My Journey to Widowhood

The Day My Heart Shattered

I met with his medical team each morning to discuss his condition. I was told that he would not be coming home with me, which was something that I already felt deep inside of my soul. I could not fathom the thought of him never walking through the door of our home again. I could not imagine a world without his smile and his gentleness. My heart broke for our son who thought this was just another hospital stay and was waiting for him to be released so we could all go home together. 

I drove home that night, sat Logan down, and explained to him that his dad was not going to be coming home from the hospital this time. I will never forget the look on his face as he watched me say those words. I didn't want to have to say them to him at all. I held him as he cried, but at 10 years old, he didn't fully grasp the situation. He heard what I said, but I don't think he actually processed the words. Maybe he was hoping that I was wrong. 

My parents brought him to the hospital the next day; I took him to his dad's room, and we sat and watched him sleep. I was thankful that day that Michael wasn't awake because he was a shell of who Logan was probably expecting to see. He couldn't speak and he didn't recognize anyone anymore it seemed. Logan sat in my lap and we talked about how much we love him, things we had done as a family, and looked at pictures. We held his hands and I sat there with a broken heart knowing that would be the last time Logan saw his dad alive. 

Two days before his passing, I walked into his hospital room and he plainly said, "There you are". He had been waiting for me. Tears flowed from my eyes as I stood next to him begging for him to say more, but that was all that I got out of him that day. I couldn't believe that after days of not knowing anyone, he recognized me. Me. His wife and best friend. The woman who loved him with all of her heart through everything. The one who had stood by his side while he made choices she didn't agree with that affected her life as well as his and their son's. He recognized me, and although he for whatever reason couldn't make the decision to stop drinking or to receive a new heart, he recognized me and I knew that deep down in his heart, he loved me just as much as I loved him. I stood there running my fingers across his face and hair, holding his hand, and crying. I knew that his time here on Earth was coming to an end. I was tired. I was stressed. I was walking around with a broken heart. I wanted to go home to Logan. But I wasn't ready to say my goodbye to the man that I loved. 

My sister spent each day standing in the parking lot for hours just in case I needed her. She spent each night with her arm around me while I cried. She was truly amazing to me during my time of need, and I can never repay her for the compassion shown. She had missed quite a few days of work being by my side and decided that she would go the next morning. She drove back to Eufaula, and I went to the hospital. That was the day the medical team told me that the only thing keeping him alive was the medication. They told me that when I was ready, they would turn the IV pump off. I gave an immediate answer that I would like the medication stopped. I was ready and did not want to prolong it. He wouldn't have wanted me to.  A nurse followed me out into the hallway and asked if I understood what they were saying. Of course I did, they were telling me that my husband wasn't able to breathe on his own. Once the medication was stopped, he would eventually pass. She told me that it could take hours, or it could take days, they weren't sure. But I knew. He had given up weeks ago. I called my sister, who turned around and came right back to the hospital. Michael's mom, aunt, my sister, and our niece gathered around his bed with me as they turned off the medication and put a magnet over his defibrillator. I sat at his side holding his hand until he took his final breath. He stared into my eyes the entire time as if he knew who I was, and I stared right back into his. They were the eyes of the 24 year old man that I had fallen in love with. The eyes that I had seen so much love in on our wedding day. The eyes that would light up when I walked into a room. The eyes that watched me give birth to our son. The eyes that danced when he laughed. The eyes that looked right into mine until they could no longer see me. 

My heart completely broke on April 8, 2021, at 4:31 P.M. The nurse said that I could stay in his room as long as I needed to, but I couldn't. I wanted out of there quickly, and I wanted some space to breathe some fresh air. I remember a couple of the doctors and a nurse each taking the time to stop me in the hallway and give me their condolences. After weeks of being there, a few had gotten to know me pretty well. They saw how much I loved my husband. I could see the sincerity in their eyes as they spoke to me. 

My sister drove me home from Tulsa that day, and I called my parents to let them know that Michael had passed away. I asked if they would tell Logan because I knew that I would not be able to in that moment, and I wanted him to know that his daddy was gone instead of people showing up and whispering around him. When my mom told him, he cried and said, "Why didn't they shock my daddy's heart back?". Losing a parent is something that a child should not have to endure, but my baby did endure it.

The next few days were a blur from visitors, planning the funeral, and crying myself to sleep. My sister rarely left my side. People that I thought would be there for me weren't, and people that I never expected to be there were. Losing a spouse is so hard. My whole life changed in an instant. I was no longer the wife of a living husband. Everything in my day-to-day life changed. While everyone else's lives went back to normal, mine and Logan's would never be the same. He was in the fifth grade at the time and his entire class made him cards. Five of his closest friends came to the funeral. Kids shouldn't have to do that. He only missed two days of school because he wanted to get back to his friends. He was strong and resilient, but I knew that inside he was hurting just like I was. 

I went back to work after one week to fill the void, and drove straight to the cemetery afterwards. Logan refused to talk about his dad. I was crying myself to sleep at night and trying to be strong each day for my son. I missed Michael terribly. I missed the "I love you and can't wait for you to get home" texts during the day. I missed our nighttime hugs, seeing him sitting in the recliner, hearing him use the ice maker over and over (he loved his ice water), hearing his footsteps in the house, and I missed his laugh. I missed sitting at my vanity each morning putting on my makeup and watching him sit on the edge of the bed. He would sit there until he saw me watching and then say "Hi, baby". I missed Logan coming in the kitchen each morning and telling on Michael. He would tickle and shake him to wake him up, and Logan would get up to come tell me that Dad wasn't waking him up right and I needed to show him how to do it again. He would climb back in bed, and I would show Michael how to snuggle him and wake him up gently. He thought that was funny.

Grief is hard. Losing your spouse is hard. I lost my best friend and companion. It hurt on a multitude of levels, and I knew that I would never be the same. There were days in the beginning when I just couldn't participate in life. Who am I kidding! I still have those days after two and a half years. They are few and far between, yet they are there. Some days I wake up ready to take on the world. Other days I wake up sad, teary eyed, and brokenhearted. How do you explain the absence of a person to your soul?