Eye Contact

Source image can be found here...

Gavin and I had a long conversation about his daddy today, sitting by the river waiting for the fireworks to explode.  And for once I didn't initiate it.  Didn't really encourage it, either.  Kurt was not someone I felt ready to talk about today.

But I had promised my little boy many times over that we would talk about his dad whenever and wherever he wanted.  And apparently today, in a crowd of people, at a festival his daddy loved, Gavin had that need.

Out of the blue, from his little mouth, came "Mommy, I have a daddy, right."
"Yes, Gavin, you have a daddy.  Do you remember where your daddy is?"
"Daddy died."
He always gets this sad pout on his face when he says that.  I don't know if its because he really is sad, or because mommy still can't say it to him without tearing up too...

Now the people next to me are half listening, with that "Oh you poor woman" look that I know and hate.

"Yes, love bug.  Daddy died.  But he is still your daddy isn't he."
"Mommy, where is daddy."
"Daddy's spirit had to go to the sky.  Higher than the airplanes.  But his love for you is still here in your heart.  And in your mommy's heart."

Now the people next to me aren't even trying to hide the fact that they are listening in.

"Mommy, can daddy see the fireworks?"
"I think so.  The fireworks will be in the sky too, so daddy is above them, watching."
"Good.  I love my daddy.  He the best Daddy in the whole wide world."

I make eye contact with those people next to me. Not intentionally - I don't want anyone to see the water glistening in my eyes. They turn and look away.

"Mommy, I throw my di-di in the river."  Di-di is his security blanket, his snuggle buddy, his best friend.
"Why would you do that, Gavin.  Then what would you cuddle with at night?"
"I cuddle with my daddy blanket.  Daddy keeps me safe."

I think he started to whine about wanting a balloon at this point and the conversation was over.  But that is the longest Gavin has wanted to speak about his dad.

Kurt loved the fireworks festival.  Signalling the end of summer, it was our early fall ritual.  This is the first year I ventured there alone, without either him or someone to hold me up.  Just Gavin and I.  I'll be honest - I felt a lot anxious and a little exposed.

All of tonights choreographed music had to do with love, and losing love.  The first two songs were about loving someone.  The third song had references to feeling lonely and cutting to hide the pain.  I wish they had issued a list of music.  It is the current soundtrack of my life.

The last song was "Heaven Let Your Light Shine Down."

Somewhere above the fireworks, above the airplanes, above the clouds and the moon, Heaven's light was shining.  Kurt was watching, I'm sure.  But I don't know if he saw the fireworks.

His son gazed up, memorized by the light display.  And at the same time, Kurt looked down.

I hope they made eye contact....

Signs

 Image can be found here

"Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blockin' out the scenery, breaking my mind.
Do this, don't do that.  Can't you read the sign?" - Five Man Electrical Band

I didn't really believe in signs.  Signs from beyond, as opposed to the ones you see on the side of the road.  Until Kurt died.

And I started looking for them.

From the day it all happened, I asked for them every night.  In my nightly conversations with Kurt before my head hit the pillow, I would ask him to send me a sign.  Let me know that he could hear me. That he wasn't as far away as it seemed.

And it appears that he would answer...

It started out on the radio.  Certain songs at certain times.  I'd be driving down the street, thinking about a certain memory, and the music associated with it would start to play.  Or I'd be feeling down and thinking about him, and something associated with us would follow on the radio-station's playlist.  Anyone who knew Kurt would not be surprised if he chose to speak through music.

Perhaps it was chance.  Serendipitous coincidence.  But I like to think it was more.

I need to think it was more.

Then there were the other things.  The light I was sure I turned off at night, all ablaze in the morning.  The computer monitor which sprung to life.  Widow brain?  Perhaps.  But maybe not...

Gavin's toys have a habit of going off at strange times.  When no one is near.  Vibrations?  Maybe.  But maybe its something else.

And then there are the dreams.  I have two type of "Kurt-dreams", excluding nightmares.  One I'm sure is memories.  A standard dream.  But every so often, there are the other ones.  The ones where we talk. We spend time together.  We (and I'm embarrassed to say this) make love.  And I wake up remembering every moment.  And those memories clearly remain for days, weeks, and beyond.  Not like a dream, but like something else.  I really can't explain.  Subconscious desires?  Relived events?  It could be.  But it could be something else.

As I said, I wasn't a believer.  Now, I'm not so sure.  I want to believe.  I need to believe.  I need to feel that veil between him and I isn't as impermeable as it so often seems.  And so, I can admit, I'm starting to believe.  To see the signs.

And if I'm wrong - who cares.  It makes me feel better.  Its one of the few things that always does.  And its not like its hurting anyone else.

Lately, those signs have been getting fewer and far between.  I still ask Kurt nightly to visit me as I sleep.  To do something - anything - to let me know that he's near.  Something that I can't attribute to coincidence.  Something that even my dense mind knows is him.  I don't get many of those signs any more.  Its been a long time since he invaded my sleep or spoke to me over the radio.  I will admit that, as the gaps grow longer, it becomes harder for me to believe.  To accept that he really may be there.  I begin to question my own views on the after life.  Maybe there really is nothing left of us when we die.  Maybe we don't live on.  Maybe I'm talking to the air.....

This evening, while I was tucking Gavin in to bed and reading him his story, his fire truck started to sound from across the room.  You need to switch it on and press a button to get that noise.  I checked.  It was off.

It's ironic that it happened tonite.  Because I actually started to compose this blog yesterday, but stopped  when I just couldn't find the words.  Because the signs just haven't been there.  Until today.  And right now, these words cam easier....

Every once and a while, when the time is right - when i seem to need it most - he does something to remind me that he is still there, still watching out for us....  He hasn't left us yet.

And if he's there, beyond the veil, in the world I cannot see, there's hope that we will be together again in the future....

Goodnight, Kurt.  Keep us safe.  And if you have a moment, please visit us while we sleep....

Six Minutes Revealed: Where Do We Go From Here

There's so much more I remember... about those days.  About the days that followed.  But even more that I don't.

Visits to the funeral home.  Phone calls from family and friends.  Coroner conversations.  Autopsy results.  I know they all happened.  With family holding my hand, somehow I got through.  But my memory ends the evening of August 11th.  I don't even remember returning to the house  from my uncles that evening.  Coming home without him.

After Kurt's funeral, the presiding minister handed me a brown envelope, with a copy of the service inside.  I didn't appreciate it at the time.  But in the days that have come since, every tim I re-read those words, I do.  I have very little recollection of that day.  Or the next, when we placed him in his final resting place.

I seem to really remember very little.  But what I do stays with my crystal clear.....

Minutes without him have grown into hours.  Hours to days.  Days to weeks.  Weeks to months.  Now the months have progressed into years.

Gavin and I are both older.  Gavin is much bigger.  And together, we are still trying to put back the pieces of our lives.

It took 6 minutes for our world to unravel.  I'm beginning to accept it will take a lifetime to undo the pain...

After writing the last of our story, before posting it for all to see, I went into Gavin's room where he was napping and crawled in beside him in bed.  When I awoke, he had already climbed out, and was playing at the open door on the floor with the dog.  Just like the night before it all began....

I'm not as happy as I was that day.  I don't think I can ever be again.  For that was a happiness derived in part from ignorance.  My eyes have been forever opened.  I know how fast something can be taken.  How fast a life can end.  I have felt the depth of emotions the no one should have to endure.

But I am still standing.  There's still a lot of work to do.  The psychological wounds remain.  The flashbacks still exist.  The anxiety never goes away.  I still can't sleep.  And there are days I still wish I, too, would die.

I can admit that I am very, very sad.

But I am happy too.  And finding a way for those two polar opposites to coexist at the same time.  I'm happy Kurt and I were able to have children.  I feel very blessed to be Gavin's mommy.  To have a reason to go on even when I am hurting.  And I am happy for the love Kurt and I shared.  I would not hurt, not have felt the deepest of lows, had I not also felt the highest of highs.

I love what we had.

I love what we created.

And I get up every morning hoping to one day, again, love the life I have been given.  After all, it could be gone tomorrow.....

Tomorrow's a mystery.  Yesterday is history.  Today is a gift.  That's why we call it the present.

I love you, Kurtis.  I am Always Yours....

Six Minutes Revealed: The AfterMath

Image can be found here...

They sat me down in the closest chair.  His chair.  They asked the standard questions.  My name.  His name.  Was he on medication.

And then they asked him how I felt about Kurt.  I knew what they were getting at.  I was the only person  privy to a sudden unexplained death.  They needed to know.  I can still hear my voice as I looked up at them.  "He's my husband.  I love him."  And I lost it.  Right then and there.

I remember someone asking me about the child who was screaming.  Whether he was safe.  I told them I didn't know.  I thought so.  Someone must have gone up and got him.  Because the screaming stopped.

I started making phone calls.  I needed people to know.  Even with the chaos, I had to tell.  I called his family first.  Our sister in law.  They were three hours away.  I knew they couldn't help.  But I needed them to know.  I called my uncle.  A friend.  They were on their way over.  I didn't tell anyone Kurt was dead, just that the paramedics were working on him.  I knew.  But couldn't say it....  Didn't want to admit it...

And I tried my parents.  Literally hundreds of times.  Over and over and over.  They were already on their way from there to here, for a previously planned visit.  They had no idea.  And I knew they wouldn't answer their cell.  But at that moment in time, the only thing I really wanted - aside from my husband - was to hear my mommy's voice....

I remember being interrupted during one of those conversations by an officer in uniform.  I told the person I had to go - the paramedics needed to talk to me.  The officer told me, "Ma'am, we're the police."  It didn't really register with me at that time.  Why would they send police?  I had said I needed an ambulance, medical attention....

And then I heard the voices from upstairs.  Those were the paramedics.  They were working on him.  I heard them saying something about trying one more line of something.  I knew what that meant.  I looked over at the poor policeman who's job it had been to watch over the hysterical woman in the kitchen, and said point blank "He's dead, isn't he."  The officer gave me the line they had rehearsed...  The paramedics are working on him... We've seen people recover from a lot... We can't say...  I called him a liar.  Told him I wasn't stupid.  To just tell me the truth.  He didn't say anything.  But he looked over at his partner.  And I knew what that look meant.

I was still alone - aside from the emergency personnel - when the paramedic came down the stairs.  Its another conversation I can almost quote from memory.  Another one I hear all the time even to this day.  They had done all they could do.  There was nothing more.  I begged.  I pleaded.  As much as I knew, Kurt was not supposed to die there, in our bathroom, on our stairs.  He was supposed to be taken to the hospital.  Pronounced by doctors.  They were supposed to at least try.

"I'm sorry, ma'am.  If we could do something more, we would try.  I really am sorry."

And he left.  They had worked on him for over 30 minutes.

I screamed.  A scream that I didn't think could come from my lungs.  A scream I'm sure Kurt heard clearly wherever he was.  The walls were closing in.  I had to get out.  Away from the house.  From the police.  From what was left of my husband.  I stood up.  The officer closest to me grabbed me and tried to restrain me.  All I wanted was to get away.  I swung.  I think I hit him.  I just wanted to run to a place where none of this was happening.

From the living room, another officer brought in Gavin.  He was screaming and crying just as hard.  Of course he was - mom's screams were terrifying him.  The officer held Gavin in front of me - far enough away that I couldn't reach him, but close enough that I could see.  And told me to calm down.  Said, "Ma'am, look at what this is doing to him."

That was enough.  The screaming stopped.  I collapsed into the chair.  And started to cry....

I picked up the phone again.  And called probably the last place most would expect.  The office.  I needed to talk to someone - and I knew someone would pick up the phone.  It was to the receptionist at the front desk that I said it for the first time... "My husband just died..."

Then the notifications started.  Called his sister in law back to tell her he didn't make it.  And called his mom.  I didn't know if she knew.  Didn't know if someone had broken the news to her yet.  So in the midst of the chaos, tried to pretend that everything was okay.  Then she asked "Is what I heard true."  She knew.  I didn't have to say those words.  So I said all I could.  "I tried.  I couldn't help him.  I'm so sorry...."

Everything blurs together after that.  My mind settles into the haze that was shock, that would become grief, that would eventually become whatever it is today.  The flashing lights of the emergency vehicles lined up outside the house as we left...

I know I was already at my uncle's when the coroner arrived.  I never saw Kurt leave his home for the last time.  There were people.  There were more calls.  Telling his best friend sticks out.

I remember going back to the home later with my uncle, to get some things for Gavin, seeing the living room for the first time.  The curio cabinet and bookshelves from the stairway had to be moved into the living room to get the stretcher up and the body down.  They were sitting in the middle of the living room floor.

I remember trying to get Gavin to sleep at my uncles.  Standing in a corner, rocking him back and forth, singing "What a Wonderful World" through the tears.  I've never felt more alone....

I know my uncle went and broke the news to my parents when they arrived.  I know he cleaned up the water in the bathroom while he was waiting.

And I remember falling into my mom's arms when they finally arrived....

Six Minutes Revealed: Six Minutes in Time

Image can be found here...

I've been warned that going through this experience will only re-traumatize.  But what those people don't understand is that I already see it every day.  It really is the first thing I see when I wake up, and the last thing I see before drifting off into fitful sleep.  I'm putting words to the pictures that cycle in my head.  Hoping to find even a little relief.....

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......

Six Minutes Revealed: The morning of

The morning of August 11, 2010 was just like any other...

I loved Kurt's 11-7 shift almost as much as he did.  Kurt didn't have to leave the house until 10:30.  Which meant we could lay in bed together a little while longer, take our time.  Get up at the same time.  It also meant a shower for me in the morning instead of whenever Gavin chose to go back down to sleep.  I don't remember what time we got up.  I don't remember what was said.  what we did.  But I do remember that I go to shower first.  Kurt played with Gavin on the floor.  And mommy washed her hair.

I can tell you exactly what Kurt was wearing that morning.  Its still hanging, unwashed, in the far reaches of our bedroom closet.  My bedroom closet.  And I can tell you exactly what I slipped on after that shower too.  Even though I never wore it again...  I think I threw that shirt out, actually.  Its funny the details that the mind chooses to remember...

We handed off Gavin shortly after 9.  Kurt grabbed his work clothes from the dresser and stepped into the bathroom.  The plan - a quick shower, and then it was his turn to feed Gavin breakfast.  My last words to him as he shut the bathroom door...  "Hurry up.  Gavin's getting hungry."  I would have said something different, more prophetic, if I had known it was the last words I would ever say to him...

I had a laundry list of things that needed to get done that morning.  My parents were coming for a visit, and the house still needed to be cleaned.  My plan was to deodorize the carpets while Kurt showered, and then vacuum it up while he fed Gavin.  So I got to work.  Gavin in one arm, baking soda box in the other, I sprinkled powder on the carpets.  And waited for Kurt to finish in the bathroom.

He didn't come out.

I put Gavin down and made him breakfast, swearing under my breath that Kurt was taking too long and I had to get this done on top of everything else that needed to be done.

He didn't come out.  Now Kurt was taking a long time.

I fed Gavin, rehearsing the lecture I would give Kurt about taking his sweet time knowing that I had stuff that needed to be done.

He didn't come out.  Now Kurt was taking too long.

I cleaned up breakfast.  Swept and washed the kitchen floor.  Made the beds.

He didn't come out.  Now Kurt was taking way too long.  Something was amiss, and deep down I knew it.  But ignored it.  Swore at him instead.  It was easier to feel angry than accept something might be wrong.

It was now just past 10:00.  If Kurt didn't come out soon, he would be late for work.  I still had a list of things to get done, now with a 10-month old in tow....  I had no choice.  I had to find out what was taking him so long.  I couldn't avoid it any longer...

I headed up the stairs, planning to stick my head in the door and ask him if he was intentionally trying to be late.  As I got to the landing, the shower was running loudly.  The sound of water hitting water.  The bathroom fan humming.  I'll never forget it.  I still hear it every day.

As I reached that landing and turned to face the bathroom door, all of a sudden my stomach turned.  All the anger left.  I was terrified.  The little voice which had been telling me something was not right was screaming at me now.  Kurt was always ready in plenty of time.  He never spent 45 minutes in the shower.  Hell, I never spent 45 minutes in the shower.  Yet the shower was still running.  All I heard in that moment was the water.  I don't think I was breathing.

Something. Was. Not. Right.

With Gavin in one arm, I opened the bathroom door and stepped in, tracking baking powder from the carpets as I went.  To this day I don't know what I expected to see.  But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.....

Six Minutes Revealed - Confessions

Image can be found here...

Why I am doing this I don't know.  Okay I do know - the mental health professionals who make sure I don't try to kill myself have been hounding on me to write out why I still feel so guilty two years after the fact so we can work on the guilt that still consumes my every waking hour.  And since my guilt is so entangled in how I view that day, it just kinda makes sense to do it now.

Why I am choosing to do it here, I'm not so sure.  I think its just because if its out there I can't deny it any more.  Can't run.  Can't hide.  I will be forced to face the truth.  Both truths - my version and that as everyone else sees it.

I'm prepared for the comments.  And I suspect I know what they are going to say.  They are not going to be pointing fingers.  They will not tie the same blame to these events as I do.  I wish I could see the following for what they probably are - what others tell me they are - ordinary reactions to ordinary situations which ended up with extraordinary results.  But I don't.  I see each one as a way in which I failed us.  Me, my son, and most of all my husband.  A place I could have intervened.  A time that maybe I could have saved him... or at least bought him more time....

Confession 1:  Years before    

In our relationship, I was the assertive one.  Which is hard to believe if you've met me.  But Kurt was about as assertive as a field mouse.  When Kurt came home from a routine physical, his blood pressure was higher than anything I'd ever seen.  He should already have ben dead.  200 + over 100 +.  We are talking big numbers.  His doctor - whom I also blame - simply attributed it to the fact that he was overweight.  Seriously overweight.  Sh didn't look any further.  Didn't care that both his father and grandfather had died very young from sudden cardiac incidents.  Gave him blood pressure medication, and sent him on his merry way.  The numbers came down slightly, but they were never normal.  Deep down I knew there was something wrong.  I knew it was more than weight causing those numbers.  I  had heard his heart beat.  Felt it beneath my cheek so many times.  I knew things were not right.  But I didn't advocate for him.  Didn't try to get him to advocate for himself.  I wanted it to be simple high blood pressure.  So I let it be.  Ignored that nagging feeling deep down inside.  A simple ECG, performed right in the doctor's office, would have saved his life.  It would have detected the abnormalities.  Would have resulted in a pace maker.  Which would have corrected the abnormal rhythm that caused his heart to stop that morning.  And he would still be here.  At least that's what I have been told... I didn't fight for those tests.  Didn't even tell him to fight for those tests.  I just let it be.  He never had the ECG. Never had a pacemaker.  The heart abnormalities were discovered on autopsy.  After it was too late.

Confession 2:  Months before

Kurt was overweight.  You've seen the pictures.  You can't deny it.  He knew it too.  He could stand to lose a few pounds.  About a year and a half before he died, he got serious about it.  He joined one of those weight loss programs.  I promised him I would help.  I wanted to help.  I bought their cookbook, prepared the appropriate meals, and he was doing well.  And then I got pregnant.  And tired.  And lazy.  Suddenly our fat-free low cal meal became a burger, because I didn't want to cook.  Our sugar-free became sugar-full because I was craving sweets.  I stopped "the program."  And he followed suit.  And the weight came back on.  Then the baby came.  And I was even more tired and preoccupied.  We never went back to what had been working before.  If I had tried a little harder - for him, and for us, there would not have been the stress on his heart.  Maybe things would have been different.

 3: Days before

The weekend before Kurt died, we were visiting his mom in his hometown.  When Kurt travelled he usually forgot to take his blood pressure medication.  Always forgot, really.  I knew that.  The coroner's report made note of extra pills in the bottle.  He hadn't taken them all weekend.  Probably forgot other times as well.  After all, it wasn't life and death...  His blood pressure was high.  Extra force behind an already weak heart equals certain problems.  Fatal ones.  I knew he wasn't taking them regularly.  I should have been the nag he hated and made sure he was....

Confession 4: Hours before

The day before he died, Kurt was complaining about a headache.  Looking back, knowing that he hadn't been taking his medication, it was probably caused by high blood pressure.  I didn't take him seriously.  I pulled out the tylenol and joked that it was the man who always complained about little things like this...  It was no joke...

Confession 5:  Minutes after

This one will come out when I tell the story of those six minutes.  The guilt I carry about my inability to do anything that day will ring through.  Suffice to say I moved too slow.  Again, I ignored my gut.  I would have moved mountains to right my mistakes of the past, yet I could not even move the man.  This is the one thing that I am most sorry for... My biggest regret.  My biggest failure.  My fault.

Confession 6:

This is more an acknowledgement than a confession, but it still seems appropriate to say it here.  My biggest fear was that I would lose Kurt.  Always.  I would have nightmares about something happening to him, about me being left alone.  As the baby inside me grew, the fears got worse.  And in those nightmares, it was always his heart.  Always a heart attack.  I never confided this fear to anyone.  Certainly not to Kurt.  Deep down, I knew that I would outlive the man I loved.  That I would be the one burying him, and not the other way around.  But never, in my wildest dream or worst nightmare, did I see it coming so soon....

And there they are.  They probably sound silly and trivial to everyone else.  But to me it reads like a grocery list of things I could have done but didn't.  Each one with the potential to alter the end result...  This the the framework which builds the foundation for the future.  The blocks on which I try to rebuild.  Try to forgive.  As I think I've said before, forgiving others is so much easier than forgiving oneself.  It was my job to take care of Kurt.  I was the one to make it better when something went wrong.  And I didn't.  I couldn't.

I failed.  And I am sorry.....

Now where do I go from here?

Six Minutes Revealed: The Night Before

I start my story with the night before.  Tuesday, August 10, 2010.  Not because it was eventful.  Not because it was special.  But because it wasn't.

It was a night just like any other.  Kurt was working 11-7.  Which means supper was late.  It was roast beef - slightly dry and overcooked.  I haven't been able to cook a roast of beef since....

After supper, Gavin played on the floor with the dog in his diaper.  I have videos of that evening - our diapered little man laughing and rolling on the floor with his puppy.  And the second video - daddy's voice in the background trying to convince his son to say "Da-Da" and "Ma-Ma".  I've watched those videos hundreds of times since, just to hear his voice.  We were so happy.  So normal.

So blissfully unaware of what was to come.  Ignorance really isn't a bad place to live some times....

Kurt got Gavin dressed for bed that night.  A Mickey Mouse onesie and grey shorts.  He asked me if I cared that it wasn't "real" jammies.  I told him that he slept in t-shirts and sweat pants, so why shouldn't his son.

Kurt fed Gavin his evening bottle.  Then sat in his chair, cuddling his boy.  I picked up the camera and started to snap.

I then told Kurt to quit looking at the camera, and just to watch his son.  And I captured this.  The picture that, to me encapsulates everything I loved about that man.  The gentle giant who was so very, very proud of the family he helped to create.  My son's daddy.  My husband....  That pose wasn't put on for the camera.  That's the way he looked at Gavin, and me.  Every. Single. Day.  That is the man I want to remember...

Almost immediately after taking that picture, Kurt got up, carried Gavin upstairs, and put his son to bed.  That was the last time he would ever hold his son.  I don't remember what followed.  Why would I?  It was just another day....

The date stamp on that picture reads 9:40 p.m.

What I do remember is laying in bed that night, my head on Kurt's chest, listening to his heart.  It was beating faster than usual.  To this day I don't know if that was coincidence, or a sign of what was to come.  I wish I had taken it more seriously.  Maybe I could have prevented what was next...

I remember commenting to Kurt about how fast his heart rate was.  He told me it was because I was there....  I fell asleep that night, my head on his chest.  I was so completely, totally, and utterly happy.  I had a wonderful son.  I was in bed with the man I loved.   I had the world by its string.  Nothing could go wrong....

How wrong I was....

Six Minutes

Image Source can be found here.

"But as much as I wanted to distance myself from all of the awful shit that happened on [August 11], I knew I was holding onto the memories of that day as tightly as I possibly could for fear of losing them forever.  If I forgot those memories - and the pain that came with them - I'd be doing a disservice to [Gavin], and worse, to [Kurt].  Our last few minutes together were in my head at almost all times, but especially at night.  No matter how hard I tried to banish the images from my mind, the last scene my brain conjured before I fell asleep each night was [Kurt] lying lifeless in that [bathtub], and it was the same image that assailed me when I woke up each morning.  I was reliving [his] death over and over again, and as a result, I hadn't had a decent night of sleep [in over two years].  As more time passed, many of the happiest memories of our [four]-plus years together had faded into the recesses of my mind, only to be recalled through immense effort during moments of near total isolation.  It was if that one awful day was clouding all the others..."
                ~Matthew Logelin, "Two Kisses for Maddy"

I usually don't quote entire paragraphs out of books.  But by changing the names, dates, and a few tiny details, Matt has written what I have not been able to find the words to explain.  The desire, the need to hold on to what was horrible.  The reluctance, the fear to bring forward what was good.  As the only person over the age of one in the room at the time, I feel it strongly.  Only I know what transpired in those six long minutes between finding Kurt's body and the police running up the stairs.  While some people know parts and pieces, I have told no one everything.  I am the sole keeper of those specific six minutes in time.  And while six minutes is nothing but a drop in the pan, it is those six minutes that have defined every minute since.  Our last touch.  Our last kiss.  Our last moments together.  The last time I ever saw him.  They are all contained in a mere six minutes in time.  In six minutes my view of the world was shattered.  My relationship with God tarnished.  My identity altered.  My sense of self destroyed.  In a lot of ways, those have been the most defining six minutes of my life thus far.

And I can't get them out of my mind.

When I think of Kurt's kiss, I think of the last one... not the first.  When I see his eyes, I see them open and lifeless in death, not laughing and child-like in life.  I feel his cool skin instead of the heat he radiated on winter nights.  I see the blue skin rather than pink cheeks.  The man who lives in my mind on a daily basis today is not the man who met me at the alter, shared a home, gave me a son.  My husband is dead.  In my mind, and in my reality.

I want to shake those images.  To see the man I loved, rather than the one I lost.  But at the same time, I don't want to forget.  For Gavin's sake.  But most of all, for Kurt's.  Good or bad, those were our last six minutes together.  There was no viewing.  No wake.  Once the police entered they would not let me leave the kitchen.  I never saw my husband again.  They were his last six minutes too.  In his house.  With his family.  Chaotic or not, that final kiss was the most intimate moment the two of us ever shared.  Even if only one of us actually experienced it.

I need to preserve the past, lest the past be forgotten.  And someone's last minutes are not a time to forget.

Finding a place in the future for the past.  Integrating the two.  Not letting one control the other.  Somewhere that happy medium exists.  So over the next little bit, in between blogs about today, I'm going to try to record some of that history.  Stories than only I now hold.  Maybe even those last six minutes.

Its not letting go.  Its releasing.  There is a difference.  And in releasing the past, maybe - just maybe - I'll be able to open up to the future...

Dandelion Dreams

Image can be found here...

Gavin has taken a fascination to dandelion fluff.  Blowing the whispery white parachutes and watching them float away on the wind.  Every one if those parachutes is a seed – a chance at new life.  A hope for another tomorrow.

In the end, that’s all that most of us want.  A legacy.  The knowledge, or at least reassurance, that what we have done in life will continue once we are gone.  That our mark is not as impermanent as our being.

But even legacies are deceiving.  Even the greatest of stone monuments are eroded by the hands of mother nature, the sands of time.  Nothing lasts forever.  Not even the greatest legacy.  Forever is but an illusion, relative to the length of one’s life.  How do you know something exists after you exist no longer?

Which is why all we really have is the here and now.  Today.  Our once chance to make our mark on the world.  Our one chance to get it right.  I learned that the hard way.  Tomorrow is not a given.  Nothing - not even our legacy - is a guarantee.

Gavin is our parachute.  Kurt's and mine.  Our seed.  With Kurt’s early departure, he has entrusted me with the most important of things – his legacy.  He wasn’t given a chance to see his legacy grow old.  He wasn’t even given a chance to see his legacy take his first steps, or say his first word.  Which is why I am putting everything I have into that little man – perhaps at the detriment of my own needs.  I owe it to Gavin – and to myself.  But most of all, I owe it to Kurt to give our son the best chance at whatever the future may hold. The best opportunity, if the fates are willing, to branch off and create his own legacy.

Dandelion seeds float off and create new dandelions.  Which produce their own seeds. And so on and so forth.

We hand our legacy off to the next generation.  Its how we live even after we are gone.  Even in death, it is the continuation of life....

Angry

Image source is here...

Yesterday my days as Kurt’s widow surpassed those as Kurt’s wife.  I have been widowed longer than I was married.  Two years and two days is all we had.  Two friggen years.  Seven hundred and thirty days.  In a lifetime, what does that equate to?  At least in a normal lifetime – not one snatched away at age 35.  And I’m not sad about it.  Melancholy yes.  Down.  But not really sad. 

What I really am is angry.

Mad that Kurtis was snatched from me so soon.  Mad that it took so long in life to find him.  Mad that Gavin had an even shorter time with him than I did.  Mad that he had to die.  Just mad...

Its the worst kind of anger – an anger that many who have lost someone close to them can perhaps relate to.  I’m not mad at anyone.  There’s no one to direct this at.  No one to take it out on.  I’m just mad that I’m in this reality.  Mad at the situation.  Mad at fate.  I’m just mad.

Inside my heart is breaking.  But as I type this I don’t want to cry – except for those two tears which always escape when I think of Kurt in any way.  What I do want to do is run out to a field somewhere and flip-out.  Punch the ground.  Throw things into the sky.  Have a good, old fashioned toddler-like temper tantrum.  Yell at the universe, the cosmos, and ask it why?  Let it know that my going through life silently, doing what has to be done, is not in agreement with this arrangement.  Not because I like it.  Not because I in any way accept it.  But because I have been given no say,  no choice.  Let the fates know that they are, in this moment, this circumstance, not my friend.

I want to kick and scream and carry on until there is no energy left in me to go on.  And then – and only then – I want to curl up on that very ground that I have beaten, and wash away any remaining anger, as well as the certain to follow sadness, with my tears.  Let it all out.  Release the emotions that are simmering inside me, begging for a release.  Just cry, like I haven’t cried in a long, long time.  Nearly two years....

Where will that leave me?  Will I feel better?  Probably not.  My circumstances will not have changed.  Kurt will still be dead, and from this day forward every day is one more day that my widowed years exceed my married ones.  I’ll probably always somewhere inside carry some anger, some resentment, and some sadness that such is the case.  But at least I will have emptied up some space inside to fill with the next wave of emotions that hits.

Whenever and whatever that will be.....

Two Years: A Message for My Husband

Image can be found here...

Two years.  The sun has circled the globe twice.  Summer has moved to fall.  Fall has given way to winter.  Winter to spring.  And then summer has come again.  Twice.  We’ve seen the birthdays pass.  His, mine, and Gavin’s.  Times two.  Two Christmases.  Two anniversaries.  Two of every day in between.  And it always comes back to this.  Today.  August 11.  The day Kurt died....

I want to say life has changed for the better.  That the moments apart get easier as the time between us and now gets longer.  And I suppose even though I don’t want to accept it,  in may ways it has.  But there’s always a day like today lurking around the corner, when the reality of the situation hits like a tonne of bricks.  When I can’t even pretend I’m okay with my life.  When I want to pretend that nothing has happened, that he will be home tonight.  When all I can do is cry.  

When all the things we have is overshadowed by the one we don’t.

Him.

I thought I’d be “better” by now.  I had expected many things.  That his name wouldn’t cause tears to well.  That I wouldn’t unconsciously reach over in bed to stroke his hair and find only a handful of pillow.  That I wouldn’t place my hand on the empty seat beside me when driving – where his lap should have been.  That I wouldn’t look at a city bus wondering if he ever drove it.  That I would have accepted the nightmare that has become my reality.  That the nightmare wouldn’t scare me quite as much...  Some things seem to have changed.  In public I cry less.  On the outside I smile more.  But I love him and miss him just the same.  And it still hurts a million hurts. 

It seems like there is nothing to say that hasn’t been said.  There is nothing to do that hasn’t been done.  An ordinary day for everyone else will always be an extraordinary one for me.  For all the wrong reasons.

So I’m going to use this space to do something I do every day.  Except today I’ll do it in public.  To talk directly to my husband:

Kurt....

The world around me collapsed the day you died.  My universe realigned.  My sun fell off its axis.  I’m still trying to find my way in this world.  Through this thing called life after you.  Without you.  My world will always be darker with you not in it.  Joys will always be bitter sweet.

Things will never feel the same...

I still see that day so clearly.  While the days immediately after have blended into a haze, those awful moments stand out crystal clear.  Like it or not, I close my eyes and see them.  The last sounds I hear before drifting into a restless sleep are still my screams.  The first images I see as I open my eyes are there, in that bathroom, on that fateful morning 731 mornings ago.  I haven’t been able to deodorize the carpets since.  The thought of peach puree still makes my stomach turn.  I hate sitting at the kitchen table with Gavin.  I still shower with earplugs.  I have yet to take a real bath.  The sound of water is still an omen of death.

I’ve learned so much about myself since then, Kurt.  How strong I can be.  How weak I can be.  How I can be both strong and weak at the same time.  How powerful the mind can be.  What profound sadness really feels like.  How precious life can be.  The importance of every word, every action... as they may be your last.   I’ve learned what matters – why I want to live.  And I've learned what else matters – why I want to die.

I've grown.  I've done things I never thought I would be able to do.  Things I never thought I would have to do.  Things I never wanted to do.  

I’ve learned a lot about you too.  Mostly what you did for me.  How happy you really made me feel.  How I needed you in ways I never imagined.  And how I really felt for you.

I love you more than I ever told you.  More than I ever realized.  And for every ounce of love I have for you, I miss you just as much.  Maybe more.

I’m sorry, Kurt.  For the ways I failed you when you were alive.  For the ways I failed you the day you died.  And the ways I’ve failed you since.  For taking you for granted.  For disappointing you in  my inability to be strong since.  And above all, for not being able to save your life...  I'm trying hard to make peace - with myself.  With the past.  With the future.  With our son.  With you.  But peace still seems a long way off...  I’ll carry your blood on my hands for as long as I live.  I would have moved mountains if I could have.  I would have done things so differently - not only that day, but in the days leading up to it.  There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I had been stronger.  Strong enough.  Done more.  Done enough.  

I carry things that no one else knows tucked so deeply inside me.  Things you don't even know.  Things I will probably carry with me to the grave.  About that morning.  The days before and after.  They eat me up.  But they also keep me real...

Our son is okay.  I promised you that, and its the one promise I’ve been able to keep.  The one I’ve thrown all my energy in to.  Taking care of Gavin really has taken care of me.  I worry about him for the both of us.  Worry about how his mommy’s sadness is rubbing off on him.  Worry that I’m not doing enough.  Well enough.  Worry I'm making mistakes.  Worry that you wouldn't approve or agree...

Gavin knows you.  He loves you.  Some moments, when I look at him looking at your picture, I wonder if deep down in that little mind somewhere he remembers....  He’s so like you.  In so many ways.  I like that... I always have a piece of you when I have him.  But I hate that.  I don’t want to live with someone like you.  I want to be living with you...  Gavin needs you in his life.  He’ll always need you.  As much as I try to give him everything, there are some things a mommy just cannot be, cannot give.  That anyone but you can provide.  Like the love, knowledge, and influence of a daddy.

I often catch myself wondering how different our lives would be had this day two years ago never happened.  Where we would be.  What we would be doing.  Whether things would really have been as wonderful as I picture them to be....  There’s not a moment that somewhere deep down I am not thinking about you.

I miss you Kurtis in a way I didn’t know existed.  A way that has no words to describe.  I way I never thought was possible to feel.  And I would give my life to have just one more moment by your side.  So many things left unsaid.  So many things left undone.  The silent moments we have shared in my head just aren’t enough babe.  They’ll have to suffice... but they will never be enough.

I can’t wait until we are side by side again.  I live my life waiting for the day I will die.  For the day we can be together again.  I know there’s a lot of joy waiting ahead, as our son grows.  But the joy in this life is tempered.  Tainted.  I honestly believe I will never be truly happy until the day I am called back home, to you.  We belong together.

Two years since I felt your touch.  Heard your voice.  Saw your face.  Two years without you.  A blip in the sands of time.  An eternity in my longing heart.

I don't regret a day we spent together.  I only regret that there were not more of them.... 

Olive Oil, babe.  Elephant Shoes, my love.  I love you, my Kurtie.  Forever.

I’ll always be Always Yours...