grief

Because It Was All A Blur

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When I met with my therapist on Friday, I told her that I was concerned about this weekend. I knew it was going to be a busy weekend between several events on Saturday and the addition of Eleanor’s birthday party to our already busy Sunday routines. And, while busy times can actually be good for me, I was scared how all of the social situations would play out given the significance of this weekend’s place in the calendar.

Today marks five months since we lost Emily.

I think that, if you saw me yesterday or today, you probably wouldn’t have realized the impact this date has on me each month. However, as I sit in the stillness now that the kids are asleep, I can feel the emotional weight of the weekend in every part of my body. And, although most of the weekend flew by in a fast-paced blur of tissue paper and baked goods, I was fully aware of every moment I cried or longed for Emily over the past two days.

It started Saturday morning, as I stood in the background for a moment at the bowling alley, and I wished for her presence by my side. I held back tears in the card section of Target a few hours later when the kids saw a hedgehog card and said, “This would be a great card for Emily.” As the kids and I spent the evening at a birthday party, I stepped outside in hopes the cold air would calm me down as I suddenly became very acutely aware of the fact that I was the only person in the room without a spouse.

During Sunday School, I had to reel in my emotions when a classmate brought up his wife’s gallbladder surgery happening this week. I cried during the baptism that happened in worship, and again during the final hymn (Here I am, Lord) because both of those moments made me think of Emily for very different reasons. Then there was Eleanor’s party, which came with so many emotions and moments I had to stuff down just to get through the afternoon.

It all flew by so quickly. And yet, each of these snapshots I mentioned makes me think back to the day it all ties back to: October 19.

Trauma Brain Explained

As I told someone just last weekend, much of October 19, 2022 is a blur. I don’t remember what I was wearing that day, nor can I recall a single thing I ate. I suppose part of this could be chalked up to the fact that I hadn’t slept or changed my clothes for two days prior to that since I took Emily to the emergency room the evening of October 17 and never left her side those last 48 hours minus the couple of times I ran to the cafeteria to grab food.

However, there are some very specific moments I do remember from that day. And, if you asked me to, I could describe the small snapshots I do recall in great sensory detail. And, because I spent the last half of 2020 and first few months of 2021 going through very specific trauma treatments with my therapist to process past sexual assaults, I know that these highly detailed snapshots and large bits of missing data from that day are simply my brain working as it should because Emily’s death was very much a life trauma for me.

When we experience any type of trauma, our brains do very specific things to protect us. In some instances, it stores every sensory detail it can about the traumatic event so that it can use that data later to protect us from the same trauma happening again. This is why seemingly small things, like the scent of lavender or the sound of boots on stairs, become very intense trauma triggers for people.

However, our brains will also sometimes “wash away” memories as a way of protecting us from experiencing painful emotions again when we recall a specific memory. In these instances, those same sensory memories like the smell of lavender or sound of boots may make someone panic, but they don’t understand why.

And these “protective measures” are exactly what makes trauma so hard to process or even cope with.

Pieces of a Day I Never Wanted

It’s funny, because as much as I’ve tried not to think about Emily’s death this weekend, random pieces of that day have popped into my mind. Yet, even when these snapshots appear, they’re just that — tiny fragments of time, with no connection to the moment before or after they occurred.

I remember the doctor telling me that ECMO didn’t work and Emily was gone. My entire body felt cold, and I kept saying, “No… This can’t be happening… She was fine… No…” on a loop as I wavered between crying and panicking.

Yet I don’t remember anyone calling Emily’s parents (they did), nor do I remember calling my mom or texting one of our pastors (but my phone logs clearly show it).

Time passes, a break in my memory.

I remember sitting in the room with Emily all by myself. I remember the sounds of the machines still running. Her hand felt cold as I held it, yet it was just as soft as always. My voice trembled as I talked to her, and the silence swallowed me as I asked her questions I knew she couldn’t answer. People walked in and out of the room to check on me. Time felt frozen but moved so quickly at the same time.

Silence. They still have her hooked up to machines. I hear it pumping air, but she’s not breathing. Her body is there, but she’s gone.

I don’t remember taking my mask off (I did because I realized it was missing later when I went to leave the room), nor do I remember anyone handing me her ring (it was in a plastic bag in my pocket when I got home).

I contemplate climbing in the bed with her. Maybe if I lie there long enough, I can be with her. My eyes scan the room for a way to escape life. Her lips aren’t moving, but I hear her say, “No, babe.”

Time passes, but I feel frozen, just holding her hand. I can’t tell you if more happened, but something tells me it did.

I remember hugging Emily’s mom when she arrived. The tears started all over again, and the only thing I could get out was, “I’m sorry.” The guilt and the pain hit me like a semi truck, and I kept wishing I could trade places with Emily so she could simply walk out of the hospital with her parents, alive and well. A pastor arrived, more hugs, more tears. Time continues moving but I’m still frozen in this moment, I can’t help but continue holding her hand.

I remember a brief break from the tears when someone said something funny, yet I don’t even remember who said it or what they said. People are talking, but I’m barely processing the words. In my head I keep shouting, “Wake up, Emily!” but really I’m just holding her hand that’s still cold, but soft.

Time passes. It’s a blur again.

The next thing I remember, we’re leaving the room. We go into a sort of private waiting area, and I feel like I’m watching an episode of Grey’s Anatomy, not living my own life. I become very aware of her shoes. Why she wore her Chacos, I’ll never know.

Someone is talking, but they might as well be speaking a different language. I space out and hope Emily’s parents are paying attention. I want to go back and be with her. My phone rings. I don’t remember the conversation.

I’m standing outside the hospital, still holding her shoes. My mom pulls up. Introducing my mom to her parents feels so wrong. We were going to do this over dinner soon to celebrate the engagement. This can’t be right. I pinch myself, but it’s not a nightmare.

Time passes in the car. I remember sitting at a table, texting my therapist to please fit me in today if she can. I think I ordered food. I don’t remember eating it.

Time passes. Another break in my memory.

I pull into the garage at home. I leave her shoes in my car. I don’t want to look at them. If I don’t confront the things, then she’s not really gone. I walk into the house. It’s exactly how we left it Monday night. I yell at myself for leaving dinner out, but I have zero motivation to do the dishes right now. I sit on the couch.

Time passes. I think I sleep. My phone goes off. I don’t remember texting people, but my friends know what happened. They ask me if I’m safe.

Time passes. It’s all a blur. Eventually I look at my phone, and it’s not Wednesday anymore. It’s Thursday.

Will It Ever Not Feel Like A Blur?

So many moments over the past five months have felt like a blur. I don’t always remember time passing, yet it does. And, with every minute of time, that much more distance comes between October 19, 2022 and the present day.

I don’t know if life without Emily will ever feel right. Part of me thinks it won’t, and I’m willing to live with that. Because of Emily, there’s a very specific period of time in my life that felt truly incredible. And if that’s all the time like that I’m ever given, it would be enough. Because to me, even one day in her presence is worth an entire lifetime of days that feel like blurs. And that probably doesn’t make any sense, but I think I’m to a point where I’ve realized very little about life makes sense. So, I guess it’s all par for the course.

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I Almost Called — A Poem

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I almost called you today
just so I could hear your voice.
I've tried imagining it in my head all day,
but it's like the sound faded away,
just like your presence here on Earth.
I almost texted you today
just because I wanted to share a moment.
I've tried journaling instead,
but I miss the interaction of your responses,
just like I miss your embrace.
I almost yelled for you today
when I needed help for just a minute.
I've tried learning how to do it by myself,
but it's much harder than I thought,
and I'd rather just not do it at all at that point.
I almost called you today
like I always did when I was heading home.
I've tried listening to podcasts,
but they just make me realize
I'm completely alone now.
I almost texted you today
because, for a brief time, 
I forgot all about your death.
But as I reached for my phone,
I remembered...
And I fell apart all over again,
just like I have every single day
since I watched you stop breathing.

Because She Could Spend Hours Inside Costco

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This may sound ridiculous, but I took what I’d consider a small step forward today. I went to Costco for the first time since Emily died.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: What the heck does Costco have to do with anything? But, there’s a lot more to this warehouse store than you’d think. Or, maybe I’m overly sentimental… Who knows?

Costco Was Uncharted Territory

If you’ve lived in Murfreesboro for a while, then you know Costco is a fairly new addition to our city’s shopping options. In fact, the warehouse chain just opened the Murfreesboro location in July 2021, which was 3 months after Emily and I started dating.

As the opening date approached, Emily kept talking about how wonderful this was going to be. She’d talk about all of the incredible things she’d bought in bulk at the Nashville Costco, and how she was so glad she had a membership. Sometimes she sounded like a walking advertisement for the place, because she would just insert how we could “save so much” and “stock up on essentials” with a single trip every few months.

Meanwhile, I remained full of scepticism because I’d never been in a Costco before. It was uncharted territory for me, and I just didn’t see how anything could be that amazing. I’d been to Sam’s Club, and it was alright, but only if I needed 800 of something and was willing to deal with the ridiculous crowds. (Spoiler Alert: I hate crowds.)

But, just like with everything else in our relationship, Emily always wins. So, after it opened, we went to check out Costco.

A Magical Warehouse

I’ll be honest, my first encounter with Costco was a lot. I think we spent over two hours in the store, and I got to see every inch of the warehouse. Emily was determined to walk me through every single aisle (I later learned when we went to IKEA that this is just how Emily operates) and show me everything.

Like Sam’s Club, the store has a little bit of everything. Yet, in many ways, it had a wider selection of things, especially for those who follow specific types of diets. Certain sections had a lot more to offer, while there seemed to be less “junk” items available to buy. It was fascinating and overwhelming all at once.

And yet, it was one of those places where Emily seemed to shine.

If you’ve never watched a woman who doesn’t even clear 5′ tall push around a giant cart full to the brim of groceries, paper goods, and various household items, then you’re doing life wrong. It’s hilarious. And, honestly, I’m still not even sure how she did it besides to say magic played a part.

Costco Became Date Night

Over the course of the next year or so, Emily and I made several Costco adventures. And, because we essentially turned it into a date night, we often went when the kids were with their dad.

One time, we completely lost track of time and eventually were ushered to the front because they were trying to close. Another time, we sat in the massage chairs they had on display and spent 30 minutes testing them out and sending each other ridiculous text messages because we couldn’t talk to each other without yelling. Sometimes we’d even eat inside Costco because it was cheap and honestly not that bad.

It didn’t matter what made it to the checkout or how much we spent: we always had fun together inside the store.

We Always Went Back

I remember some of our favorite purchases, too. For example, they had this giant package of sliced cheese you could buy, and Emily made sure that ended up in the cart every single time we went. We’d buy spinach, almond milk, laundry detergent, nose spray, snacks and more. We loved the salmon patties as well as these prepared entrees of Indian food. Oh, and we fell in love with the Truly popsicles and had to get those each time.

So, every couple of months, we’d go to Costco together and stroll through the store together, laughing and filling the cart.

It Felt Strange to Go Without Her

I’ll be honest, I was a bit hesitant to go to Costco today. But I sucked it up and went because I desperately needed laundry detergent and a few other things. And, sure, it wasn’t nearly as fun without her, but it was helpful nonetheless.

Now that I’m back at home, reflecting on my day, I’m realizing that part of the journey we all go on in our grief is reclaiming places and activities after the loss. It’s not that we ever want to erase our person or want to “move on,” but rather that we have to figure out how to exist in the world without the person we loved.

When my grandmother died, I had to learn how to feel comfortable playing card games again because that had been such a huge part of our shared story. She taught me how to play almost every single card game I know, and it felt wrong to play these games without her.

With Emily, nearly every aspect of my life feels wrong when she’s not by my side. Yet, I only have two options: do the things anyway or stop living. And, deep down, I know that Emily would never want me to choose that second option.

So, yes, I’m sure it sounds silly for me to say, “Hey, guys, I did this huge thing today — I went to Costco!” But, because that was something I only did with Emily until now, it’s important for me to recognize the effort it took to step inside the door without her.

Because She Lived For Medical Shows

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I know by now I’ve mentioned that one of the first things Emily and I bonded over was our mutual love of Grey’s Anatomy. It was very much a focal point of our friendship and provided us with an abundance of memes, quotes, and memories to share. By the time 2020 rolled around, we frequently hung out on Thursday nights so we could watch the show together, and once we moved in together we relished our time together after the kids went to bed when we could curl up with our favorite snacks and watch the show together. In fact, this show was such a huge part of our story that we actually debated having a Grey’s-themed wedding or, at the very least, a Grey’s-themed joint bachelorette party.

My love for this show is a bit odd, because I’m not usually one for anything that includes a lot of blood, guts, and needles. Of course, if you knew Emily at all, then you knew her love of Grey’s Anatomy was about so much more than the characters or the drama — it was the medical aspects of the show that really appealed to her.

More Than Just Grey’s Anatomy

For reasons I’ll never fully understand, Emily lived for any television show with a medical component. In the time I knew her, she made me watch Private Practice, 9-1-1, and another fictitious medical show I can’t remember. I know she watched other shows too, like Chicago Med, but somehow we hadn’t gotten around to any others just yet.

She absolutely loved watching these shows. Yet, at the same time, they always pissed her off because of her extensive medical knowledge. So, for me, watching her watch the shows was entertainment in itself.

She’d sit and speculate what was wrong with a patient or make guesses about what would happen during surgery. She’d get mad anytime the doctors would casually call up UNOS because “that’s not how getting an organ works,” and she’d constantly correct how certain procedures or tests were done. It was hilarious.

Of course, my favorites were the episodes that also involved a psych component, because then I also got to see social worker Emily come out and yell at the television set even more. She hated pretty much every single social worker, therapist, or psychiatrist any of these shows ever cast, and she’d get mad at how ridiculous some portrayals of diagnoses appeared (example: Dr. Bailey’s OCD).

No matter how inaccurate the shows were, though, she continued to watch them. And I loved seeing this side of Emily come out.

Don’t Forget The Real-Life Medical Shows

Although I would have been content with our mediocre fictional medical dramas, Emily’s love of medicine + TV didn’t stop there. She also loved many real-life medical shows, and she made me watch them all when we had access to Discovery+.

My personal favorite was Sex Sent Me To The ER because no one died or had a serious medical condition, they were usually just stupid and needed medical attention to fix their stupidity. Also, they often had people reenact what happened in an overly dramatized way, which made me laugh to no end.

We watched several other shows, too. Some memorable ones include Untold Stories of the ER, Mystery ER, Mystery Diagnosis, Life or Death, and Surgery Saved My Life. Many of the shows had questions throughout, and Emily always knew the answers. She also frequently guessed the diagnosis before the doctors even figured it out fully, which impressed me. But, sometimes I had to just not watch for a bit, because I don’t do well with blood and other gross stuff.

Of course, Emily’s favorite show was without a doubt Dr. G Medical Examiner. As the name implies, a medical examiner named Dr. G would investigate unexplainable deaths and find answers for the families. Sometimes Dr. G would discover something rare, whereas other times she’d merely find that the cause of death given wasn’t the full story. Each episode included plot twists, and Emily lived for the thrill of the final answer.

She’s Her Own Medical Mystery Now

Looking back, I wish I’d had enough grasp over my thoughts during those last few hours with Emily to joke about how she was becoming her own version of her favorite medical mystery television shows. Emily’s brother did joke about it in his speech at the funeral, which I appreciated. Because I know that, deep down, she would have laughed and screamed over the irony all at once.

But, alas, here we are over four months after her death, and we still have no idea what caused Emily to die. The autopsy results still haven’t come to fruition (at least to my knowledge), and not a single person I’ve talked to that has any sort of background in medicine has any idea for me.

I know that Emily would want to know what happened, and the not knowing often keeps me up at night. I can’t help but wonder if taking her to the ER sooner would have helped. I keep thinking about those last 48 hours and ask myself each day if I made a misstep along the way or if something her treatment team did could have gone awry. I’ve even wondered if the pieces of my orange chicken from the cafeteria that she stole from me to supplement her bland dinner could have been the culprit.

Unfortunately for now, her death is just as much a mystery as any of the aliments people dealt with on her favorite television shows, and it’s sad, frustrating, and excruciatingly painful to live in the unknown.

Because Emily loved medical mysteries, I suspect the answers we eventually get will either be something incredibly rare and fascinating or so unclear that she’ll become a medical mystery for the ages. But, because I also love her, I am just glad to know she’s not in pain anymore and have to assume that the damage that occurred in those last few hours was so extensive that God didn’t see any other way to take care of her but to call her home.

Because She Gives Me Strength

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Over the past four months, I’ve done a lot of things that, quite frankly, I can’t fully explain. Some of these things, like drinking an entire bottle of rum in a single day, were 100% a form of pain management. Others, like agreeing to be in a fashion show (more on that later), are definitely no-brainer decisions I’ve made on the premise that Emily would want me to do them.

Honestly, I can’t quite explain where the strength or knowledge that compels me to do these things comes from. However, I know that it’s been happening from the moment I walked out of Vanderbilt just over four months ago. And, although most people may think I’m crazy for saying this, I’m choosing to believe it’s some form of Emily with a side of the Holy Spirit leading me along.

Of course, if you don’t believe me, maybe you will once I finish this little story that’s been on my mind today.

Words Are My Thing

When we started the planning process for Emily’s funeral, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But, when her mom asked me if I’d like to speak, I just felt something inside of me saying, “Do it.” I guess it’s probably the fact that words are my thing, and I knew deep down Emily would want me to write something.

So, I did. In fact, this is what I wrote (and read):

“Every great love story starts with an adorable narrative of how the couple met. Sometimes they’re high school sweethearts or have a budding college romance. Other times they meet in places like work, through mutual friends, or at church. 

Of course, if you know Emily, then you know how much she “loved” fitting into the mold. So, it’s only fitting that we met in a way much like any other couple… we met in group therapy in 2018.

If you ask me, I say that our meeting was serendipitous. I was instantly drawn to her warmth, her smile, and her energy. I could just tell that there was something about Emily that made her extraordinary, and I wanted to learn what exactly that spark was all about. If you ask Emily, she’d say that she really only sat next to me because I was ‘less weird than everyone else in the room.’ 

Despite these less-than-conventional beginnings, Emily and I quickly bonded like any couple who is destined to be together. We often laughed at each other’s snarky comments during our therapy group’s weekly meetings and checked in with each other when we sensed something was “off” with the other person. Over time, our conversations moved out of the therapy room into the parking lot, then to text messages and phone calls, dinner rendezvous, and trips to McKay’s together. She accompanied my children and me on vacations, we celebrated a pandemic Thanksgiving together over Zoom, and we regularly indulged in our favorite guilty pleasure — Grey’s Anatomy — from the comfort of my couch.

For me, every moment we spent together was magical and meaningful and far beyond anything I’d ever experienced with another person in my entire life. Yet, somehow, it took us until April 2021 and a day-long adventure of couch shopping together to finally admit what was on our hearts: we were in love.

In some ways, I think the wait was a lesson in patience and learning to ‘trust the process.’ Of course, this lesson was just one of the many things Emily taught me during our time together.

Throughout our friendship and romantic relationship, Emily taught me so many things that I’m not sure I can even list them all. But, I’m going to try and share a few with everyone who is gathered here today.

Emily taught me what true joy and passion looked like. Every time Emily danced, played her oboe, sang, or played the piano, she did so wholeheartedly. You could see the joy these creative outlets brought her, and it made watching or listening to her that much more impactful. 

But she didn’t just express that joy through creative arts — it showed through in even the most mundane tasks. She found ways to sprinkle joy into activities like cooking, caring for pets, working on grad school assignments… pretty much anything you can imagine, Emily found a way to make it joyful and exciting (except cleaning, but we’ll just forget that).

Emily showed me what strength, courage, and determination can really do. In the time I knew her, I watched Emily push through eating disorder recovery. She’d set goals and challenges for herself, and crush them time and time again. She would reach out for support when she needed it, eat meals even when she admitted she didn’t want to or heard her eating disorder telling her to do the opposite. She faced fear foods, bought clothes for her changing body, and broke habits that had become commonplace — all for the sake of her own future. 

Because I watched her do all of this, I had the strength to face my own demons and work on myself as well. I made it through some exceptionally tough times, processed traumas that I’d buried away and shared with no one, and broke out of my own unhealthy habits — all because Emily taught me that I could.

Emily also taught me the true essence of living authentically. Day in and day out, she made the choice to show up and be real. She wasn’t afraid to share her struggles with others and speak candidly about her life. I know this transparency helped her connect with so many people, like her friends from eating disorder treatment, fellow transplant recipients, and even the hundreds of clients she served through her jobs in peer support and crisis stabilization. She was willing to be real with people, and I learned how to be my true self in her presence.

Emily showed me what gratitude looked like, too. Even before she learned about her organ donor, she constantly shared how thankful she was for the precious gift of life she received from another person’s selfless act. After she learned about Victor, she looked for ways to thank him and memorialize him in every step of her journey. She included him on her graduation cap and she fervently shared his story. We’d even discussed ways to show our gratitude to Victor in our life going forward, both through a memorial table at our wedding and by naming the child we hoped to have together after him.

Emily taught me so much more about compassion than I ever knew was possible. No matter what people did or said to her, she still found a way to care about them and help them as much as she could. She would give anyone the shirt off her back or drive them halfway across the country if it would help them in some way. She never asked for anything in return, and she was never resentful or mean — she simply paid it forward to anyone who crossed her path.

Most of all, Emily showed me what true unconditional love looked and felt like. From our first kiss until just a few hours before she passed, Emily constantly let me know how much she cared about me with her words, and more importantly, her actions. It didn’t matter how tired she was or what I had or hadn’t done for her — she loved me completely, without hesitation. I had never experienced the type of love that Emily showed me, and I will carry every compliment, every hug, and every moment we spent together in my heart for the rest of my time on Earth.

As many of you know, I had just proposed to Emily a little less than a month ago. Although we had just started planning our wedding, I was looking forward to writing my vows and making countless promises to her as we started our lives together as a married couple. 

Unfortunately, most of those promises I would have made are now null and void since they required her to also be here on Earth with me. I’ll admit, I’m a little salty she went first, because that’s exactly what I told her not to do. But, I have decided that one of the ways I can keep Emily’s spirit alive is by making some slightly different promises to her today with all of you here as my witness.

So, Emily, even though the life we dreamed of together is going to look a bit different from here on out:

  • I promise you I will find ways to spread joy to others through music and my various spiritual gifts. I may even find a way to spread joy throughout all 50 states since I know you wanted us to visit them all together.
  • I promise I will continue to pay it forward to others by sharing my own recovery journey and helping those who are struggling. If I can, I will even find a way to make that treatment center we dreamed of opening together a reality.
  • I promise I will share Victor’s story and yours in any way I can. I will honor you both by being an organ donor myself and encouraging others to share the gift of life.
  • Finally, I promise you I will continue to live my life authentically and learn to love myself the way you loved me, unconditionally and without hesitation.

I know that, if you’re here today, Emily touched your life just like she touched mine. I also know that even though Emily has left this Earth, her story isn’t over because we all carry pieces of Emily with us in our memories and in our hearts. As long as we’re all willing to cling to those pieces of Emily that we each carry, find joy in simple moments, and live our lives wholeheartedly, Emily will always be here with us.“

She Gave Me Strength

A couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine brought up the funeral. She talked about how she just remembered me making it through my entire speech, and then I just sat down and completely collapsed.

And she wasn’t wrong, I fell into the chair and just started sobbing. It’s like I was somehow protected from the weight of my emotions as I read, and then it all hit me at once as soon as I was done. And, given everything that’s happened to me since, I firmly believe that Emily was there with me that day, giving me the strength to pull through.

Looking back, I don’t even fully remember reading the speech. But I know I made it through.

It’s funny, because when Emily was alive, she was a major source of strength and determination for me, too.

For example, Emily was one of the first people I told about the divorce and many of the details behind it. As I spent several months in the trenches of negotiations and talks with lawyers, Emily was there. When I felt like giving up, she reminded me what I deserve. When I panicked about the future, Emily told me she knew I’d make it through. And when I was really bad, she sat and drank with me until I felt ready to take on the world again.

And it was exactly the same after the divorce was finalized and I decided to do some intense trauma work with my therapist. It was the same when I applied for jobs or took on a new freelance client. It was the same when other friends would completely knock me down. And, funny enough, it was the same when I agreed to ride a water slide that seemed absolutely terrifying. No matter what I faced, Emily gave me the strength to go for it and stand tall. She was my security blanket and the medal to give me courage all wrapped up in a cute, fun-size package. She was the one who helped me through everything.

She’s Still Giving Me Strength

I know that I should be getting over my loss and moving on with life, but I’ll be honest, it’s hard. I told someone the other day that these past 4 months have been harder than anything else I’ve faced in my life, and I meant it. Harder than the semester I got sent to alternative school, harder than the college semester I almost didn’t finish, harder than miscarriage, divorce, and everything else that’s ever happened to me.

Each morning I wake up and spend a solid five minutes convincing myself to get up. Then I have to fight the urge to vomit and cry as I start moving around. There’s usually at least one point where I cry, and I’m still sleeping on the couch.

But, somehow, I get dressed and get the kids ready for school. I get my work done, I prepare dinner, I get the kids ready for bed. I’m holding steady with my freelance work, I’m somehow keeping my head above water with the household chores. And, most importantly, I’m still alive, even though I’ve been incredibly close to trying to change that.

At the end of almost every day, as I lay on the couch curled up in one of Emily’s favorite blankets, I ask myself how I made it through another day. And, nearly every day, there’s only one explanation that comes to mind: her.

I don’t know why I’m still here, but I know that every breath I take is because of Emily. From the first day I met her, she gave me strength. And, I feel so lucky that she’s still giving me strength right now, because today hasn’t been a great day. I just hope that, someday when the time is right, she won’t have to give me strength anymore and can just give my a hug instead.

Because She Loved Gift Giving

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One of the hardest parts of grief is the unexpected ways it creeps into everyday events. Yesterday was of those days where everything brought on the tears, and I actually ended up just getting up and leaving less than halfway through church service so I could go cry in my car.

Today seemed better, and I was so thankful. I woke up and hit the ground running. By lunch time, I’d gotten 80% of my work tasks for the day finished, I had laundry running, and I used my lunch break to clean out the fridge. I wrapped up my work day and got on Facebook, then I saw a post and remembered I’d never finished the checkout process for something on Emily’s brother’s wedding registry, so I did that.

When I pushed button to finish the transaction, one of those waves hit me… And I spent the next 30 minutes wiping away the tears.

As I cried, I started asking myself why something that normally would bring me and Emily such joy was making me cry, especially when I’d been so stable all day. Of course, here I am hours later, still wondering why buying a registry gift tugged at my heartstrings so much. And, honestly, I don’t have an answer. But, I do know that Emily would be happy about the gift because she always loved getting the people she loved things that brought them joy.

Emily Lived For Holiday Shopping

Okay, let me rephrase that heading — Emily loved to shop all the time. However, she really enjoyed the opportunity to shop for other people.

Every Christmas that I knew her, she’d sit down and carefully plan out what to get each person on her list. She especially loved shopping for her nieces, but really everyone got special treatment. Sometimes I’d watch her hunt for weeks, trying to find the perfect gift, and every time, she’d get so happy when she came across an item that made her think of someone on her list.

Birthdays were done in a similar fashion. Whether it was her youngest niece or her dad, Emily made sure to find the perfect gift and the perfect card for each and every person when their birthday rolled around.

I don’t know that I’d ever seen someone who put so much thought and effort into gift giving. I also don’t know that I’ve ever seen someone so happy to watch someone open the gifts she got for them, but Emily always was.

Of course, the fact that I not only have all of the gifts she ever gave me, but that I absolutely cherish them (and did even before she died) should tell you everything you need to know about her gift giving skills.

I have two different t-shirts she got me for two separate Christmases. One of them says, “You can talk to me about mental health… And cats.” The other one is a music joke and says, “These are difficult times,” then has two complicated time signatures on it. I also have the Grey’s Anatomy book and cactus shirt she got me for my birthday a couple years ago, which I’ll never forget.

Any Excuse Was A Good Excuse To Buy A Gift

Of course, holidays only come around so many times each year. But that didn’t stop Emily from finding other excuses to buy random gifts for the people she loved.

I’m pretty sure that every time that woman went into Five Below or Target, she came home with something for everyone in the house. And every time we’d clean up her apartment or clean out her car, she’d find a “just because gift” she’d picked up for someone from a store because “it made me think of them as soon as I saw it.”

I told her time and time again that she was spoiling the kids and I by buying random gifts. Every single time, she’d just smile and say, “I love all of you and you deserve to be spoiled.” And, given that most of the items came from $5 or less sections of stores, I guess I can’t argue with her too much.

However, I think what I really learned from watching her buy things for people is this: Emily always had other people on her mind, and she enjoyed expressing her love for them in any way that she possibly could. She bought items because they made her think of the person she got them for, and giving the item to the person was a way for her to let them know that they’re always on her mind… Even when she’s in the middle of Five Below.

I Would Love To Harness Her Gift-Giving Spirit

I’ll be honest, gift giving has never been a skill that I possess. I am terrible at remembering birthdays, and even worse at taking the time to go shopping for someone and pick out the perfect gift. But, after seeing the joy that doing it brought Emily and knowing how much I cherish the gifts she gave to me, I’d really like to see if I can get better at the whole gift giving thing this year.

It may be the best thing I’ve ever done. Or, it may completely flop. But, either way, it’s another thing I can do to try to keep Emily’s spirit alive. And that’s something I really, truly want to do with my entire soul.

I loved everything about Emily. And Emily loved giving gifts. So here goes nothing as I try to find pieces of myself in the things that mattered to the woman I loved.

Because I’m Still Heartbroken

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Last weekend I made the trip from Murfreesboro to Knoxville. I’ve made the trip so many times lately that it’s really become commonplace. Yet, just two years ago, I’d only ever stopped in Knoxville if I needed gas or something on the way to or from Gatlinburg. But, because of Emily, I started making that trip quite frequently in 2021 and 2022. She loved going home any chance she got, and I can’t say I blame her. There’s just something about visiting that town that feels welcoming and calm.

Over the past 4 months, that three-hour drive and my weekends in Knoxville have become one of the things I look forward to the most. I think it’s because it offers just the right mixture of comfort and catharsis. She’s everywhere I look when I’m in Knoxville, so I feel connected with her when I’m there. Yet, at the same time, the heartache washes over me at the most random times while I’m there — and I’ve simply learned to embrace it.

Short Time, Long Story

I won’t go into details now, but I will say that much of my life before Emily wasn’t great. Because of the signals I received during critical points in my life, I repressed a lot and placed much blame for every horrible event in my life upon myself. But, thanks to months of trauma therapy and Emily’s love, I’d reached a point while we were together where life was good. So, naturally, one of my first fears, when Emily died, was whether or not I was about to fall right back down the mountain I’d worked so hard to climb.

I really don’t remember much from October 19. My memory from that day is a blur, with random snapshots of single moments or items I can recall, almost like polaroids. But, one of the things I do remember doing was texting my therapist from the table at First Watch. I told her, “Emily died. I know I have a session scheduled for tomorrow, but I could really use support before that.” And, as soon as I met with her that afternoon and shared all that had happened in those last 48 hours, I told my therapist that I had no idea how I was going to work through this, but I knew that if I didn’t start doing something right away, I was going to fall all the way down the mountain and I probably would never make it back up again.

So, for the past few months, I have been working through The Grief Recovery Handbook (or “the purple book” as my therapist calls it). It’s different than any other workbook or therapeutic modality I’ve ever encountered, and yet I’ve found it incredibly beneficial.

Anyway, the final three activities involve a lot of memory recall as you essentially map out every single loss you’ve experienced in your life (the loss history graph), then make a timeline about your relationship with one of the losses you selected from your loss history graph (the relationship graph). And, I’ll admit, I’m a bit of an overachiever when it comes to therapy homework, but doing so with these activities really helped me see a lot about my life and, more specifically, the years where Emily’s life intersected with mine.

I often feel like people judge me a bit when I say that Emily and I only knew each other for 4.5 years and then call her the love of my life. But here’s the thing: when you look at all that happened in our lives in the time period between when we met and Emily died, it’s as much as some people experience in a decade or more.

In less than 5 years, Emily and I went from being strangers who sat next to each other in a room for a couple hours each week to the person we wanted holding our hand in our final moments. We took a half dozen vacation-type trips together, plus went on even more weekend road trips. We watched each other make major life changes, land new jobs, buy cars, and earn a master’s degree (at least Emily did). We spent late nights confiding in each other, and spent many mornings sipping coffee together with no pants on. We hugged, we kissed, we had sex, we lived together, we got engaged… I could name all the things we did for hours without even starting on all the plans we made for our future together.

I know people say that when you find the right person, time often ceases to exist. However, I think the reasoning behind the way Emily and I lived our lives together is even deeper than that.

I think that Emily approached everything in life with the mentality of “live every day like it’s your last” and “you only get one life, so make the most of it.” And, I guess that’s how most people would approach life if they’d almost died and received a life-changing miracle. She never once took a single breath for granted, and she was determined to do as much as she could with whatever time she had here on Earth.

Meanwhile, I think my approach to life became focused on finally having the self-worth and tools I needed to build a life that made me happy. In a way, I felt like I had 30+ years of playing catch-up to do. But also, I just didn’t care about what other people think anymore, and I wanted to carve out the life I’d always dreamed of.

Together, I think our approaches to life in general created a perfect storm the moment we both looked at each other from across the table at Hooters. We both had “lightbulb moments” simultaneously, and we just knew without even saying a word that we both wanted a “happily ever after” together.

The Aftermath of an Unexpected Storm

I knew going into it that this week would be hard. Our Week 2 task for the grief group I joined was for each of us to share the story of how our partner died. Then, as if it was perfectly planned to coincide, my homework for individual therapy was to write a letter to Emily about anything possibly left unsaid between the two of us (with specific parameters outlined in the book).

With both tasks, I couldn’t help but focus on the suddenness of her death. It was so unexpected and completely unpredictable. And yet, it happened. It’s like a tornado that fell from the sky without warning or a hurricane that changed course in the 11th hour, leaving people with no way to prepare. We were planning a wedding, we were going to have a child together and be a family of 5 with a dog and an adorable house with a backyard that had trees for Emily to climb or hang a hammock up while the kids and the dog ran around. We were going to open a treatment center together, then eventually retire to the beach and spend our days making music together and collecting sea shells.

But, that’s not what happened at all. and I am stuck in the devastation without any sign of rescue… or so it feels at times.

And I think that, although Emily and I were not at all on bad terms or holding onto any type of resentment, the suddenness of it all left me with a lot of unsaid words.

So, when I sat with Emily at the cemetery on Saturday afternoon, I talked to her about it all… a lot. In fact, I told her about the letter my therapist had assigned me to write, and I actually wrote it while I sat there on a blanket in the grass right next to her. A lot of it, as you can imagine, was filled with apologies and regrets. I was sorry for not telling her how I felt about her sooner, I was sorry for getting her kicked out of DBT group (remind me to write a post about this), and I was sorry for not protecting her when she dated Julian (another post for the future). But, at the same time, almost half of the letter was me thanking her and acknowledging all that she did. I thanked her for taking a chance by sitting next to me in DBT group on the first day, I appreciated how she loved me and my kids, and I was so proud and awestruck by her willingness to risk a lot by simply coming out.

When I finished the letter on Saturday, I read it to her, word for word. And, just like when I read the speech I’d prepared for her funeral, I completely broke down as soon as I read the last sentence. But, instead of melting into the arms of a dear friend like I did as soon as I walked away from the pulpit at the funeral, the only thing I had to melt into on Saturday was the ground. And boy, did I wish for a moment that I could melt down into the ground with my sweet Emily.

It’s funny, though, because this week has felt much different than anything that’s come before it. As I told my therapist before I read the letter to her today, it almost felt as if I left some of the wreckage of this disaster there in the grass on Saturday afternoon without even realizing it.

I’ll Always Be Broken, But Not Beyond Repair

Don’t mistake my words in this post. I am a heartbroken human who will probably never understand why everything happened the way it did with Emily. In many ways, I saw her as my redemption arc, my opportunity to love and be loved the way I always wanted to love someone and deserve from another. But, I think this week, and especially writing that letter to Emily directly, has helped me see that there’s a difference between broken and unfixable.

Because of Emily, I not only learned what true, unconditional love from another person felt like, but I also started to see that I deserved such a thing. What’s more, I learned that I could, in fact, tolerate or even like myself. And, by sharing with her the pain points of our time together, especially those thing I’d wished I’d done differently (even if none of them were things I could have done anything about), I think I finally let go of at least a portion of the burden I’ve felt every single day since October 19.

I don’t know that I’ll ever even think about dating again, and I know that my heart will always be held together with superglue and duct tape because it completely broke in those early morning hours of that October day. But, thanks to Emily’s love and our time together, I now know that I never have been, nor ever will be, broken beyond repair. And, anytime I need a reminder of that or need to recenter myself, I know exactly where to go — Knoxville.

Because I Can’t Help But Blame Myself

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Today’s therapy session really hit me hard. The part where I lost it was when I realized how little time had passed between the proposal and Emily’s death. (It was less than 3 weeks.) Regarding the timeline of our relationship, those two items rest directly next to each other — both equally impactful, yet in stark contrast to each other, like polar opposites. They’re like day and night. The beginnings of forever and the ending credits, with nothing more than some spreadsheets and Pinterest boards in between.

I’m unsure how to share everything inside my mind right now. It’s chaos, yet the thoughts keep rolling as if my brain thinks it can piece everything together in a way that makes sense. Unfortunately, all it keeps coming up with are ways to blame me.

I’m No Stranger To Blaming Myself

Emily’s death isn’t the first time I have experienced life events that cause me to question everything about myself. In fact, many thoughts eating away at me today sound eerily similar to thoughts that lived in my head rent-free through most of the early 2000s when I was in middle school and early high school.

I realize many aspects of my life made me vulnerable to the events that unfolded during my middle school years. And, everywhere I turned, I was confronted with even more evidence that the things that happened to me were either not as awful as they felt to me, or they were merely consequences I deserved.

My abuser made it clear that I brought out the worst in him, and he couldn’t control himself around me. The adults I told (a teacher and the guidance counselor) both found reasons to pass the blame onto me or take my assailant’s side.

So, eventually, I started blaming myself. And that trend stuck with me. Bullying, failed friendships, future assaults, mental health crises — all of these things were my fault. I even found a way to blame myself for a classmate’s fatal accident in high school even though I was no where near the accident the weekend it happened.

Even now, anytime anything goes wrong, I immediately seek anything I can use to blame it all on myself.

The Blame Game Is An Easy One To Play

Once you start fishing for ways to make something your fault, it’s incredibly easy for that list to multiply. You can twist almost any situation in a way that places the blame on you, regardless of whether or not there’s any truth to it.

The easiest way to make Emily’s death my fault is to simply say I should have made her go the emergency room much sooner.

The week after I proposed, she saw her PCP about the symptoms she was experiencing, but the doctor didn’t seem concerned or in a rush to diagnose what was going on, even though it was obvious Emily was in pain. I told her how concerned I was, but each time I mentioned the ER, she came up with an excuse to not go. And, because I hate conflict and I never wanted Emily to feel like I didn’t see her as an equal adult, I never pushed. I was weak.

From there, I can go down several different rabbit holes to blame myself even further. I could say I wasn’t reminding her to take her medications, nor was I doing my part to make sure she was taking care of her body. Emily picked up tons of extra shifts in September. 2022 had become an expensive year for us, and she thought the extra money would help. But I knew from watching Emily work 60+ hour weeks in previous years, it’s just not good for her.

Then we can say I messed up her medication routines with the move and my own routines and schedules. Or the stress of wedding planning threw off routines and habits she’d developed. In fact, you could say (and some have) that the fact that I proposed is the entire issue and that she died because I “turned her gay.” Or maybe she gave up because she didn’t really want to marry me.

Now, am I saying any of these thoughts are rational? Not necessarily. But I am saying that there are all sorts of ways to blame me for Emily’s departure from this world.

What Do We Do With Blame?

I feel like blame is one of the heaviest loads I’ve ever carried around in my life. Because, at least in my mind, I’m not just living with the burden of it all in my current lifetime, but it’s also left me permanently flagged and taken away what chances I might have had for an eternal life after this.

In middle school and high school, I channeled the negative energy self-blamed filled me with into very unhealthy decisions. I self-harmed as a form of punishment. I went to confession and prayed the Rosary. I stockpiled medications then consumed large quantities at once to make myself sick or experience the way it temporarily altered my brain. I even tried to end my existence a few times.

But, that was two decades ago. So what do I do with this guilt and shame that I’m feeling now?

I’ll be honest, what I’m doing now isn’t any better than what I did back then. And, just like I discovered in my youth, nothing provides much more than a temporary drop in my emotions and intrusive thoughts.

Each day, there’s a part of me that wishes I could talk to Emily and find out whether she blames me. But mostly, I just wish I could either bring her back or, at the very least, trade places with her so she could continue down the incredible path she’d outlined for herself.

Like I told my therapist today as we discussed the entire history of my relationship with Emily, what upsets me the most is that fact that it all ended so soon. It’s not how it was supposed to be, and it’s not fair to Emily that she didn’t get to do all the things she dreamed of accomplishing.

When Emily was around, I didn’t have any reason to blame myself because she made my life so wonderful. But because she’s gone, I can’t help but wonder if everyone would be better off without me.

Because She Wanted A Child

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I watched our pastors baptize a precious baby today at church. I realize this is a fairly common thing that happens, and usually it’s not that big of a deal. But, as is the case with many things lately, it just hit differently today and left me desperately trying to hold back tears and hide my emotions from anyone sitting next to me.

I spent a lot of time thinking about that moment today, trying to decide why a simple ritual brought such a strong wave of grief. It seems weird to cry about a baby getting baptized, right? Well, maybe not if you know the plans Emily and I had… plans that will never happen now.

Baby Talk

When you’re friends with someone for a significant amount of time, you learn a lot about their dreams for the future, and Emily and I were no exception to that. We both shared many of our hopes and future plans with each other, even before we ever started dating. And although I eventually want to share many of those dreams in this blog, there’s only one that’s relevant to this post, and that’s Emily’s desire to be a mother.

I knew that Emily wanted kids one day. And, because I’d watched her with my own kids and heard her talk about her nieces for hours on end, I knew that she was going to be an amazing mom when the time came for that.

But then, life took an unexpected turn, and Emily and I became much more than friends. And, as most anyone who is likely reading this already knows, I have kids from a previous marriage.

So, fairly early on in our relationship, I decided to ask Emily more pointed questions about future children because, although I knew she wanted kids, I didn’t know much more than that.

I learned that she always dreamed of having two girls and a boy. I also learned that she wanted to name one of the girls Eleanor, after an Eleanor in her family. So, because she’s Emily, she said, “It looks like I’ve got the two girls now and one of them is already named Eleanor, so my dreams will come completely true if we have a little boy together.”

As we continued this conversation, I learned a lot about pregnancy risks and issues Emily would face if she carried a child. It would have required her to completely change all of her transplant medications, which scared her more than a little bit since the medications she was on were working well. She also had concerns about how the bodily changes of pregnancy would affect her mental health, especially since she’d finally found a fairly stable point in her eating disorder recovery. And, of course, there were all of Emily’s fears related to her health in general, and how many things like her short stature, congenital heart defect, and hyper mobility, were genetic.

I told her, “We can figure all of this out. There are doctors out there who can help with the genetics, and surrogacy is a thing, so we can use your egg and I’ll just carry the baby if that’s what is safest.”

Emily liked the idea, but said if her eggs were “messed up,” she wanted our backup plan to be using my egg with a redhead sperm donor because “a redhead baby would be so cute!”

Then, it was Emily’s turn to ask the questions, and I could tell there was something on her mind she was hesitant to say. Finally, she said, “This might be weird, but how would you feel about naming the baby after my donor?”

I didn’t think it was weird at all. In fact, I loved the idea. We agreed that Victor would be an adorable name for a little boy, and settled on Max for a middle name, after Emily’s grandfather. As I explained to her, I already got to name two children, so my only request for this one was that we at least consider hyphenating his last name.

And, just like that, we had a plan.

More Plans Laid To Rest

I’ve thought a lot about the little boy we wanted since Emily’s death. After watching an episode of Virgin River a second time after the fact, part of me almost wishes I would have had the time and brain capacity to think about these kinds of things right before she went, but my mind was too focused on praying for her to live. After having people say, “You can still make that dream come true for her,” I’ve cried because I just don’t feel let it would be the same for me to have a baby on my own and name it after my dead fiancée’s organ donor. So, it’s just another part of the love story Emily and I shared that was laid to rest with her.

I think that’s why today hit me so hard. There was a baby boy, alive and with his parents, beginning his life in the church. It’s a moment I saw happening for Emily and I in the next few years. A moment I desperately wanted to experience with her. A moment I’ve never gotten to nor ever will get to experience now.

Let me tell you, it’s heartbreaking to rehash your person’s death over and over again each time you encounter something that perfectly mirrors the dreams you had for your own future.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my two children with every fiber of my being. And, I also know that Emily loved my children as if they were hers. She always did.

But, I always dreamed of more kids than two. I just thought that dream died when I had a miscarriage back in 2017. That is, until Emily came along and brought it back into the realm of possibility.

I couldn’t wait to see Emily holding a baby that shared DNA with her. A baby who would have been so loved and cherished by her, by me, and by his siblings. A baby who would have been named after the man who made his existence possible.

Because of Emily, I was completely sold on having another child. But once again, I can’t help but feel like I did something to ruin my own dreams. I’m just heartbroken over a child I never got to meet, and I can’t even turn to Emily for support… And saying that makes my heart start breaking all over again.

I’m so sorry, Emily.

Because It Didn’t Feel Like Her Last Day

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On the Monday after Thanksgiving, a three-hour car ride home from Knoxville turned into a complete breakdown for me. When I discussed this with my therapist after the fact, she mentioned that music could be a partial trigger. So, she recommended I find some podcasts to listen to during car rides for the next several weeks, and see if that helps.

The next time I got in the car without the kids, I did exactly what my therapist recommended. I started with a grief-related episode of I Weigh with Jameela Jamil, then moved to Last Day, a podcast Emily’s mom had mentioned while we were on vacation in August.

Last Day is a podcast two sisters started after they each lost a sibling to accidental overdose related to opioid misuse. I realize the topic of the podcast (issues that are killing people in America) has nothing to do with Emily’s death. Yet as I listened to one of the episodes about how normal one brother’s last day was, I couldn’t help but think about how much that same sentiment applied to Emily’s final 24 (or really 36) hours.

A Final Mundane Monday

I’ve mentioned this in other posts, but I will say it again: I’ve replayed the footage on those final two days of Emily’s life over and over again. I keep thinking that I’ll pick up on some clue, recall a moment that I missed, or finally piece together what I could have done differently to save her.

None of that has happened yet. Instead, all I’ve pieced together is that it never really seemed like the end until it was.

Monday, October 17 mostly started like any other Monday. Emily’s schedule meant she was almost always off work on Mondays, and the kids go to their dad’s after school, so it was our day to enjoy together.

I took the kids to school. I texted Emily as I left the school to see if she needed anything. I let Emily sleep in while I started my work day. When Emily came downstairs, she mentioned her abdominal pain, but insisted it wasn’t too bad. She also mentioned that she just had to make it through Monday, as she had an ultrasound appointment scheduled for the next morning and was hopeful they’d take one look at her gallbladder and schedule the surgery.

So, Emily went through her usual motions for a Monday. She had a monthly appointment with her dietician over Zoom, and she had an in-person therapy appointment that afternoon. She was drinking a little bit of water, but was having a hard time eating. Both her dietician and therapist asked her about going to the hospital, which she declined because she said the pain wasn’t that bad.

Once she returned home from her therapy session, I could tell she wasn’t feeling well. We cuddled up on the couch and started watching 9-1-1. As the clock approached dinner time, I told Emily I’d make literally anything she was willing to eat. She asked for the tater tots from the restaurant in our apartment complex, but I think she only took two bites of one before she felt worse. I looked at her and said, “Give me just a minute to pack a bag, and then we’re going to the ER.” She didn’t fight it — she just nodded.

The Waiting Game

If you’ve needed any type of emergency medical care since March 2020, you know what a shit show it is. Most hospitals are understaffed, over capacity, and fighting an uphill battle. Needless to say, we knew we were in for a long wait when we walked into the waiting room at our local ER that Monday night.

We arrived right around 7:00 pm. Because of Emily’s history, they called her back for an EKG right away. That looked fine, so they sent us back out to the waiting room. They called her back for labs about two hours later, and then sent her back out to the waiting room again.

As the hours ticked by, I could tell Emily felt frustrated. She kept saying, “Clearly I’m fine since they don’t seem to be in any rush to call me back,” and, “I’m probably just being a big baby and we shouldn’t even be here.” I tried my best to remain calm and validate her feelings while also reminding her that the long wait didn’t mean she was blowing things out of proportion.

Finally, they called her back sometime after 3:00 am. Since every other room was full, they put us in what they called the “fast pass” room, which was normally for quick treatments. However, they assured us that they weren’t going to send her home immediately, and they would do what they could to figure everything out. They performed an ultrasound, gave her some IV fluids and an antibiotic, and had her take some sort of cocktail for her nausea and abdominal pain. By 6:00 am, they had determined her gallbladder was the issue, but some of her labs also looked concerning enough that they wanted to transport her to Vanderbilt (where she had her transplant).

So, after an entire night in the local ER, we boarded an ambulance to transfer. Perhaps I should have taken her directly to Vanderbilt instead of going to the ER 5 minutes from our home? I’m not sure.

It All Seemed Fine… Until It Wasn’t

Although there was a bit of initial confusion when we arrived at Vanderbilt, everything seemed in order once they got Emily into a room. The team confirmed that she needed her gallbladder removed, and a general surgeon came to talk to us about the procedure. He said they’d likely schedule the surgery for the next day (Wednesday), assuming cardiology signed off.

Emily had an ultrasound and a cardiac echo. They ran some labs. All in all, though, she was mostly free to get out of bed, use the bathroom on her own, and hang out.

Later that afternoon, someone from the transplant team came by. They made the same comment as St. Thomas about her troponin levels, but didn’t seem overly concerned. As a precaution, they scheduled a right cath for Wednesday morning, and said they’d start Emily on IV steroids that evening to counteract any potential rejection.

I think I was the only person who seemed even mildly worried. Emily seemed more concerned about my feelings than anything the doctors told her. The doctors seemed calm and collected, and they continuously reassured us that Emily would be fine.

They served her a ridiculously bland dinner. I grabbed Chinese from the cafeteria, and of course Emily stole several pieces of my orange chicken. She wasn’t in pain, she was carrying on conversation as usual, and was texting folks with updates.

At some point, I asked her if she wanted to stream something on my laptop, and she said yes. We got into a minor disagreement because I mentioned climbing in the bed with her and she insisted there was not enough room for both of us in the hospital bed. In true us fashion, we spent the next 5 minutes apologizing to each other, then I slid a chair next to her bed and set up the laptop so we could watch 9-1-1.

Part of the way through the episode, Emily started to fall asleep. I wasn’t surprised since we’d essentially been awake for over 24 hours at that point. So I turned off the show (insert more checking in that no one was mad), and she slept in the bed while I positioned the reclining chair as close to her as I could.

At some point, I think it was 9:00 or so, Emily got up to use the bathroom. I asked her if she needed help, she said no. But when she stood up to get off the toilet, her knee decided to sublux (very common issue for her), and she fell. I pushed the call button for the nurse, then asked her what I could do to help. The nurse came and got her back into bed, asked if she wanted ice for her knee, and told her to not get out of bed unless someone was helping her. Then we went back to sleep.

The Final Hours

You know that feeling when you’re in the middle of a detailed dream and your alarm clock goes off and wakes you up in a panic? Well, that’s exactly what happened to me. I woke to machines beeping and immediately panicked and looked at Emily. She looked awake, but wasn’t alert or responsive to me. A whole team of people rushed in, and asked me what was happening. I just looked at them, horrified, and said, “We were asleep. I don’t know. Everything just started beeping and she isn’t responding when I talk to her.”

Within a minute or so, she was fine again. When they asked her if she knew what happened, she said, “I woke up because I needed to go to the bathroom and my partner was asleep, and now all of you are in here.” To her, that entire period of time with the beeping machines and me trying to talk to her didn’t happen.

More labs were ordered, and the doctors asked us both questions about her medical history and health. They asked her a lot of questions to confirm she was cognitively fine, and all the nurses looked at me and said, “Aw! How romantic!” when Emily told them the proposal story.

Finally, people started leaving the room. One of the doctors told us she’d look over all the labs and let us know what they found out. Again, no one seemed overly alarmed yet, mostly just perplexed.

Emily jokingly said, “Well, I’m awake now… Let’s talk about the wedding!” We briefly discussed our plans for what we wanted the wedding party to wear (we both agreed we wanted people to pick outfits that made them feel comfortable and confident, as long as they matched the colors of purple for her side and green for mine). We also joked that we’d offer our brothers the option to wear dresses but knew all too well that none of them would.

I don’t know for sure, but I think about an hour had passed since the initial episode when, mid conversation, the same thing happened again. I couldn’t even think enough to find the damn call button, so I just shouted, “Help!”

I said her name a few times and tried touching her before the nurse ran in. He looked at her, and then immediately asked me if I would help him flip her on her side since it looked like a seizure. As we did, the same group of people from the first episode rushed in again. I stood out of the way, crying and panicking, as everyone rushed around to care for her.

It took a bit longer this time, but Emily started responding again after a couple minutes. More labs, a chest x-ray, and an ultrasound, all done in the room. They kept asking me if she’s had seizures before, had any issues like diabetes, and more. I kept telling them no, all of this was new. Somewhere during this time I texted Emily’s mom, and she called me.

At this point, Emily was responsive and still firing off sassy comments, but she was visibly unwell. She told me she didn’t feel well, and I stroked her hair. I stayed by her side while the doctors talked. She started feeling nauseated, so I grabbed one of the “puke tubs” (my term) and held it for her. I know she apologized at one point, and I just kept telling her it was okay, I wasn’t upset. I also told her I was not going to leave her side.

No one knew what was going on, so they decided to move her to the ICU so they could keep a closer eye on her. One of the doctors looked at me and said, “We’re going to figure this out. We’ve got her.” But it didn’t matter, I still fought tears the entire time I walked beside her bed as we made our way to the cardiac ICU.

We made it into the ICU room. I sat our bags down in a chair. Then I stood beside her bed as they started getting her all settled and hooked up to monitors. She looked at me and said, “Babe, I’m feeling weird. I think it’s about to happen again.” I said, “It’s going to be okay, I’ll tell them. Just sit tight.” And that’s it. That’s the last thing I said to her.

As I turned to get someone’s attention (there were 3 people in the room), the same thing happened again, only this time she completely coded. They started CPR and were all talking to each other before a nurse realized I was standing there crying. He made me leave the room and assured me someone would come update me soon.

I don’t know how much time passed as I paced the waiting room. It felt like forever. I prayed, I cried, I emailed all of our pastors to ask for prayers. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I cried some more. I forced myself to drink water and tried every mindfulness exercise I could remember from our DBT group. I kept grabbing my phone to text or call someone, but then realized it wasn’t even 5:00am yet so everyone would be asleep.

When a doctor came out to update me, I was sitting in a chair staring at the ceiling. She told me they’d put her on ECMO, and I completely lost it. I swear Chasing Cars should have been playing in the background, because it felt exactly like a scene from Grey’s Anatomy.

And then, not even 30 minutes later, the same doctor came out to tell me ECMO wasn’t working and she was dead.

Nobody Knows

I know that most people don’t wake up in the morning and think, “Today is my last day of life.” In fact, I think most of us would say that our lives unfold much like the lyrics of Cosy in the Rocket (the Grey’s Anatomy theme song): Nobody knows where they might end up.

Emily and I certainly didn’t know how those final two days would play out. But then again, Emily did make a comment when a friend of ours visited Tuesday morning that it “felt a lot like 2017,” so maybe she knew something we didn’t? It’s hard to say.

All I know is it never really felt like the end until the end was already there, and by that moment, all I could think about was that I was too late.

There’s a lot I’m grateful for when it comes to Emily. But I think that part of me will always carry regrets. And because of that, I will never be the same.