The Story of Charles' Death: PART 3

The Chaplain said, "That's us." The Code Blue was for Charles. So, we quickly went to the elevator with our food trays, and returned to the waiting room in the Cardiac Unit. We could see from the waiting room that Charles was surrounded by medical staff, once again trying to get his heartbeat to return. There was a flurry of activity, and I did not go near it -- I just watched from a distance. 

At this point things get a little fuzzy in my brain… I believe that the trauma from the experience has made some of the details unclear. I am having a hard time putting things in proper order in my mind of how they occurred. I was in shock at this point -- going through the motions.

I thought that since they retrieved his heartbeat, and moved him from the ER to the Cardiac Unit, that there was a chance he would be OK -- that they might be able to fix him. I recall asking what I would need to do as far as staying the night, or setting up for a long-term stay at the hospital. But when his heart stopped for the second time, the reality of what was really going on became more evident to me. 

I had a doctor tell me what they thought was happening, after he was brought up from the ER. They said it was likely a blood clot in his lung, that had caused his heart to stop. They were doing their best to treat him, but he was not responding well. 

After the second time his heart had stopped, the doctor came in again and told me that now he was in danger, and in very critical condition. The doctor did not seem very hopeful, and he said if his heart stopped again, then we would need to make some hard choices. 

They got his heartbeat back again. 

After this second heart-stopping episode, I went in and sat with Charles alone for awhile. He was lying on a hospital bed, and the first thing I noticed was how swollen he looked. His face was puffy, and his stomach was distended. His skin color had a yellowish hue to it -- not his normal beautiful tan skin. His eyes were open, but continuously rolling back in his head. He had tubes in his mouth, filled with blood, and monitors all over his body. His body was twitching, and jerking around, due to the machines. He was essentially in a coma. 

At this point I felt he was gone from me. I felt like even if he were able to be revived, he would never be the same. The way his eyes looked were frightening to me -- I just wanted him to look at me, with his expression of love and admiration -- but his eyes just kept rolling around uncontrollably. He was simply, no longer there. His spirit was there still, barely -- forced to remain by the machines that kept him breathing -- but his body was gone and broken. 

It felt like a movie. I said things that felt so unnatural, because you just don't know what to say, or do. There was only a curtain separating me from everyone in the area, so screaming was not really an option. I ran my hand up and down his arm and leg, and I caressed his face -- which felt cold and clammy. I remember thinking how strange it was that this same body that was lying on the bed near death, was just on a walk with me the night before. The thought crossed my mind that all the exercise -- and everything he did with his body to preserve it -- no longer mattered, his body was rendered useless. Life seemed very fleeting to me, in that moment. Fleeting, and fragile. 

We are all one breath away from death. 

I sat there and I expressed my love for him, and I let my tears fall on his bed. I felt awkward just being there. It was so surreal and out-of-body, I could hardly stand it. In the middle of all of my mixed, and painful, emotions -- I put my hand on his head, and said to him, "Charles, go be with Jesus." 

I could not believe what I was saying, but I knew that is what he wanted. He had been talking about death for a long time, because of the extreme pain he was in daily. (I never knew how bad it really was!) I have read about his desire to be free from his pain in his journals. He wrote if it were not for me, and the kids, he would long for death. He had been praying to be set free… 

Heavenly Father heard his prayers. 

And -- despite my feelings -- I gave him my permission to go. 

After awhile my Bishop and his wife showed up, and we talked for a bit. I was never alone, I was always surrounded by people. My neighbor, Julie, remained with me the whole day. And Tyson (Charles' best friend), was there, too. I do not recall now all of the conversations that occured, but I do recall the way I felt. I was terrified, and I felt like I was in a distorted nightmare. It still feels like a bad dream, as I recall the events now. I remember I repeatedly said that it felt like a dream, while at the hospital. 

At one point the Bishop asked me if I would like to pray, and I said yes. But when I got on my knees all I could do was sob -- there were no words. I just howled like a hurt puppy. My heart was being ripped out of my body… it was dying along with Charles. I do recall saying out loud that I did not want to be a single mother. And how was I going to tell my children!?  

At some point during the day, I talked to my mother and told her what was happening. As soon as I said Charles was in the hospital, she and my dad jumped in the car, and headed towards me. They normally live in Alaska, but they just happened to be in Utah, so they were a 5 hour drive away. 

I also talked briefly to my sister on the phone. I went out in the hallway, and I was pacing while I spoke to her. I do not recall our full conversation, but I do remember that I told her about allowing Charles to go be with Jesus. 

There were other activities going on, which I am struggling to recall at the moment. I returned to the waiting room, and we waited… for I don't know how long, an hour, or two? There was nervous chatter going on between the people in the waiting room -- I would nod and acknowledge words were being said, but my mind was far from that room -- it was with Charles, and my kids. People kept trying to get me to eat and drink water, but it was a great effort to do so. 

And then Charles' alarm went off again. And my heart sank to the floor. 

The doctor came in and let me know that at this point, Charles was brain-dead. 

Even if they were to keep him alive with machines, he would not be alive. 

The doctor asked me if Charles had made his wishes known to me, about preserving his life by way of machines -- since machines were the only thing keeping him alive at this point.  I said, "yes." I knew what he wanted, and what he did not want -- he had made that very clear to me.  

Charles was no longer Charles -- his brain was gone. 

For some reason, we had discussed this deathbed scenario. He told me to, "pull the plug," if something like this ever happened to him. He did not want to be a shell of himself, or someone other than himself -- ever. 

When it came down to it, it was my choice. Charles was not waking-up, and expressing his opinion on the subject. So I had to trust that he meant what he had said. I had many opinions shared, and discussions with those around me, and we were all in agreement. 

Despite myself, I chose to let him be free, and go to Jesus. 

They gave me some time, and said we could do it whenever I was ready. I thought it very strange that I could pick the moment of my own husband's death -- at my convenience. His life had been placed in my hands... and I was letting him go? I also had to determine whether or not to wait, and allow the children to see him. (They were at a friend's house, with no idea anything was going on.)  I knew in an instant that having them see their father like that was NOT a good idea. I would much rather let them remember him alive, and happy -- giving them hugs and kisses -- not with tubes and twitching. The images still haunt me -- they did not need that. 

I took a trip to the bathroom, and I looked at myself in the mirror. 

"This cannot be happening!" I told my reflection. 

I felt so physical. Everything felt heavy. I was aware of every inch of my body. I was trudging through these nightmarish, life-changing, moments -- but I was somehow still me. 

I was still alive. 

My body was to continue living, and I would continue breathing -- while the body of my sweetheart, and father to my children, was soon to perish. 

How was I supposed to live without him? 

I said a prayer in the bathroom -- the only place I could be alone. 

After a long moment, I was ready to return. I went to Charles' room and let them know I was as ready as I could be. I was allowed to get my jacket, and make myself comfortable. They told me that they would give him some Morphine, and then remove the machines. They let me know it could take hours, or moments. 

I went into the room with Charles, alone. 

I held his hand, and expressed my love. I was hoping he would open his eyes and look at me for just a moment, but he did not. After taking out the machines, and tubes, he looked more normal -- he looked more like my beautiful Charles. His eyes were closed, and he looked much more at peace than he did with all the tubing and twitching from the machines. 

The Spirit in the room was very strong, much like when a baby is born. 

It was just a matter of seconds after removing the machines -- proving the machines were the only thing keeping him alive -- when Charles inhaled deeply, and let out a breath. In that breath, I could hear his voice on the exhale. It was simply an, "Ahhhh..." sound, but it was the sounds of his voice. That sound made my heart burn. 

And then moments later… another breath. 

And finally, one more breath… and he was gone. 

His lips turned white, and his mouth hung open. His body went cold, and still. 

His body and spirit were no longer one. 

In that very moment -- when his breath left his body -- I heard his voice, as if he were right next to me. 

He said to me:

"I am more powerful than I have ever been…"