March 13, 2012

Finding out



Tomorrow we have to go back to the eye doctor.  The place where big darling and I were when we got ‘the call’.  “The call” that I ignored the first two times, because we were in with the doctor.  On the third time, I figured I better answer it.  When I did, it was my mother in law, screaming that I needed to come quick, because David was ‘hurt’.  When I asked what happened, she said he somehow shot himself in the stomach.  I stood up and screamed that we needed to go, something had happened to daddy, he was badly hurt.  We rushed out of the room and to the front door.  Our wait in the lobby had been a long one, we were one of the last appointments, and when we got to the front doors, THEY WERE LOCKED.  Oh my God.  I was frantic.  I could feel my body shaking.  I was trying to make sense of what the fuck could possibly be going on.  Why did he have a gun?  What the fuck was he doing?  Dear God….did he shoot himself on purpose?  I remember screaming hysterically at the front door for someone to let us the fuck out.  And running to where I thought another door might be.  It is a maze, this place, and I couldn’t find the right way.  I saw a housekeeper, pushing a cart.  Don’t even know if she spoke English.  But she saw my terror.  She spoke my language in that moment. We ran out the side door, to my car.  I called my step daughter when I got in, because it was she who had called me the first two times.  I knew she had been home, with the two little ones.  She could only say the same thing, through a voice shaking so badly she was barely audible.  He was shot in the stomach.  Is he alive?!  IS HE ALIVE?!!  GODDAMNIT IS HE ALIVE?????!!!!!! “I don’t know” came the answer.  I don’t know.  Dear God.  He cannot die.  At the time, I was trusting that he was shot in the stomach.  But that wasn’t true.  He was shot in the chest.  It only looked like he was shot in the stomach because of gravity.  The most blood was there.  In my sternest and calmest voice, I said “Listen to me.  If he is shot in the stomach, he can survive this.  He can be ok.  Pray.  And do not stop.  Do not stop praying.  Do you hear me?  Everyone just needs to pray without stopping, right now.”  I am driving 100 miles an hour now, and I have my right hand behind me, because I’m holding hands with the biggest darling. We are praying.  Out loud.  We are begging.  I’m trying to figure out what to say to him.  I tell him whatever happened is really bad, and that daddy might not even be alive.  But I think he is.  And I think it will be ok.  I am driving so fast.  With my left hand.  He was so quiet.  I couldn’t see him.  It’s ok.  Because it’s going to be ok.  He’s going to need a liver transplant, or a spleen.  This is going to suck royally.  I’m picturing us in the hospital.  Him saying he is so sorry.  Me saying it’s ok, it’s all going to be ok now.  I just know it.  Because this is my family.  This is my husband.  This is my goddamn fucking children’s FATHER and he is NOT GOING TO DIE.  He can’t.  Only he did.  And I knew it right away.  I knew it the moment my car turned onto my street.  Because the first thing I saw was an ambulance.  It was still there.  It hadn’t left.  Maybe there had been two.  And the one he was in had left.  But when we jumped out of the car, it wasn’t good.  My sister’s eyes, I saw them first.  I knew.  The first thing I said was, “The ambulance is still here, he’s dead.”  Silence.  There was yellow tape around my yard.  I lifted it up and tried to run to the garage.  The police.  They stopped me.  “You can’t go back there.  Who are you?” from judgmental eyes and a terse voice.  “I’m his wife.  I live here.  Is he dead?”  Silence.  “What the fuck happened?” I scream.  Silence.  Eyes piercing into mine, trying to read me.  I know what the fuck he’s doing.  He thinks I did it.  But I know I didn’t and he must know too, because I wasn’t even fucking here.  My sister takes the oldest darling to her house.  I am left standing there.  And my whole world is ripped out from under me.  The feeling is a physical one.  It feels like I’m not standing, or breathing.  Everything is bright.  I can’t breathe.  I’m aware of the blood pulsing through my veins, because it hurts.  I can feel my heart beating. I can hear it.  How fast can it go before you die? My head is spinning.  The ground is moving, closer.  And then I hear myself screaming.  And I’m falling down.  Then I’m standing in the gutter in front of my home.  And my husband is dead.  My children do not have a father.  I stand there a while.  I don’t know how long.  I feel so sick.  I might throw up.  I’m coughing.  I’m hyperventilating.  I scream the word “NO!” repeatedly.  As loud as I can.  To make it be undone.  I know we won’t survive.  It’s too much.  It’s too bad.  I know he did it.  To himself.  I know he killed himself.  Because we’ve been fighting.  I’ve been threatening.  Threatening to leave.  Threatening him that he’s not right.  Threatening that things have to change or I will leave.  I suddenly realize my kids need me.  I run down the street, on knees so wobbly I don’t think I’ll make it.  I grab them.  Everyone is crying.  There is nothing I can say.  Nothing.  He is dead.  It’s over.  Our lives are ruined.  I can’t console them.  I have to ask them.  I have to ask them what they saw.  I have to know.  So I ask.  And they tell me.  They saw him walk into the garage.  Then they heard a noise.  Went into the garage.  Saw him laying there.  Covered in blood.  He moaned.  He shook.  He died.  With his eyes open.  They saw him die.  It’s not real.  It can’t be real.  My babies’ lives are ruined.  I know this.  There is no recovery from this.  My middle darling is 4.  The baby is 2.  My step daughter is 16.  The baby doesn’t cry.  He is in shock.  He doesn’t move.  He doesn’t speak.  He is limp.  For hours.  He is just still, like in a coma. The police question me until I curse them all out.  They ask me to identify the body and I refuse.  One by one, family members and friends arrive.  There are a hundred people standing in the street, every neighbor is out, no one knows what to do.  People start calling.  I don’t know what to do.  Don’t know what to say. After a while, they bring me his wedding ring.  I put it to my lips.  I smell it.  I will never touch him again.  There is talk, about what to do.  Who will clean the blood.  Where we will go.  People start coming with food.  I try not to vomit. My stomach is retching.  I keep almost throwing up.  It feels like I’ve run 10 miles.  I just can’t catch my breath and I’m increasingly aware of the fact that we all need to hurry up and die too, immediately.

I don’t know if I can go back to this eye doctor tomorrow.  I should have changed it to another location.  I know this is ridiculous, because I go into the garage several times per week.  I know I’m being irrational.  Because several times I have used the very scrub brush that I think someone cleaned the garage floor with.  I used it this weekend to scrub my patio floor.  It’s stupid, because I should throw it away.  And change the appointment.  And run away.  And move.  And change my name.  Where does it end, when there is no escape from reality?

8 comments:

  1. Found your blog today, 5/1/12, I've read from the first entry to here so far, and I'm not asleep yet. I've been able to handle all of it, til this one. Oh God, I cannot even imagine. You are one he'll of a woman and mother. I'm going outside at 1:23 a.m. To have a smoke (which I only do once or twice a day anyway) and say a prayer for you and your boys before I finish up. I have tears running down my face.
    Praying for your family.

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  2. This brings back a lot of the same emotions & feelings that I felt when we found out my Dad didn't survive his sudden brain aneurysm. This is what my family went through 4 times in 7 years w/ 4 close family deaths occurring one after the other... all before my 1st day of High School... Barely 14 years old & oh so much death. Death everywhere.

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  3. I feel for you. We have a very similar story. My husband died suddenly at age 41 on January 9 of this year, from what, we still don't know. I have a stepson 18, son 7, daughter 4 and another daughter 21 months (16 months when he died). It just feels like your life is over. You are not just grieving for yourself but also for your children.

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  4. This is an exceptionally courageous entry. I can't even imagine what it takes to relive that day "out loud". I think it takes a strength so impressive and inspiring that I am in awe of you.

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  5. I know I responded on another post...but THIS. Wow. I have anxiety, bad. Likely due to PTSD...reading this post I felt you. I felt he fear, the anxiety, the irrational but inescapable thoughts. Everything in life is relative,my pains seems nothing compared o yours but its mine and I know that. I also hear people tell me I am super woman and that I impress them all the time and most of the time I think they are blind. I suppose the bottom line is that we DO plug away at life even when we think we can't. That we can look at our children and KNOW they are worth it even when it seems like life is just to effing hard. Kudos to you mama. Your story is amazing and even when you don't feel amazing, know that you are. Just because you are still there, doing, breathing, getting up and loving those kids. You don't need to be perfect. You just need to BE. xoxoxo

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  6. I can not believe you went through this. Holy shit. I've been reading your blog for a couple days now and I am just shocked. People keep saying you are super woman because you FUCKING ARE SUPERWOMAN!!! Every single day that you keep living your life, and taking care of your kids you are superwoman. You're a freaking inspiration honey. I don't even know you and I am so proud of you...just for living another day after this happened to you. God bless you sweetie.

    Stephanie
    http://crazylovingme.blogspot.com/

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  7. I happened upon your blog today - 8-2-2012 and started at the beginning...reading up to here as well. Your courage and gut-wrenching honesty about the conflicted feelings of losing your husband to suicide have touched me deeply. Other posts have also been some of the funniest comedic writing I've ever read. I'm a mom to 2 girls and a wife to a beautiful man who struggles with addiction. (He's sober today) I applaud you for your raw, openess. And yes, your story is touching people! I am deeply touched. Please don't stop blogging! You are truly a Super Woman! And your boys are very blessed to have you for their Mom. Praying for you all.

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  8. I pray for you, and that someone may reead your story and it could help them. I hate calling it your story, bc that makes it sound fake. I guess we are reading your life. I also have to say it is probably best your oldest darling was with you, and did not see what happened. The younger two will likely forget the image they viewed bc of the age when it happened. The older would surely have remembered forever. I guess there is some tiny small thing to be glad for.

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