"You didn't make this choice." the doctor said this morning. "You didn't choose to have his kidneys stop working. You didn't choose to have his thyroid not respond to the medicine. You didn't choose to have his heart get weaker and you didn't want this ventilator in. You didn't make this choice. The choice you have to make is who to call and who you want to be with you."
"It feels like I'm killing him." I said through sobs.
"You are not killing him. Do you think that he would consider this living? What did you talk about together?"
"He said to fight as long as there was a reason to fight and then to parole him to Jesus. We never talked about what that meant. We never talked about WHAT had to go wrong or what goals he wouldn't make or I don't know. I know he wouldn't want this. I know that he is miserable. I know that he wouldn't have wanted this whole last week."
"Will it happen fast?" I stuttered.
Loud, loud ugly crying took place. My head exploded with a white hot panic and my body just seemed to shake. This was NOT how it was supposed to go.
We talked a little more and he left promising to talk to your mom, Sophie and Joey when he arrived. I just held your hand and cried. I said your name loudly and your eyes popped open but closed right away. I cried some more. I asked you if this was what you wanted and if you were ready and dozens of other things. I just needed you to wake up and tell me it was okay. That everything was going to be okay. That you were ready. I needed you to help me. I needed it so bad.
Hot Nurse Jesse came in to take care of the dialysis machine. "I've never seen anyone recover from this point." he said. "Most people don't recover from just one or two of the things he has going on. He's fought so incredibly hard. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear today."
"He isn't going to just wake up, is he?" I said with a shaky voice that didn't sound like mine.
Hot Nurse Jesse just looked down and shook his head. When he looked up his eyes were a little glossy. "No. He is not."
It felt like a jacket of stone had been placed on me. I left when your mom came in and went to the waiting room. I called people or texted people or something. I knew that her heart was breaking in the room with you. I held Sophie in the waiting room.
Me: I need to talk to you Sophie. The doctors say that daddy is not going to get better. They said that today daddy is going to go to heaven. They have done every single thing they know to do and daddy has been so strong but nothing is working.
Sophie: What does that mean? Can we go with him?
Me: We can't go with him. Daddy's body is sick and broken and doesn't work anymore. The part of daddy that lives inside of his body, the part that likes movies and laughs at your jokes and always likes cheeseburgers and talks to Joey about video games and the part that loves us....that part goes to heaven when you die. All that will be left is daddy's body. It will still look like him and feel like him, but the part that makes him alive? That part that makes him daddy? It won't be in there any more.
Sophie: I don't want him to go to heaven. Doesn't God know that I need him to teach me stuff and put me to bed at night?
Me: I know, honey. We will be so sad and we will miss him so much. We might cry and other people will cry because we love him so much.
And then I held her while we both cried in the waiting room that smelled like coffee and feet.
When Joey arrived, we were around your bed when the doctor came in. This time the doctor took the "man to man" approach when discussing this craziness with Joey. Joey was so grown up. He understood so much and even though there were tears, he talked to the doctor with such maturity.
"I understand that you've done all that you can do, but that's still my dad. He's still in there." he told them. "He wouldn't want to be like this. I know. He's still my dad."
We left him to have some time with you alone. He said later that you opened his eyes and tried to look at him when he called your name. He was glad to have some time to just sit with you. He loves you so much. So very much.
The family arrived. Bryan came. Michelle and her family were there. Nurses from 2100 tried to check in and give hugs. They took such good care of you and liked you so much. I am thankful for your time on that floor.
Hot Nurse Jesse stayed in the room as doctors swarmed in and out whispering. He removed the dialysis tubes and shut the machine off. I sat beside your bed with Sophie in my lap and Joe standing right behind me. I held your hand, Sophie stroked your arm. The IV meds were stopped next. There weren't many at this point anyway. Then they gave you some pain medicine so that it wouldn't hurt when the ventilator tubes came out. After a few minutes, Jesse tried to take the tape off your nose and you flinched, not opening your eyes.
"Wait!" he said to the respiratory guy. "I think this is hurting him." He gave you a little more and a few more minutes creeped by as your mom held your hand on the other side of the bed and cried. The family was mostly outside of the room, blurs really from my view point.
Then they pulled out all of the tubes from your mouth and your nose. I crawled into the bed beside you and put my arm around your neck. The color drained from your face as your chest moved up and down just a little. The LVAD was turned off discreetly so that it wouldn't set off the alarm.
My tears fell on you as I whispered in your ear that you were the best part of my life. One last breath.
Your eyes rolled back and opened slightly, your jaw dropped, your lips were blue. Due to the bleeding in your mouth, your teeth were streaked with black, dried blood. It was horrific.
You were so still. You were gone.
Sophie climbed on you, holding your arm. Joey was right by her. Your mom clung to you and I think my sobs must have filled the entire hall as I held you. Bryan stood head bowed. Michelle prayed. Dave held Tisha while she cried. Mom and Tim stood at the foot of the bed unable to speak. The others were there. I couldn't see them, but they were there.
A short, pale-faced doctor pushed through to the side of the bed. "I'm sorry, but we have to listen." I slid out from under you and took a few steps away. He took his stethoscope out and laid it on a couple of places on your chest. Looking at the clock, he said "Time of death 3:45."
This? This is not my happily ever after.
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