Witness to Death

So, I was present for my husband's death. It was awful at the time. Through therapy I am able to speak of that dreadful night and now I am even thankful that I was there in his final moments. We were scheduled to set sail on a cruise that Monday, so we flew in to Florida on Sunday, a day early. That night was like so many that we had experienced in our relationship. We went out to dinner with our best friend, ate some really good seafood, had a few beers, sang The Commodores in the car on the way home, and laughed. We were living life to the fullest, what we tried to do everyday. We got back to the hotel, showered, and laid in bed talking for a bit. He got up to take his pills and he came back to the bed doing one of his little dances, singing the same Commodores song we had just heard in the car. "Just to be close to you girl", he sang as he bent over to give me a kiss on the forehead like he did every night. As he bent over, this puzzled look came over his face and he collapsed on top of me. My first thought was that he was playing a joke on me, but as his weight began to crush me, I realized that he wasn't joking. I guided him from the bed to the floor yelling at him "do you want me to call 911?". I had to ask because Mickey was one of those tough guys that never wanted to go to the hospital, so if I called and there was nothing really wrong with him, he would have been mad at me. Of course, he didn't answer me, so I grabbed the hotel phone, dialed 911, and began to administer CPR on my husband. Now, I am a nurse so I am trained to do this, but I never imagined that the first time I would perform CPR, it would be on the person I loved the most in the whole wide world. The operator kept asking me for the address of where I was. I couldn’t even remember the name of the hotel at this point so I decided that it would be best to try and get our friend in the room next to us to come help. I was torn because I knew how important uninterrupted CPR is to survival. I would do a few rounds of CPR, run beat on our friend's door, then go back and start compressions. Finally, he heard my desperate knocks, came to our doorway, and took over the 911 call. It felt like forever before the EMTs arrived. Once there, I gave them my report and went to the hallway to try and sort the situation out. My head was spinning. What is happening? How can this be? We have a cruise to get on in the morning. Mickey will be pissed if he is in the hospital and misses the ship. As my mind was trying to justify the events, I could hear the updates that were being called out from our room. It wasn't good. This was not going to end well. The sheriff's department was on scene. Apparently, our situation was suspect: 36-year-old in a hotel with a 61-year-old. They kept asking me to tell them exactly what happened, if he had taken any drugs, how I knew him. It was crazy to me that they were so accusatory. I just wanted the questions to stop and for them to go help my husband. My friend and I drove to the hospital to meet the ambulance. It was the most silent ride I have ever taken. I spoke one sentence to him as we parked our car. "You know that he isn't ok". It was a statement, not a question. Just like in the movies, the nurse walked us into a private waiting area so the doctor could come speak to us. I knew what he was going to say as he came into the room and knelt down beside me. I think I went deaf and mute and emotionless for a few minutes. I couldn’t respond, I couldn't cry, I could only hear a weird humming in my head. "Do you want to see him?" they asked. My heart was telling me no, but my mind knew that I had to see it for myself because the next phone call I would make would be to his children. I had to be one hundred percent sure so I could give them the truth. I went by myself to the big trauma room. He looked like he was sleeping as I stood over him trying to use any telepathic powers or prayers I could conjure up to make a miracle happen. I knew there was no miracle coming though. I bent over and gave him a kiss on the forehead, the same expression of affection that he was trying to give me that night before he was stolen from me. He was cold, it was awful, and it was the last time I would ever feel my husbands forehead under my lips. After experiencing death so up close and personal, you replay all of the scenarios that could have happened. He could have gone to sleep that night and I would have found him in the morning which would have been more torture for me, I think. We could have gotten on the ship, then been stuck out at sea until we reached port which would have been awful. If a situation of death could be a best-case scenario, I think that how Mickey's last moments were spent were actually a blessing. He didn't suffer, we were together, and he was happy just moments before. In the months following his death, I would often beat myself up for not knowing something was medically wrong with him. Maybe it was preventable, if I had only known what signs to look for. Maybe my CPR wasn't good enough. What if this or what if that? As I sit here now, I know that it was simply his time. There was nothing that could have been done to change the outcome no matter how many times I go over it in my head. I wish that I didn't have to carry the burden of reliving those last moments of his life. The sounds and images that are engrained in my mind are ones that nightmares are made of. Even so, I am thankful I was with him during his final transition.