The Story of Charles' Death: PART 5

 For parts 1-4 go: HERE 

The children bounced happily towards the front door, completely unaware that their lives were about to change forever. I had about 10 minutes at home alone, after my neighbor dropped me off from the hospital, to prepare myself for the moment of the children's arrival. My mind was racing, and my heart was beating out of my chest. I was pacing the floor, talking out loud to God. This moment was never supposed to happen. There was no way to ever prepare for it.

You just have to go through it. Life. One moment at a time. No matter what.

I did not have tears in my eyes as Sammi, Daniel, William, and Henry walked in the front door -- I was still in total shock and disbelief. It had been less than an hour since I saw Charles take his last breath at the hospital, but I did not want to greet the children with tears, I had to be strong for them. I held the door open for each child, and I thanked Charles' closest friend, Tyson, for dropping them off -- he was at the hospital in those last moments, too. His wife, Rachelle, had been watching my children the whole day. Somehow, they both kept it together long enough to not alert the kids that anything was wrong.

As the kids made it in the house, I asked them to sit down on the couch, as I remained standing in the middle of the living room floor. I then quietly spoke, "You guys, I have something to tell you." I had no idea what words would come out of my mouth, as I continued, "You know how daddy would sometimes struggle with his breathing, and he would complain about feeling pain?" They all nodded their heads. "Well, we took him to the hospital today, and, and… " I broke down into the most painful sobbing I have ever experienced in my life, and just blurted out the only thing I could say, "Daddy is gone… he… he…  died." 

And then the weeping and wailing began. 

Each child reacted in their own way. But the sound I will never forget is the excruciating pain that flew from Daniel's 10 year old boy mouth. It was a noise that only he could make, with his ability to produce sounds so loud, that send shivers down my spine. He screamed with terror, "No, no, NO!" and he flew from the couch, and into my shaking arms.

Then, for a quick moment, he looked up at me with great hope in his eyes and said, "Mom, is this an April Fool's joke?" 

My heart sunk even further towards the floor.

I responded with more sobbing, and said, "No, no, it is not." 

William, who was 6 at the time, began crying and walking on top of the couch, back and forth, pacing -- trying to figure out what was going on. His cries were fierce, yet nothing like the horror Daniel was displaying. In the middle of the crying he asked me, "Will you have to get married again?" I was shocked at his question, and the timing of it. My response was simply, "No." 

Henry, our 2 year old, was confused, but started to fake cry, too,  since we were all crying.

It broke my heart.

And then there was Sammi, who was 12 at the time. She sat there on the edge of the couch, without shedding a tear. She looked at me with pain in her eyes, obviously trying to be brave, and also trying to make sense of the moment which seemed out-of-body, and completely ridiculous in every way.

The thing is, it was a day, just like every other day… but on this day, daddy died. 

What did that even mean for us? We all wondered.

I continued standing, and sobbing, and I gathered all the children together and hugged them, and said, "We are going to be OK. We are going to make it."

Except in that moment, I had no idea how.

About 5 minutes later, my parents (who had conveniently been visiting Utah at the time, and not in Alaska, where they normally live), showed up at the front door -- just in time! They had driven from Utah to Idaho the moment I called them earlier that morning, when Charles was still on machines, with a pulse.

When they walked in the door, everything suddenly became very real. For me, and for the children. We all rushed to them to be embraced in their comfort. We all cried tears of utter sorrow and pain. The looks on my parents faces added another level of suffering -- I had never, ever, seen them cry like that before -- especially my dad, who was sobbing like a 73 year old baby.

After embracing, we all sat down, talked, cried, and I curled-up in a ball, in my blanket, on the couch.

As I sat there having conversations about what had just happened at the hospital, it did not feel real. None of it did. I was dreaming, surely. This most awful event could not have really happened. Not to me. Not to us. 

From that moment into the evening was a blur. I think we ate? I know we said our prayers and read scriptures, and we spoke words of comfort to the children, before they went off to an early sleep. Before sleeping they were each cuddled next to an adult, just trying to understand what was going on. They all, somehow, were able to be at peace enough to sleep comfortably, and through the night. They all were in the same room (Sammi was in the walk-in closet in their room), and so they were all together. I think that really helped -- they were never alone.

We did remind the children where daddy was, in a state of paradise, with Jesus. And that he was free from pain and sorrow. And that he would always be with us, because we were married for time and eternity in the temple, and we are a forever family. Charles was certainly not afraid of death. I knew that. The kids knew that. He had a relationship with his Heavenly Father that was amazing. His journals are replete with his love for Him, and his testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. It was not Charles' comfort and peace we were worried about, it was us losing him, and carrying on without him, that was causing us severe pain and anguish.

I stayed up with my parents and we talked. I remember feeling sick to my stomach. There was an emptiness -- a hole in my guts -- that felt like it would never be filled. At this point, I honestly don't remember much about that evening, it is gone from my memory now -- but I do remember that night.

Oh, that night.

I was very weary, and overwhelmed, and ready to try and sleep. I was hoping it was all just a nightmare, and by sleeping I would wake-up from it, and everything would be right again. I went into my room, and curled-up in the fetal position on Charles' side of the bed. I turned off most of the lights, except a small lamp. I needed light on.

I then began talking to God, and Charles.

As I spoke, all of the aching of the day began seeping-out wildly.

As I prayed with all my heart, the words, "Why, oh, why?" came out violently, and uncontrolled. Feelings I had never felt before were consuming me. A fire burned inside me, and my whole body and soul was filled with a grief that completely overcame me. Everything that I had been holding back throughout the day at the hospital -- while watching Charles die -- had burst to the surface, and my body was overpowered with great fear, sorrow, and sadness beyond any worldly feeling I have ever experienced.

Charles was dead. I saw him die. I could not save him.

I was thrashing about, and screaming in agony -- so very unlike me. But there was no helping the theatrics.

My mother, who was sleeping on the couch, came quickly to my side. She put her arms around me and held me as I shook, and cried, and pleaded for help.

In that moment, I felt like I had died, too. I felt like my beautiful life had been taken from me. My beautiful boy had been taken home to the God who gave him life, and I could not see a reason for me to want to continue on without him. Not then. Not in the darkness of the first horrific night. There is no way I can describe the pain in a way that would allow understanding. Unless you have experienced the pain of death, of losing a loved one -- especially your beloved spouse -- there is nothing to compare.

My mother had to keep me breathing, as I could barely catch my breath in my state of uncontrolled sobbing.

We sat on my bed, and cried together.

Oh, how I needed my mom in that moment! Oh, how grateful I am she was there! No one else would do. Only the glorious woman who has dried my tears from the day I was born would suffice. Having her hold me as I suffered, was like having Jesus hold me. No other arms can comfort like hers.

As I calmed down a bit, I tried to sleep again. I was so tired, so very, very, tired.

My mother went back to the couch, but only for a moment when "round two" of weeping and wailing began. She then crawled into bed with me, and tried to sleep next to me. But I was restless, beyond comforting and sleep.

I was completely grief-stricken. My Charles, my love, my life, my everything… gone. Just like that. I could see no way forward at that point. My happiness had been stolen from me. My joy. My light. My reason for living. I woke-up that morning with a beautiful husband I adored, and I went to bed that night without him. Why? How was I suppose to carry on? It did not feel like I could carry on.

My mother continued to hold me throughout the night, as I howled in torment. I could not help but think of the Savior in that moment of desperation, as I was longing for relief from my suffering. The pain was too much to bear. I have given birth 4 times -- a few times without an epidural -- but the pain of death was far more excruciating, especially to my soul. The burning, the flames, the torment.

Would this bitter cup not be taken from me?

My mother stayed by my side, and then we both decided to just go out in the living room for awhile. While my mother made me some toast, my father took over the job of holding me. I was like a crying baby, who always needed to be held.

I will never forget the feeling of being held in my father's arms, while we both sobbed together. My father is a tall man, and so my head rested perfectly on his chest, with his powerful arms wrapped around me. It was a contrast to being held by Charles, who was exactly my same height. Being held by my strong, unwavering father, in my hour of sorrow, was like being held by my Heavenly Father. It was different than being held by my mother, but no less comforting to me. My dad's life motto is, "It will all workout." He takes life as it comes, and is steady as he goes -- always. But in that moment of despair, he did not say it will be OK, or promise a better tomorrow. He just cried with me, and caressed my hair. He held me in a way he had never held me before. I was keenly aware, in that moment, that I was his little girl. And he would take this cup from me, if he could.

I cannot begin to explain the comfort it was to have my parents -- both of them -- there with me, in my time of greatest need. All was wrong with the world, but having them with me, gave me hope that things might be made right… someday. My parents carry with them a comfort beyond explanation.

That night there would be no sleep for me. No rest for my weary soul and body.

There were some other unpleasant events of the night, which included a phone call at 5am from the hospital, over some urgent organ donation business. The call was so infuriating, in the midst of my suffering. It just added to the nightmare feeling.

Anytime I would try and sleep, the pain was just too great. It was as if my spirit and body were at war. My body needed sleep, but my spirit would not tolerate it. My spirit was on fire, and my body was reacting to the scorching flames, with sobbing and shaking. I was literally walking through the Refiner's Fire. And let me tell you, it hurt! 

Death hurts.

All the images I saw, and decisions I had to make, and emotions I had to endure, would have no relief that night by sleeping.

After thrashing about all night in the darkness, the sun began to rise, and a new day began.

April 2. 

The day after Charles' death.

And I was still alive.

It was not a dream.

P.S. The picture above was taken back in the Fall of 2013, when Charles first started having lung/breathing issues. When we went to take these pictures he was exhausted, and in pain. We just did not know why. Now we know he had clotting beginning in his lungs -- and other places in his body -- that led to having a pulmonary embolism.