get ready for school.  I could hear my husband’s snores coming from the bedroom and when the kids asked why their dad was home that day.  I explained that he had been in a wreck the day before and hurt his shoulder.  That the doctor wanted him to stay home and rest his shoulder before going back to work.  They all accepted that explanation and even expressed that they hoped dad would get to feeling better soon.  Around seven thirty that morning the baby started rubbing his eyes and he was ready to go back to bed.  So, I bundled him up and put him back in his bed to sleep. When the I put the baby back to bed my husband was snoring and talking in his sleep.  I just chuckled to myself because I didn’t understand what he was saying but then again unless I was intently listening, I never really knew what he was talking about.  I figured he would be waking up soon enough so I would let him sleep a while longer.  After all I didn’t know what time, he had come to bed, and he didn’t have to work that day so there really wasn’t a reason he had to be up at a certain time.  At eight forty-five on January 15, 2020, my life drastically changed.  The baby had woken up, so I sauntered into our room to retrieve him.  My husband was laying on his side and I assumed he was still asleep.  I picked the baby up from his crib and sat on our bed to give him a bad time about sleeping so late.  When I touched his skin, it felt different.  It was cold and not the kind of cold that is exposed to the air but the kind of cold that came from someone being dead.  I panicked and started to feel for his breathing and found he wasn’t breathing at all.  I put the baby back in his crib and started crying, yelling at him and anyone else for help.  My brain knew he was gone but my heart wasn’t ready to give it up.  A neighbor came over and started cpr on him while I was on the phone to 911 begging for them to hurry and get to my house so that they could save my husband.  Of course, the operator assured me they were getting there as quickly as they could, but it wasn’t fast enough.                  When I knew help was on the way I literally threw furniture to make room for them to get in to help my husband.  The emt’s drug him out of our room and into the living room to better work on him and I remembered hearing the machine they used to trying to get a heartbeat with no luck.  A police officer ushered me and my two youngest kids into a bedroom that my older two kids shared, and I just remember crying and praying that he would wake up that I would hear the beep indicating there was a heartbeat.  I remember calling my sister on my cell phone while our nephew called his mother to let them know what was going on.  My husband’s sister lived almost an hour away and I promised her I would let her know what room of the hospital we were in when we got there.  Of course, I knew in my mind that we wouldn’t be going to the hospital because he wasn’t waking up but again my heart wouldn’t believe it.  My sister showed up at the house just as I was being told that they had did everything they could, and they could not revive my husband.  I remember asking them confusedly if that meant he was gone, and they affirmed he was indeed dead.  I don’t remember doing it, but I was told that I let out an awful cry at the loss I was now facing.  I got my little guys handed off to my sister who volunteered to take them to her house as they didn’t need to be in the middle of it all. I also called the different schools to inform them of what happened and that my sister would be picking up the kids and taking them home with her.  After the kids were gone, I was bundled over to my neighbor’s house where I made a call to my ministers and asked for them to come sit with me as I waited for the coroner to arrive and take him away.  I remembered seeing his body laying on the floor with his arms over his head looking like I have seen him look so many times before.  I remembered he was in his underwear and his private parts were showing and all I could think of was that I needed to get some clothes on his because he would be so embarrassed if he woke up and people saw him like that.  They wouldn’t let me touch him, so I had to leave the house without saying a last goodbye to him.  One thing I regret is not being able to tell him goodbye.                  After the coroner left, we gathered up some clothes for the kids and I as we were going to be staying for a bit at my sister’s house.  I couldn’t stop crying.  I had just lost the man I had dedicated the last twenty-six years of my life to.  I was the stay-at-home wife and mother, and he was the breadwinner, and I didn’t know what was going to happen to the kids and me.  While at my sister’s house, she insisted that I call my doctor and get in as soon as possible because she just knew I was going to crack and wasn’t going to sleep so she was getting a jump on things to keep me sane so to speak.  I sat down with my five little boys all around me and broke the news to them that their daddy had went to heaven and was never coming back.  All of our boys were adopted and one of them came to us later in his life than the others.   They all have special needs.  The two youngest didn’t understand what I was saying as they were not quite three and not yet one.  My then not quite seven-year-old started crying blaming himself because he had gotten in trouble by his dad the night before.  I assured him it wasn’t that at all.  My then almost eleven-year-old asked if he was going to have to go back to foster care since dad was dead and I assured him that he was mine to keep forever, and I wasn’t giving him up.  My almost thirteen-year-old took it the hardest and kept asking anyone who would listen to him to take him to his dad’s job or to Walmart because he was certain that’s where we would find him and then his mom wouldn’t cry any more.  My heart was hurting not only for my loss but for their loss as well.  They were so young, and I was certain I was not going to be able to raise five boys on my own.  He wasn’t supposed to die yet we were going to live a long and healthy life together.  We spent a few days with my sister.  She and a few other people went to my house to clean it up and get rid of some stuff for me.  They were setting up the house to make it easier to come back without him there.  I couldn’t thank them enough, but little did I know that was the beginning of not having any real peace for a few years to come.  The coroner called that day and told me they were sending my husband to another city for an autopsy to determine his cause of death and if the accident had anything to do with it.  I didn’t want that to happen not because I didn’t want to know but because I didn’t want him to wake up so far away without me being able to get to him.  That’s what my heart was still telling me he was going to wake up and come back to us.