What I've learned as I write this is that no words can capture the day. The sheer emotion. The chaos. The panic. The adrenaline. The image. The noise. There are some aspects that will always be mine alone to carry. My experience. My life. My burden. But by letting go even just a little, by laying what I can down on the table and out in the open, I hope that those aspects remaining will have a little more room to move. That I won't feel so trapped in yesterday. So isolated from everyone else. So completely and utterly alone.
I feel is in some way that by writing this, revealing this, I am betraying Kurt. Exposing him when he was at his most vulnerable. Putting those intimate moments out for the world to see. I hope, wherever he is, that he understands that if I don't let it out it will eventually consume me. That I have to get it out of my head so I can move forward. And I am sure he would want that....
This is the hardest thing I have ever shared. The what-came-before and what-happened-after were hard. Emotionally, actually, the aftermath was harder. But this just seems so private. The most intimate details of my life. I can't imagine anything ever coming close. I hope it helps. It can't hurt any more than it already does.....
I'm hitting the publish button now.... before I change my mind....
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It was clear that Kurt had collapsed getting into the shower. He was leaning over the edge of the tub, laying there face down. His head was lodged in the corner - the only corner I couldn't easily get to. It was fully submerged.
The drain had been knocked closed. The shower was running. The secondary drain was keeping the water from spilling over the sides... but the bath tub was full.
I screamed his name. Multiple times. Loudly. He didn't move. I pleaded with him. No Kurtie. Please. I wanted him to get up. To move. To do something. Anything.
My screaming scared the little boy in my arms. He started to scream too. Almost as loud.
I dropped Gavin on the floor in our bedroom, grabbed the phone, slammed the door shut. Gavin screamed louder. It was a scream I've never heard come from a little boy before. And never want to hear again. He was terrified. Not because of what was happening in the bathroom, but because he was abandoned, alone, in a locked room. Feeding off his mommy's panic. Hearing Gavin cry still triggers the sound of that scream. It still echoes, haunts my silence. I probably give in too quickly today because I can't handle seeing his tears. They take me right back... No parent wants to hear their child in that type of fear. Yet there was nothing I could do for him. I had to get to his daddy.
I dialled those numbers you're taught from a young child to dial. But you never think you'll actually have to use. Never want to actually have to use. According to the bill the ambulance sent later in the mail, it was 10:06 that the call was placed and emergency crews dispatched.
From that point on, details jumble together. Time both stands still and speeds up simultaneously. I know I turned the water off at some point early on. It was minutes - or seconds - later that the dispatcher asked if I had drained the tub. It hadn't even dawned on me. I pulled the drain. I remember her asking me if there was any way I could get the water out of the tub faster. I grabbed a cup on the counter and started bailing water into the toilet.... As the water was draining, as I was bailing, I was already thinking about the trip to the hospital. Kurt was going to come back to me. Nowhere inside would I let myself even think he was already dead.....
When it became clear that we couldn't drain the water fast enough, the dispatcher changed tones. She wanted me to turn him over. Get him out of the tub. I was standing there soaking wet, in the tub, in water half way up my legs, jeans clinging to my skin, desperately grasping, trying to get a grip. Trying to summon every ounce of strength I could. You see in the movies, hear the stories, about how people summon great physical strength in times of crisis. That didn't happen to me. How I wish that had happned to me... But Kurt was a big man. Wedged in a small space. In the wrong angle. And try as hard as I could, I could not roll him over. I couldn't move him. I couldn't get him out of the tub. I remember saying that over and over to the dispatcher. I can't. I can't. I can't. I also remember asking her if she thought my husband was going to die....
Immediate CPR saves lives. Not many, but it gives the paramedics a fighting chance. I'm trained in CPR. I recertify every year. I could have done CPR. I wanted to do CPR. Give him a chance. Any chance. But I was too weak. He was too much. I couldn't move him. Couldn't get him out of the tub. Couldn't turn him over. As I type this, I hear myself telling the operator that it was futile. That I just couldn't do it. And her urging me to try once more. I could hear the desperation in her voice. But maybe that was just the desperation in my heart and head....
When it became clear that Kurt was not leaving the bathtub, we moved to the only thing we could do. Sh directed me to lift his head above the far too slowly reseeding water and wait. Even that took monumentous effort. It took both hands just to raise his head a little bit. I remember the relief when I finally lifted his head. Help was on its way. He was going to make it. He had to make it. And then I saw his face.
It was in that instant that I knew my husband was already dead.
I could describe to you that face in detail. I see it all the time. All. The. Time. I'll save you the image - and preserve a little of his privacy. Suffice to say it was blue. Deep blue. He'd hit his head hard when he fell. And his eyes were wide open.
I don't know how long I held him there, like that, supporting his head above water. I remember the dispatcher telling me help was almost there, and that I needed to go down and open the door. I refused. I told her I was not leaving him again. They could break down my door if they had to. But I was staying put. I ran my fingers across the mark on his forehead where he had connected with the bathroom wall. And then I kissed him. I kissed my husband goodbye....
In that moment, everything was silent. There was no bathroom fan. No dispatcher urging. No child screaming. Just me, and him.
His lips were cold.
Somehow the police got in. I don't know if I gave them the code to my door, or they picked the lock. Or maybe it was already open. All I know is the next thing I knew there were numerous uniformed men inside the bathroom, helping me out f the tub, escorting me out and down the stairs, around the corner, and into the kitchen. The silence was broken.
I never saw my husband again.......
That same ambulance bill said the first emergency personnel arrived on the scene at 10:12 a.m. on Wednesday, August 11.
It had only been six minutes, although it seemed like hours.
A lot can happen in six minutes......
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