The Answer

I have had a rough week. There was nothing particular I could point to, or anything I could explain. I just had a little black rain cloud descend upon my mind, causing me fear and doubt -- that I just could not shake from me. There were moments when pulling the covers over my head, and crying, seemed the only reasonable thing to do.

I spent many sleepless nights, speaking with God, pleading for relief.

Without my permission, my mind has been regurgitating images, and dreadful feelings, from the day that Charles struggled for his life. Sometimes those moments stay back deep in the caverns of my brain, and sometimes they are pulled to the forefront, to torment, and haunt me. I was there when Charles went from being totally normal, to dying -- all within a matter of horrifying minutes. Sometimes those moments come back and play repeatedly on the movie reel in my mind. When the images come, it causes a pain that can't be spoken. Seeing your true-love suffer, is perhaps one of the most painful forms of torture, ever.

One of the things that has come to my mind -- that has bothered me lately -- was a gap in time on that day, when I was not with Charles. He was put onto a gurney, and hauled into the ambulance -- and I could not go with him. Sometime between when I saw him at home screaming that he could not breathe, and when I saw him moments later in the ER -- he had flatlined, and I was not there. I did not see his final moments of consciousness. I did not get to offer my farewell while he was still awake, and aware. I did not get to look into his eyes, for one last time, and profess my undying love for him.

When I arrived at the ER, he was basically already dead. He did not have a heartbeat at that moment. They were thrashing on his chest, performing CPR, as he flopped lifeless on the table. They managed to retrieve his heartbeat a few times throughout the day -- offering a hint of hope -- but he was mentally gone, he was in a coma. The clot of doom had done its permanent damage. He never came out of that state of body, he never woke-up to offer me a glimpse of his beautiful, soft, brown eyes. The last I saw of him alive was in the agonizing moments of screaming and sweating at home. And though his body and spirit were trying to fight for his life in the Emergency Room, and the Cardiac Unit, for some reason, he could not pull through. He was finished. His time was up. 

Recently, I was reading over a blog of a lady who has an amazing story of hope and healing from a tragic plane accident. I noticed part of her story involved her "flatlining" at least three times, and yet, she still lived -- her brain is fine. Even through all of the horrific things she had going on with her body -- including being burned over 80% of her body -- she pulled through and survived. She is a miracle. She is amazing. See her blog: HERE. I love her without knowing her personally. She is my hero.

But for some reason, while I was reading about her miraculous story that she has been recounting lately, it made my heart flutter, and my mind wonder. Charles' heart had stopped a few times, and after the third time I was told he was brain-damaged, and I was encouraged to let him go by the doctor. (Take out the machines, so he would not continue suffering.) As I was reading over her story of being in a coma, and pulling-through against all physical odds -- including her losing her heartbeat multiple times -- I was tempted to think that maybe I was a little rushed in my decision to let Charles go so quickly.

What if I did not give him a chance to be a miracle?

What if…

With these kinds of questions swirling around in my brain and heart, I have felt tormented. I knew the moment I was advised to take him off the machines that I would, one day, regret doing it -- even if it was the right thing to do for him. At the traumatic time, it seemed the only option, everyone was telling me it was right to relieve him from his suffering. I did not want him to suffer, but I did not want to take away the chance for a miracle either.

Maybe the miracle was that I was willing to let him go.

My only consolation was that as soon as he was taken off the machines, he took his last 3 breaths within mere seconds -- showing me that he was, indeed, being kept alive only by breathing machines, and not his own strength. He was gone. He fought the good fight, but he was through. Charles and I had discussed what we would want to do in a situation where we were being kept alive by machines, and we both agreed we would want to "pull the plug." When the doctors said the term "brain-dead," I knew that even had he somehow lived through it, he would never be Charles again. Charles had expressed to me specific desires regarding what to do in that situation. He would want to be whole with Jesus -- not a shadow version of himself, lying on a hospital bed.

For him -- and I know this from his journals -- being with Jesus is the miracle he would want.

But that does not make it any easier on my heart. For me, I felt the harder thing was to allow him to go -- to be free from this world. I was willing to stay at the hospital forever until he came back to me -- even just for a moment. But there was a turning point, when I looked into his eyes, and they were lifeless, swollen, and rolling back in his head. I knew he was not coming back to me. I knew he was gone from me. And at that point I whispered for him to, "Go to Jesus." It was just moments after that when his heart flatlined, and his brain had taken its final blow with the loss of oxygen. I had the choice to prolong his death and suffering, or let him be free with Jesus. It was not an easy choice to make -- even though Charles had made the choice clear for me. I always imagined the scenario would be when he was old -- not a vibrant 37 year old father of young children.

I never thought I would actually have to make the choice of when Charles would die. Why was that left in my hands? Should I have left it to God to determine the exact timing of his final breath? Or was God being kind to me by allowing me to be there in that moment, preserving him for a time, with the machines? (He would have died much sooner without them.) I could have missed all of it under different timing and circumstances, and that would have been immensely worse. He was just seconds away from driving away in the car that morning… who knows what could have happened? 

As it was, I was there, and as far as death goes, I even had the chance to prepare for a few moments before they took out the machines. I was there when he took that most precious final breath.

That was a miracle… I know it.

His very last breath. I will never forget that sound. It was the last time I heard his voice exit from his body. It was the last time his body and spirit were connected, until Jesus comes again.

As you can see… I have had a lot on my mind lately.

With the process of grieving comes unexpected moments of painful, raw, nitty-gritty emotions, images, and feelings. I don't want to feel them, I just do. I don't want to replay the images, they just come. I don't want to ask, "what if?" it just enters my mind. It is because I love Charles so much, that I grieve over the loss of him, and question the whole thing. It is because I love him that the suffering he experienced in his final moments breaks my heart into a million wounded pieces. I know I will see him again, and that offers me great hope for the next life, but the pain of loss during mortality is deeply felt in my heart now. The song, "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables," from Les Mis declares: There's a grief that can't be spoken. There's a pain goes on and on. Empty chairs at empty tables. Now my friend is dead and gone. That sums it up about right… a grief that can't be spoken. I try to explain it in writing, but there are never words for the pain.

Oh, the pain! 

My tormented soul that I have been experiencing, has longed for relief. I have needed help. I have needed Heaven's help! The darkness of my mind was overcoming me, and so I knew I needed to go to the Temple -- The House of the Lord -- to look for answers and find peace.

It had been too long since my last visit. The power I received from my last visit had all but worn off… I needed a serious recharge of power from Heaven.

I went to the temple today, and it was very Heavenly. I had a beautiful friend offer her services of watching my children, and I had a beautiful friend meet me at the temple. I am blessed with lovely people in my life.

The answer I received at the temple was surprising to me.

Being there was wonderful, peaceful, and empowering. Everything was put into its proper perspective. I was reminded of my Heavenly Father's great plan, and His tremendous love for me. I could feel power being infused into my soul. My mind was being cleansed from my tormenting thoughts -- like having dirt removed from a soiled cloth. I was able to perform service for Charles' ancestors. I was able to find peace. I was able to see life with a new clarity. I was able to find relief. On earth, I was as close as I could get to Heaven. The temple is all about the Savior -- it is His House -- it is where I can go to draw myself closer to Him. And I long to be close to Jesus.

If you knew you could access the Powers of Heaven by going to a specific place, would you not go there often?

As I sat for a moment in the beauty of the Lord's House, praying for specific answers to my aching soul, and my plagued mind, my answers came...

The temple is the answer.

It is the answer for all of us -- we all have pain, we all suffer.

Go to the temple.