I have spent the last month realizing that the movies are wrong. The husband dies, and the wife spends a month or a year grieving. She suffers. She falls into a depression. Her husband is placed on a pedestal and everyone gushes about how perfect he was.
The movie widow doesn't worry about life insurance, file for Social Security, re-fi her house, or spend as much time with her lawyer as her kids. All of which I've had to do.
On the morning of Sunday, July 5th, my DH played basketball with his friends, just like every Sunday morning. He came home at 11am complaining that he felt hot. He tried to take a cold shower to cool off, but it didn't help. Next came the vomiting. When he was done, he laid down on the bedroom floor, saying that his arms and back were hurting. I drove him (breaking some speed limits) to the hospital. He was pretty much gone by the time we arrived 10 minutes later. The doctors and nurses worked on him for 45 minutes, but never got a heartbeat.
My thoughts at the time:
- They have to fix him...we're leaving for a trip in 6 days!
- 45 minutes?! I teach psychology, and I know that brain death is assured after 8 minutes. Do I want to be married to someone in a persistent vegetative state? Do I want my kids to have to see him like that?
- I've never been alone! He can't leave me like this!
- This can't be happening.
But it did.
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