heart

Because Her Grace Was Abounding

/ musicmaker182 / Leave a comment

I think I’ve mentioned it before, but Emily and I signed up for Disciple Bible study back in the fall. I remember that first week, as we debated between going to Disciple class or another option, Emily looked at me and said, “I’ve heard that Disciple classes are pretty intense… Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I nodded, and in we went with no idea what we were getting ourselves into.

As someone who grew up in the Catholic church, I’ve always considered myself to be fairly well versed in scripture. After all, the Lectionary is set up so that you read the entire Bible every three years (assuming you go to Mass every Sunday). I’ll be honest, though, this class has really made me look at everything in a very different way. And, in many ways, it’s made me question a lot of the beliefs I’ve held onto about Christianity and, even more so, myself.

This week, we discussed the Epistle to the Romans. Although I definitely had many thoughts and questions about the book as a whole, I really went down a rabbit hole in my mind when someone in class brought up the topic of grace. It’s a subject that, honestly, I’ve always struggled with, largely because much of modern Christian teachings specifically condemn multiple aspects of my identity as undeserving of God’s grace. And yet, as I drove home tonight and fought back tears, I could hear Emily’s voice clear as day, telling me to stop being so mean to myself… just like she did nearly every single day from 2018 to 2022.

She Showed Me Grace

Emily was one of the most kindhearted, giving people I’ve ever met. In fact, I often think of her when people ask for a definition or example of terms like abounding grace or altruism. She shared her gifts, her presence, and her love with others without hesitation and, oftentimes, without any consideration as to how it might affect her.

It always surprised me when I’d do something that I considered inconsiderate or harsh, and she’d still be there, ready to forgive me and accept me still. And, as I often told her, I didn’t understand how she did it because I felt so undeserving.

The Puppy Debate

There was that ridiculous puppy, Nova, that she fostered for a few days then decided to adopt. She was not only living in an apartment that didn’t allow pets, but she was working two jobs and enrolled in grad school. I watched this puppy for her a couple times, and I spent several nights talking to her on the phone or texting her as she struggled to deal with the dog because it was so young, untrained, and quite the handful.

Finally, I told her, “Emily, just take the damn dog back to the humane society and tell them that you just don’t have the time or space to deal with a puppy right now. It’s not that big of a deal.” She asked if I’d take the dog back for her, and I said, “No. I’ll drive you there, I’ll stand by you the whole time, but I will not do it for you. You are the one who adopted the dog, so you need to be the one to take it back. You’re an adult, and sometimes that means you have to do hard things.”

I know I was harsh. I know I made her cry. And, honestly, I spent the entire rest of that day feeling guilty about it and worrying if she was going to stop being my friend because of it. But, the next day, she reached out and thanked me for what I said and told me she didn’t think any less of me because of it. She never once yelled at me, told me I was a bad friend, or treated my any differently after that. (Oh, and she did take the dog back, too.)

Jealousy Over The Ex

Emily and I started dating about two weeks after she broke up with her ex. We didn’t plan it, and I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I definitely found myself floating on air that entire first week after that night at Hooters.

Then, on Friday night, she started texting me. She’d agreed to hang out with her ex and some mutual connections that evening. However, when she went to pick him up (he doesn’t drive), he had an entire suitcase with him because he decided they needed a “romantic weekend together.” And, because Emily hates confrontation even more than I do (and that’s saying something), she didn’t say no.

She was texting me to try to figure out what to do, but my emotions were all over the place. I stopped replying to her texts because I knew I was going to say something I’d regret, but then she started blowing up my phone because she interpreted my sudden silence as anger. I tried my best to explain to her that I was feeling jealous, hurt, and confused, but I wasn’t doing it well.

At one point, I told her I felt stupid for thinking that she’d actually be into me, and I’d rather her be honest than pretend to be into me. Of course, she responded by telling me that she definitely wanted to date me, but she was afraid of confrontation (which I already knew) and she didn’t want to hurt Julian’s feelings or give him a reason to lash out at her.

The entire time, she kept telling me that my feelings about the situation were valid and the last thing she wanted to do was hurt me. Looking back, I definitely didn’t handle the situation in a mature way, but she was still willing to love me anyway. And, ultimately, she did start setting some harsher boundaries with the ex — it just took a lot of time and effort.

Her Grace Knew No Limits

Obviously, those are very specific examples of me and Emily. However, I watched her show grace to countless other people, too.

She had this friend that, honestly, said some really harsh things to Emily at times. I remember multiple conversations with Emily crying over the things this friend had said about how Emily was “getting fat” and how she “wasn’t a good friend” because she was trying to get the friend to make recovery oriented decisions. And yet, it didn’t matter what Emily had going on in her life, anytime that friend needed help, Emily would drop everything and go. We once even had to turn our date night into sharing a fast food burger and fries outside the emergency room because the friend called her when she was on her way to meet me and needed medical attention.

The same ex I mentioned before? We once picked him up at 11:00pm and took him to the ER as well because his blood sugar was all sorts of out of whack and he called Emily because he didn’t have anyone else. After everything he had done to her (I’m eventually going to talk more about that), she looked at me that night and said, “I know he is a huge jerk, but he needs help and we can help him. Doesn’t everyone deserve that?”

Trying to Find My Emily-Like Grace

As I told people in my Disciple class tonight, I really feel like my job at this point is continuing Emily’s legacy. She never said that, but I feel like she made the world a better place, and I still want that for everyone.

But, like I said tonight: How do you show others grace when you yourself don’t feel deserving? And, even more so, are we supposed to offer abounding grace if we’re truly leaning into our call to be Christ-like?

I am going to talk to Emily about these things this weekend. And, even if I don’t get an answer, I know she’ll at least be willing to listen because she’s always been willing to do anything for me.

Advertisement

Because She Lived For Medical Shows

/ musicmaker182 / Leave a comment

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

/ musicmaker182 / Leave a comment

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 It Didn’t Feel Like Her Last Day

/ musicmaker182 / Leave a comment

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.

Because of a Second-Hand Heart

/ musicmaker182 / Leave a comment

A few weeks ago, I made a video on TikTok about the story of how Emily and I went from being friends to getting engaged and then included a final bit about our last day together. I saw other people making similar “friends to more than friends” videos, and I just really wanted to make one of my own. I didn’t expect anyone to watch it, yet the post ended up getting millions of views.

A lot of people commented that they were sorry for my loss and how unfair it was that I didn’t get more time with her. However, several people made comments about the irony of our love story playing out after her heart transplant. Some people even went so far as to say that it almost seemed like God’s plan all along was to give her that extra time so she could experience love from me.

Although I definitely agree that divine intervention was at play in our entire relationship, I think Emily’s transplant gave her the opportunity to do many things. She got a second chance at life, and boy, she lived it to the fullest. It only seems fitting that today, a day that would have been her five-year heartiversary (yes, I’m going to keep using that word), we talk about all the things Emily did with those final years of her life.

Emily Hardin, MSW

Emily had dreams of helping others, and she planned to do that by becoming a social worker. Her plan was very detailed: she was going to obtain her bachelor’s degree, enroll in graduate school, earn her MSW, then set out to help the world. She was determined, and nothing was going to get in her way. She had just two semesters left when her heart made life extra complicated.

When Emily went into heart failure, she continued her studies. People would visit the hospital and find her writing papers, studying, or taking exams. She finished that fall semester even though she was incredibly sick. It was quite an accomplishment.

After the transplant, she had to take a semester off, but she went back to school full force that summer and worked hard to wrap up her degree. And, in December 2018, Emily walked across the stage and earned her bachelor’s degree.

It took time to take the GRE and apply for grad school. However, she didn’t let setbacks or challenges stop her. Eventually, she got into the MSW program at the University of Kentucky and started the program in the fall of 2020.

I had a front row seat the entire time she was in grad school. I watched her work so hard on every assignment while also working full-time (and at some points holding down two jobs). There were nights where she had to stay up until nearly midnight to collaborate with classmates on video assignments. There were nights where we sat on the couch and I edited one of her papers while she typed up another. And, there were times where she worked on assignments from her phone because she still wanted us to be able to go out.

However, I think the culminating moment of her entire time in grad school was when she hosted a workshop on how to help people who live with eating disorders. She spent weeks preparing — she wanted everything to be perfect. When the day finally came for her to host the workshop, I sat in one room to attend the workshop while she set up in another. I loved seeing her talk about one of her passions, and she provided amazing information. She did an incredible job, and I was so proud of her.

Finally, graduation day came in May. We made our way to Lexington, and she walked across the stage. Finally, one of her dreams came true — she was Emily Hardin, MSW.

One Inch At A Time

As I’ve mentioned in other posts and in some of the TikTok videos I’ve made since her death, Emily also loved dance. She loved it so much, in fact, that she decided to minor in dance while at MTSU earning her bachelor’s degree.

Although studying an art like dance while also earning a degree in social work is an accomplishment within itself, I still find it mind-blowing that Emily was able to completely choreograph and perform a solo dance less than a year after her transplant. The dance, which she titled “One Inch At A Time,” was all about eating disorder recovery (are you seeing how passionate she was about this topic?).

I wrote about the dance in a post about her love of dance, but this dance was such a huge part of her story after the transplant that I needed to mention it again.

Recovery and Growth

I know the transplant was a very emotional experience for Emily. When we first met the fall after, she was still working through a lot of it. Her relationship with her body was already complicated before the transplant, and for a while after, her eating disorder became quite loud. She also dealt with anxiety, depression, and very unmanaged OCD. Yet, there she was, in the same group therapy as me, trying to do the work.

From 2018 to 2022, I not only watched Emily make strides in her eating disorder recovery but actually learn to tune Karen (her eating disorder) out completely. It took several rounds at Renfrew and lots of hard work, but she did it. By the summer of 2022, she was down to just seeing her dietician once a month (and was actually discussing discharging completely at the end of the year), and she had moved into doing some pretty serious body image work with her outpatient therapist. I know she still experienced “bad body image days,” but she was very open about it with me, and she was always willing to challenge those thoughts — which was something she had previously struggled to do.

I loved seeing this version of Emily. We could go out to dinner without fear stopping her. She let go of her “sick clothes” and bought clothes that made her feel good. She confidently wore lingerie. Her eating disorder no longer controlled her life. She seemed genuinely happy.

However, she hadn’t just made strides in her eating disorder recovery — she’d also done tons of work related to her OCD as well. None of this hard work would have been possible without the transplant, and I know Emily was thankful that she could use her second chance at life to make it into the life she wanted, a life filled with joy.

My Favorite Love Story

Of course, I wouldn’t be writing any of this if Emily hadn’t received the transplant because, without that, Emily and I would have never met.

Obviously, Emily and I hit it off right away when we met in 2018. It took time for us to move from friendship into more than friends, but as soon as we did, things progressed quickly. I think part of that was because we already felt so comfortable with each other, but I think the other part of it can’t really be explained with words.

I know we all see those fairytale romance stories play out in movies and television shows or read about them in books. But really, the relationship Emily and I shared was its own version of that. It’s something that completely transcends everyday life and can’t be easily described. Yet, it’s my favorite love story because it’s everything I ever wanted and more.

Emily and I saw each other in a way very few people do. We accepted each other completely. We loved each other, flaws and all. We cheered each other on, we picked each other up, and we never left the other person’s side, no matter how dark and twisty life got. I’ve already talked a lot about our relationship, and I will continue to do so. But for today, I am just so thankful that our love story got to play out. I guess it was meant to be.

It Was All Thanks To Victor

Emily did so much in the almost five years she lived after the transplant. While all of that was 100% Emily, none of it would have been possible without another person’s selfless gift. Emily was able to earn a master’s degree, kick her eating disorder in the butt, and build an incredible life all because of a man named Victor and his family.

It’s funny, because from what we’ve learned about Victor, there are many parallels between him and Emily. I think that makes sense though, because you have to be a pretty incredible person if you’re willing to donate your organs and tissue to other people. It’s an act of courage. It requires you to look beyond yourself and say, “I want to help a total stranger if I can.” That’s not something everyone is willing to do, especially in our modern world.

I know that Emily remained thankful for Victor every single day of her life from December 23, 2017 until her final breath in the early hours of October 19, 2022. She looked for ways to thank Victor and honor him in everything she did. She cherished a scrapbook about him that his mother made. She carried him with her on both of her graduation caps. She maintained contact with his mom. She wanted to make sure we found a symbolic way to include Victor in our wedding and other major life events.

Because of Victor, Emily got to live out many of her dreams. And because of Victor, I had the honor of meeting Emily and building a beautiful life with her.

I will be thinking a lot about Emily today. But, I will also be thinking about Victor, because without that “second-hand heart” (Emily’s words, not mine), none of this would be possible.