The day I went from wife to widow

My name is Leann, for the past 11 years I have been married.  For the past 7 days I've been a widow. I have 5 children, four girls and one boy, their ages range from 15 to 3.  My husband, Joe was 41 when he died.  He had what they called "sudden cardiac death" on September 29th.  They were able to shock him and get a heartbeat again and get him breathing again, but he never woke up.  He had too much brain damage from lack of oxygen.  They have this name for it but it didn't ever sink in with me.  All I knew was that my husband, my best friend was never going to wake up.  He was never going to hold me, kiss me, tell me he loved me again.  He will never see our children graduate high school, get married or give us grandchildren.  We would never again take a family vacation, we would never retire the way we joked about doing.

Joe and I never talked about what to do in a situation like this.  Well we never talked about it seriously. I joked around with him and told him he better do everything he could to keep me alive, I didn't care what machine was doing what for me or I would come back and haunt him.  Then I watched him lay in a bed for 15 days, hooked to a vent, with a feeding tube.  Doctors came in everyday to check to see if he would react to pain...he never did, but I did for him.  Nurses came in every hour and checked his glucose because he was a diabetic, thats 24 sticks in a day.  They finally started sticking his ear lobes.  After watching him like that, I knew that I was wrong.  I wouldn't have wanted him to let me lay like that day after day, week after week and possibly year after year.  Everytime they came in to bathe him a little part of me died of humiliation for him. He would have been so embarrassed to have people do that for him. 

From the day that I met Joe he was my hero, my protector.  On September 29th we changed roles.  I now had to protect him.  I had to decide what was in his best interest without any input from him.  I had to ask myself hard questions.  Like would he want his children to see him like that? Would he want to live in a nursing home?  Would he want a trach, a feeding tube?  The answer to all of those questions was NO!!! The only way I could protect him was to let him go.  I had to let them change him over to DNR and then after consulting with all the doctors we went to comfort measures only. 

My husband passed away at 5:01p.m. on October 15, 2011. I was right there beside him talking to him, telling him that I loved him and that I would make sure our children remembered him.  I told him I would raise them the way we had planned.  I told him I would be strong.  I told him to go be with Jesus and he opened his eyes, took one more breath and did just that.  That was the last way I could show him how very much I loved him, I had to let him go.

We buried Joe by his big brother Tommy in the town he grew up in, across the street from the house where he lived.  People I never knew called, sent flowers or cards, came to the funeral.  People have been great.  The past 7 days have passed in a blur.  I catch myself waiting for him when it would have been time for him to get off work.  I think of something that he would have laughed at and think that I need to remember to call him and tell him.

Our youngest, the boy sits and cries and asks why daddy had to go to heaven and I just want to sit and cry with him and ask the same question.  Instead I tell him that daddy's heart hurt and it just couldn't work anymore.  So now he puts his hand on my chest and tells me he wants to feel my "beep beep".  Our six year old is angry and whenever his name is mentioned she lashes out and says "Daddy's dead" or "daddy's gone".  And for her the conversation is over.  The rest of the kids haven't really talked about daddy that much.  And I am left to wonder if they are dealing with it, if they are in denial, or if they just don't get it. 

This coming week I am going to start homeschooling the kids again.  The girls are going back to tumbling.  Life has to get back to routine.  I don't really know what else can be done.  We have to start somewhere and I promised Joe I would be strong.  The only way I know to do that is to keep moving forward.  Everyday I pray for peace, understanding and strength.  I take it one hour at a time and when that gets to hard, I take it 5 minutes at a time.  Sometimes even 5 minutes is too much so I just take it one breath at a time.  I tell my kids "we are going to make it" and I know that with God's help we will.