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. 

The Story of Charles' Death: PART 4

Charles' spirit left his body, and I became a widow. I sat in the cold, hard, hospital chair, next to his lifeless body. I was alone. It was just me, and Charles' mortal husk. I sat there quietly in shock. I was not sure what to do. I had just seen my husband take his last 3 breaths, and pass from this world into the next. It felt like I was dreaming -- there was nothing real about it -- it still feels like a dream. That same morning he was talking to me, aware, awake, and alive. And by that afternoon his body was cold, limp, and empty of his spirit.

Dead. Charles was dead.

There is no way to describe the way it feels to lose your reason for living. My world revolved around this man whose empty body lay on the hospital bed. This was not the way things were supposed to be! This was not the way our story was supposed to go. We were supposed to grow old together, raise our children together… be grandparents together. We were both supposed to live! 

Everything was going horribly wrong. 

I held his hand, touched his face, and I spoke to him.

I knew his spirit was not in his body, but I also knew he could see and hear me, still.

What I said was too personal. But, I love Charles. I cannot express how much. There are no words powerful enough -- he knows how much I love him.

He looked more at peace after taking his last breath. His body was not twitching, or convulsing, from the machines that were breathing for him. His eyes were closed. He looked like he was merely sleeping. But his skin was cold to the touch, his hand did not respond when I held it -- that feeling still haunts my mind. Charles was always warm, naturally tan, and his hands were always ready to hold mine. He had strong hands -- workingman hands. His hands were one of my favorite things about him. To feel them cold, see them white, and have them non-responsive was, well, again… there are no words.

After awhile, I decided to let a few others in the room. My Bishop came in, and Charles' best friend, Tyson, came too. (He is also a member of the Bishopric.) We all spoke for a moment, with tears, and shock covering our faces. This was so unexpected for everyone. Tyson quietly whispered that, "Some men are good, but Charles was one of the greats." I readily agreed.

Charles is one of the greats.

The Bishop slipped off Charles' wedding ring, and mentioned it would be too hard to get it off later. He handed it to me, and I placed it on my thumb -- where I wear it even now.

I then had a Priesthood blessing, and I have no idea what was said during it. I just know that the feeling in the room was almost too much for me to bear.

Then it was time to leave the room. It was around 5:00pm. I took a few more moments with Charles, touched his hand, and left him with a kiss. My parting words were simply, "I love you." 

And then I did perhaps the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life… I walked away from him. 

I looked over my shoulder, and I took one last look at his body, as I left the room through a curtain. Closing the curtain behind me felt very symbolic, since there is a curtain -- or veil -- that parts us now.

After closing the curtain, that became the last time I saw him. (We never had a viewing.) 

I cannot express how my heart wanted to die in that moment. Dying, and going to be with Charles, sounded like the best option at the time.

But I also knew I had to keep living. I had 4 children that were waiting for me to be their mother -- their one and only parent. They were at a friend's house (the Harlins), and they were completely unaware that their lives were about to change forever. My heart ached in agony, as I was not sure how I was going to tell them that their hero had just died. (I will blog about that in another post…) 

After leaving Charles lying lifeless, I returned to the waiting room attached to the Cardiac area. I sat in shock, as a member of the hospital staff came in just a few moments later. He asked me a question I will never forget...

He asked me if Charles was an organ donor, and if they could take Charles' organs, and tissues. I said, "Yes." I was then read a list of things that they would like to take from his body, and use to help other people. I had to respond to the items verbally with a yes, or no.

Now, the concept and reality of helping others live through organ and tissue donations is a wonderful one -- I get that. But when you have just walked away from losing the love of your life, and they ask you if they can take his eyes -- his beautiful brown eyes, that were just looking at me that very morning -- it caused me to feel sick to my stomach, and I wanted to scream, "Are we even sure he is really dead, before we start taking him apart?!" But instead of screaming and lashing-out at the medical staff, I signed the life-saving, time-senstive, paperwork.

I was visited by a few more hospital people, of whom I do not recall their purpose. But I do remember the Chaplain. She helped me prepare for my departure from the hospital. It was really that quick. Charles died, and then I was leaving the hospital maybe an hour later. Charles' death occurred all within a regular 8-5 workday.

I briefly spoke to my mother on the phone, who was in the car driving to Idaho from Utah, with my dad. I told her, "Charles is in another world." She thought I meant he was just out of it, or something, but then I said, "No, he is gone." That was all I could say. And I hung up the phone.

I was now in zombie-mode. People were just guiding me here and there, and I was just doing what I was told. My neighbor was still with me, and she was ready to drive me home. We walked through the hospital -- the same hospital I gave birth to Henry in -- and we made it to the exit.

When I stepped outside, it was pouring rain. The rain matched my pain.

The Heavens were crying with me.

And then we drove home. I stared out the car window, and my heart fell like the raindrops.

My husband, my love, my Charles, was dead. 

My neighbor dropped me off at my empty house. I opened the door, and I began pacing and praying. I was waiting for my children to come home in just a few moments. Tyson and Rachelle had them at their house -- they had to keep the information from them -- and Tyson had to drive them home, without saying anything to them, and without losing it completely.

At this point, I was not sure if I was strong enough to keep living. The thought of telling my children this horrific news made me want to pass-out. I felt so weak, and scared. I just kept praying for help, and to know what to say to them, and how to comfort them, while needing comfort myself.

As I waited, I walked around my house. The first thing I noticed was that Charles' suit coat, and tie, were still lying on the floor -- right where he had pulled them off earlier that day, as he was struggling to breathe. I gently picked them up, held them, and cried. It seemed so symbolic, somehow, that in his final moments, he ripped off his monkey-suit, to try and be free. In his last moments he was ripping off his suit and saying, "I can't breathe!" Charles wore a suit to work everyday, as an Attorney, but he loathed it. Watching him violently ripping off his suit, was like watching the final battle between him and the things of this world.

I then went to our room, where I noticed that Charles' smoothie cup was still sitting on the nightstand, from earlier that morning. I thought about saving it forever, but instead I took it to the sink, and washed it out. Everything that was once normal in my house -- family pictures, Charles' clothing, the house itself -- all became objects that stirred great emotion in my heart.

How was I going to go on without Charles? 

As I stood in my home, waiting for the kids, I knew my life was never going to be the same -- ever, again. I knew I was about to do the second hardest thing I had ever done in my life -- I had to tell my children that their father had died.

And then, I looked out the front window, and I saw all 4 of my children happily bouncing towards the front door.

"Hi, Mom!" they all said, with joy.

I forced a smile, I gathered them all in the house, and then I closed the door behind them, and braced myself for what was to come.

"You guys, I have to tell you something…" 

Wow, just wow, Charles.

As I was typing my last blog post, Sammi came in my room and said, "Look what I found, Mom!"

This is a picture that Charles drew during one of our Family Home Evening lessons we had on the Spirit World -- a lesson we had months before Charles passed away. We would often have a lesson, and then have everyone draw their interpretation of the lesson with a picture… Charles would often draw something silly. But this silly picture took my breath away… just look at it!

Charles is Home. Charles is going WaHoo!

And that makes me happy. Incredibly happy, actually.

Thanks for the smiles and humor, Charles -- it means everything to us!

P.S. Notice he is buried in the mountains…

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…" 

The Story of Charles' Death: PART 2

Please be aware this post is also not for children… 

The fireman shut the door to my house, and I was left alone. I was alone, except for Henry, who was in his crib while all of the chaos was happening in the living room.

The ambulance carrying Charles went flying towards the hospital, and I began frantically running around my house, trying to figure out what to do next. I just could not believe any of this was happening… I was supposed to go to the hospital for Henry that day, not Charles!  I went into my room to change from my sweaty workout clothes, and put on jeans and a T-shirt. I knew I had to get myself to the Emergency room to be with Charles, but I still had baby Henry to take with me. I did not want to waste anytime figuring out what to do with him… I just wanted to go.

With tears running down my face, I talked directly to my Heavenly Father...

"Help me!" I prayed out loud. "I don't know what to do!" 

At that very moment, the doorbell rang. I ran to it, and found my neighbor, Julie, at my front door. Julie is a faithful, and devote, Jehovah's Witness. She is also an angel, and the answer to my prayer. She asked me if everything was OK, she had seen the commotion out front, and wanted to check on us. I immediately hugged her, and said it was Charles, and that I needed to go to the ER. She told me to put Henry's carseat in her car, and she would drive me there… it was a HUGE relief, because I could barely see, or think, straight.

We moved as quickly as we could to get to the hospital. The drive there was nerve-racking for me. I had no idea what was going on… little did I know my life was about to be completely turned upside-down in a matter of moments.

We pulled up to the Emergency room, where Julie dropped me and Henry off, while she parked her car. I scurried into the waiting room, and I told them I was there for Charles. I knew by the look on the faces of those in the waiting area, that something was wrong. I was quickly guided down a hallway where I saw a lot of commotion surrounding the room I was headed towards. We stopped outside the door of the commotion-room, and my heart sank.

This could not be happening.

I stood there in shock, and everything felt like a bad dream -- nothing felt real. I was immediately encircled by a bunch of medical workers. I asked what was going on, and they told me that he did not currently have a heartbeat, but they were working on him.

Charles = no heartbeat. Mari = heart pounding.

From the time I last saw him at home when he yelled, "I can't breathe!" to the time I got to the hospital maybe 30 minutes later, he had lost his heartbeat. (I still, to this day, wish I knew what happened in the ambulance. Did he say anything? Did he cry out for help? At what point was his heartbeat gone? Questions, lots of questions.) 

I asked if I could go in the room to see him, and they let me in. I just had to see him -- no matter what!

I was tightly holding Henry in my arms, as I took slow steps into the room filled with medical equipment, and medical staff. There had to be at least 10, or more, people in the room dressed in their scrubs. They were all surrounding the hospital bed in the middle of the room. They were all acting as if there was a fire to put out, but as I walked in, they all looked at me.

And then I saw him.

Charles was lying on the hospital bed, dressed in a medical gown, with his skin a palish grey color. He was connected to all sorts of machines, his body was limp and swollen, and his beautiful brown eyes were actively rolling back in his head.

He looked… dead. 

I cannot describe how my heart felt in that moment. Just thinking about it now makes my heart weak and fiery.

All of my dreams were slipping away… with him. 

There was a lady fiercely beating on his chest -- trying with all of her might -- to get his heart going again. It looked to me like there was a line of people taking turns with CPR. It was a violent, intense, process. Charles' body would just flop as they beat on his chest.

It felt like a nightmare… there was no way I was seeing what I was seeing. My life, my love, my sweetheart was dying -- right in front of my eyes. And I could do nothing to save him. I wanted to cry out to him to LIVE!!! Just LIVE! But I stayed silent.

I stood in the corner of the room, trying to stay out of the way, while the sweet hospital Chaplain kept asking me if I was OK. I was doing my best to hide Henry from the images in front of us, he did not see daddy, and he really had no idea what was going on, but the Chaplain helped me shield his eyes to protect him.

I stood there and watched as they kept beating at his chest… until I could watch no more.

My heart, and Henry, were getting heavy, and I was feeling weak, and sick.

I went back out into the hallway, where I sat right outside the door of the room Charles was in. I was bombarded by people. I was asked if I would like someone there from my own religion to help me, and I said yes. They made some calls, and a sweet Mormon lady came to my side -- she was like a fierce grandma, who's purpose was to guide and protect me.

My mind and heart were all over the place, but I had to take care of some business, too. I had my new Mormon Chaplain call the courthouse and let them know Charles would not be in court. I also had her call the main office at the very same hospital, to let them know I would be missing my scheduled kidney appointment with Henry that day. I then called my friend, Rachelle, to see if she could come and take Henry, and she sent over her husband, Tyson (Charles' best friend and member of our Bishopric), to be at the hospital.

Henry was sitting on my lap, making a mess of some crackers, and my neighbor Julie had joined me. I asked her if she needed to leave, and she told me no, and that she would be with me as long as I needed her. She is a beautiful example of her Jehovah's Witness faith -- she stayed with me all day.

Meanwhile, in all the commotion, I was hearing reports that they were able to recover Charles' heartbeat. I felt a flicker of hope enter my heart -- but it was a small flicker. I could not imagine Charles coming back whole, after seeing his eyes the way they were.

Tyson showed up at the hospital, and we transferred Henry to Rachelle in the waiting room. I was like a zombie at this point, just doing what I was told, and going where I was told to go. There were also a couple of Mormon missionaries with us, waiting for the right time to give Charles a blessing.

We got Henry situated with Rachelle, and went back to the room Charles was in.

Because they were able to retrieve his heartbeat, they decided to move him up to the Cardiac Unit. He had a heartbeat, but he was never coherent, or awake, he was in a coma-like state. The entourage of people with me watched as they wheeled him out of the Emergency room, and towards his new location upstairs.

We all took the elevator, and went to a waiting area connected to Charles' room. The Cardiac Unit was a large room, with a main central desk area, with little rooms all around it. The rooms had hospital beds and machines, which were only separated by a curtain. I could see other patients in some of the other rooms.  The waiting area we were in was about 20 steps to his room.

After making it upstairs we arranged for Tyson, and the missionaries, to give Charles a Priesthood blessing. We all washed our hands for sanitary purposes, and went into the small room where Charles was resting. He was connected to all sorts of machines, and tubes -- the tube in his mouth had blood in it. As Tyson gave the blessing, I could not hear very well, since the machines were loud and the men were at the head of the bed, and I was at the foot of the bed, with my Mormon Chaplain by my side. I can only imagine how difficult it was for  Tyson, trying to give his best friend a blessing, in such awful circumstances. I am sure what he wanted was for Charles to rise up and live -- but sometimes Heavenly Father has other plans.

After the blessing, the two young missionaries shook my hand and said, "He is going to be OK, I just know it!" I smiled and nodded, but I also knew that Charles being "OK" was all a matter of perspective… Heavenly Father's perspective.

After that experience, we went and sat back in the waiting room for bit, and then Julie and I were encouraged to go and get some food. We went down to the cafeteria, where food looked like garbage to me -- the last thing I wanted to do was eat. After we paid for our food, we were looking for somewhere to sit when we heard an alert over the intercom...

It was a code blue. And it was for Charles.

The Story of Charles' Death: PART 1

Please be aware that this post may not be appropriate for children… 

On April 1st, 2014, I had an appointment at the hospital. I woke-up that morning with just a few butterflies in my stomach, in anticipation of baby Henry's hospital visit for his kidneys. I was prepared to take him for his renal ultrasound, to determine what should be done with his 4 kidneys. I was very interested to find out the plan for Henry. It was not going to be a pleasant experience for him (or me) at the hospital, but I had been mustering my courage for the screaming and crying he would surely, and justifiably, display. I was ready to go through the motions with him. I was bracing myself, and putting-up my "strong-mommy" defenses. Those defenses are required when you see your baby in pain.

It was not going to be a "normal" day, with Henry's hospital appointment -- but just like any other day, I woke-up early, made a quick breakfast (a smoothie), and I took Sammi to junior high. When I left for the morning trip with Sammi, Charles and the rest of the boys were still sleeping in bed.

Upon my arrival home, there was the normal flurry of morning activity, with everyone getting ready for school. However, when I got home, Charles was still in bed, sitting up, and I could see he had drunk the smoothie I had made -- the cup was on the nightstand. I recall that he mentioned he felt really tired, and he was having a hard time getting out of bed that morning -- he said he did not feel well. He had been saying that many mornings, for a long time… 

I have to backtrack a little bit, to help understand the full story. Charles had been having difficulty breathing for many months. He had struggled with his breathing and his lungs. There were many nights where he would lay in bed, just trying to catch his breath -- while taking deep, heaving, seemingly over-exagerated breaths. He would lay down, and I would watch as his chest would rise and fall, and he would blow in-and-out with his mouth. Sometimes I thought he was being overly dramatic about how hard it was to breathe -- I was wrong. His breathing troubles tormented him persistently in the months previous to April 1st. Only looking back now do I realize how much, and for how long, he had been suffering. (My poor Charles.) And, yes, he went to the doctor… but that is another story, not one I will be telling here.

Notice the date in his journal…

Two weeks prior to April 1st, Charles had found a lump on his upper leg. He showed it to me, and told me how badly it burned. I knew what it was when I saw it -- it was a blood clot. It was a large lump, located on a vein, and the lump was bluish in color. He explained the pain that he had from the lump/clot, and I knew exactly what it was. I knew what it was because I had one myself -- and was properly treated for it -- when I was pregnant with Henry. I knew the burning he spoke of, and the pain. He went to the doctor for the lump, but that is all I will say about that.

Here are some texts from Charles a few weeks prior to April 1st:
I am the green message, he is the white…

These texts make me sad. My poor baby. 

We found the blood clot right before we went on a trip to Utah to visit family. He was in pain, but after he visited the doctor for it, he determined it was OK to go. We visited with my brother's family, and my Nan. While we were there, Charles was icing his thigh area because of the pain. (Again, I know that burning pain, and it HURTS!) Though in pain, he got a little ambitious, and he tried jumping on the trampoline with the kids. When he came in, he was hunched over on the kitchen counter, heaving like an old man with Asthma -- very, very, unlike Charles. After returning from our Utah trip he was tired, and worn-out, and just trudging through the days, fighting the pain.

So, back to the morning of April 1st…

Charles got out of bed, and started getting ready for work. I decided I would do TaeBo that morning, before heading off to Henry's appointment -- I knew I would need all the energy and strength I could get, to endure Henry's medical procedure. Henry was in his crib, and the other two boys were getting ready for school, and almost out the door, as I started my workout. The boys left for school. It was just me, Charles, and Henry, at home.

I was in the living room, doing my best to keep up with the intense workout, and I could see Charles' reflection, as he was getting ready in the bathroom mirror. I remember thinking how handsome he was with his beard. While in the middle of some painful squats, I remember crying out to Charles that I was tired of being so chubby, and that is when he said, "Mari, you are beautiful, and I am so proud of you." 

Those were the last non-frantic words he spoke to me. (They are my favorite words in all the world.) 

Charles continued getting ready, and I continued my workout. There was not a lot of chit-chat, since I was just trying to keep breathing and doing my routine, while he was hustling about the house, putting on his white shirt and tie, gathering his keys, checking his phone, and getting ready to go to work for the day.

And then he went out to start the car.

And then he came back in and sat on the couch.

While in the middle of doing some squats and side-kicks, I just happened to turn my head, and look at him. He was bracing the couch with both of his hands in a firm grip, as if to stabilize himself. His eyes were twitching back-and-forth, in an unearthly like manner. At first I giggled at him, and said, "Charles, what are you doing?" The way he was positioned on the couch looked like he was trying to be funny. He said nothing. He continued his strange motions, and I could quickly tell there was nothing funny about what was going on. His eyes continued twitching, and I went over to him and waved my hand in front of his face saying, "Charles?! Charles??!!" But he did not respond. He did not move from his firmly gripped, eye-twitching position.

And then, as I kept waving my hand in his face, and saying, "Charles! Charles!" he snapped out of the twitching with a loud grunt. He made a noise that sounded like, "Huh?" He then briefly looked at me with his normal eyes, and he fell to the floor on his hands and knees. While hurled over in the fetal position, he began deep-heaving -- with his chest and back lifting and falling, rapidly.

At this point, I switched into high-alert. He had had these breathing episodes before -- but this one was different. He was not mentally present, he was not alert, his motions were intense, he was… dying. 

He began sweating profusely, like nothing I had ever seen. Water poured from his face like someone had dumped a bucket on his head. His face turned completely white, and his features were all facing downward in despair and agony.

These images still, and always will, haunt me.

The world seemed to be spinning out of control, and everything happened so quickly.

As he was struggling to breathe, I frantically asked, "Should I call 911? Is it that bad?" I knew it was that bad, but because the breathing episodes had happened before, I was not sure if he was working through it, or not -- I had to ask before making the call.

He was hunched over the ottoman, ripping off his shirt and tie in agony, and he deep-breathed, and gasped a sluggish, "YES!!!!" 

I grabbed my phone, and called 911. I spoke as calmly as I could, giving directions, and following instructions. They then told me to be waiting outside for them. I obeyed, leaving Charles heaving on the floor in the living room, alone. I do wish I would not have been outside waiting for them, I wish I would have been with Charles… but I did not know those were my last moments with him, alive.

It was only moments, and I could hear the sirens screaming towards our house. There was a firetruck, and then an ambulance showed-up. The men quickly scurried into our house, finding Charles writhing in pain on the floor. They took his vitals, put an oxygen mask on him, and I could hear them saying things about his blood pressure dropping rapidly, while I was talking to another fireman, giving him information. The medics were very calm, and collect, while Charles was frantically trying to breathe. This all happened in mere minutes. Charles looked, and sounded awful. I was terrified for him (and me), but I thought he would be OK. My heart was pounding out of my chest, but my adrenaline was keeping me functioning, and sane. I thought that he just needed some medical attention. I thought that his lung issues had come to a climax, and we would finally figure out what was wrong, and the people at the hospital would fix him. I was sure he would be alright, I even recall asking him where his phone was, so I could call the courthouse and tell them he would not be at court that day. In the chaos he managed to gasp-out to me, "In my coat pocket." 

And then as Charles pulled himself onto the gurney, white as a ghost, covered in sweat, struggling for his life, he yelled...

"I CAN'T BREATHE!" 

And as the medics wheeled his thrashing body out the front door, my heart sank in desperate fear, and I whispered through my tears...

"I love you."  

That was the last time I saw him with a heartbeat.

Mother's Day at the Cemetery

We took a trip to the Idaho City Cemetery for Mother's Day. It was the first time the kids had been back to the cemetery since before Charles's burial. (They were not at the burial.) I thought today would be a good day to go up and show them daddy's heavenly "camping" spot. 

I must say, I love it up in Idaho City. It is such a beautiful place. It is so peaceful, and tranquil, and the air feels thick with life and spirit. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for an inspired Bishop, he listened as Charles whispered in his ear the request to be buried in Idaho City, and then he spoke the request out loud, and lifted my spirits to new heights of hope. The thought of visiting a grave anywhere else was utterly depressing for me. When the Bishop said, "Isn't there a cemetery in Idaho City?" I about jumped out of my skin with excitement. I knew it was what Charles would want, and it was also what I wanted. And now I am so grateful! Traveling to the cemetery was the perfect Sunday drive, and every time I go, I leave feeling elevated somehow. Charles presence is very strong there. That is what it is. 

We made it to the cemetery, we all got out of the car, and headed towards the spot I picked for Charles. When I chose his resting place, I did my best to find a spot that looked like a good place to set-up camp, until Jesus comes back. It is located in a beautiful circle of trees. I have been having the hardest time trying to decide what to put on the headstone, so that has not been completed, yet. I am still looking for the right quote. It is not an easy task! So, for now, Charles' resting place is a pile of dirt with no marker, except the trees that encircle him. It really would be the perfect place for a tent. 

When we got to the spot, the kids went straight over to the pile of dirt covering his grave. At first I told them not to step on it, but then I felt inclined to let them do whatever they wanted. I told them to be free -- that is what Charles would want them to be. They instantly went and walked right on top of the dirt that was directly over his grave. They began digging, and writing with sticks in the mud. Sammi said, "I jumped on daddy when he was alive, why should I stop now?" They felt totally comfortable being there, stepping right on top of where his body lay 6 feet underneath them.

 They wrote daddy some special notes… Sammi wrote, "You are Iron Man."

Henry was in a stroller, but he desperately wanted to get out and play, too. I let him free -- per Charles' request that he whispered in my ear -- and Henry went straight to the puddle of water on top of Charles' grave. He was so happy to be freely playing in the dirt and mud. It is a strange thing looking at this picture… he has no idea that his daddy's body is right under him. Charles' lifeless body may be in the ground, but his spirit surrounded us in a very powerful way. Charles was with us today. We were filled with joy, and happiness, just like any other day spent in Daddy's presence.

We used our Trek flag for a grave marker while we were there. I would have left it, but it would get ruined. It was there for us today though, and it was perfect.

I took some candid shots of the kids…

I love the look in his eyes…

We feel daddy in the wind when we are there. It has always blown in at just the right time. We say that daddy is in the wind, it causes us all to pause and feel it.

Henry was enjoying the dirt. He loved eating it.

Daniel took some time away from the other kids playing elsewhere, to go and sit next to his dad's grave. The sunlight is directly shining where Charles is laid to rest. Oh, how I wish I could read my children's minds…

Posing on the mound of dirt from the hole of her dad's grave…

William loved digging in the dirt right next to daddy. He yelled loudly, "Happy Mother's day, Mom!" Dad told me to say that." I told him to tell daddy, "Thanks!" 

Henry being disgusting, and enjoying the earth.

It was so good for the kids to be there. They did not want to leave. We stayed for a good long time.

My beautiful princess. My one and only girl. I adore her.

I don't normally let my kids eat dirt, but it felt like the right thing to do.

Perhaps it felt right so I could get these adorable and nasty pictures. 

The wind blew in just right and the kids caught a hug from daddy…

And a hug from each other…

I'm a lucky Mama…

Yes, that is grave dirt they just fell on…

Daniel reminds me of Charles. Of all the kids, he looks the most like him. Though he has my eyes…

I love this picture of Dan, he is such a good boy.

Daniel is feeling his daddy in the wind…

Dan the man. What a beautiful boy.

Sammi taking a moment to reflect…

William still digging…

Life goes on… each day is a new day full of life and adventure. I am a blessed Mother. I could not have asked for better children to be with me on this strange new journey we are embarking on, together. We took a moment and said a special prayer around Charles' grave. In the prayer I promised Charles I would bring them all back to him -- each and every one of them. If I have to throw them on my back and crawl to Heaven, I will do it. The children heard me say these words. I also promised him that our family, the van Ormer family, would do everything we can to share the gospel of Jesus Christ. 

The van Ormer family has the Courage to Continue!  

So, our whole family is technically in this picture… that mud puddle is right over Charles' grave. And that is why Idaho City cemetery is perfect for our family. Rules don't apply here. Freedom… beautiful freedom. We felt that freedom today while we were there, and I know that Charles is free, and he was smiling and enjoying that freedom with us today. 

P.S. Please feel free to share your thoughts and comments, even if you don't know me well. I can see you are looking… from all over the place! If you do not have an account for commenting, you can just go to the, "comment as," button and click, "anonymous," then type a comment, and leave your name. It is always nice to know who is reading… I know how many people are reading, but I do not know who you are?? If you have thoughts or comments, please share them. If you don't have thoughts or comments, please don't share them. *Wink!* - Mari