I watched a movie today, Chemical Hearts. I'm not planning on writing a movie review on it, but go ahead and stop reading if you plan to watch it - spoiler alert. I'm going to write some filler sentences to give you a chance to back out of the post without inadvertently reading a spoiler or something from the movie. Because if you're anything like me, you see *spoiler alert* or some derivative and your eyes can't help but glance down further on the page. And then boom - spoiled.
In the movie, we end up learning that one of the characters, Grace, is grieving. She was a passenger in a car accident that killed her boyfriend instantly and left her with injuries. There is a scene in the movie where she is clearly overcome with pain, emotion, guilt, and feelings that my words can't describe. She starts crying out "It should have been me! It should have been me! It's my fault." Now, I did not lose my boyfriend in a car wreck in high school. I don't know what it is like to experience that as a teenager. Also, this was just a movie. But I did cry heavy tears during that scene. It hurt. I recognized that agony.
I battled guilt early on after my dad's death (and at times still do). Those first days and weeks, it became almost unbearable. The questions - OH! the questions! I replayed every moment. I second guessed every moment. And I thought of so many different perspectives. I had to make calls no one ever wants to make - and worse, no one ever wants to get. I thought about what it must have been like not being there and getting a call. I could not keep up with the onslaught of guilt - the onslaught of doubts - the onslaught of what ifs - the onslaught of shoulda, coulda, wouldas - the onslaught of why didn't I?
Why me? Why was I the one who was there? It makes no sense. What could I have possibly brought to the table for it to have been me? If there is some bigger reason, or plan at play, for the experiences in our lives, why was I the one there? My brain pretty much is always thinking maybe I am here "for such a time as this." But anyone else would have handled it better - reacted better. Anyone else deserved to be there. Anyone else would have comforted him more, offered him more, said more, been there for him in the right way. I didn't have the same life experiences to be ready for that moment. I felt like if I was a parent, I would've had a better instinct. Anybody...anybody else would have been better.
I don't want to put those words on paper. I don't want anyone close to me to read that. I had (and sometimes still have) a deep fear they might resent me because I was there and they weren't. Would the outcome have changed if it was them and not me? Do they blame me? Do they know I should have acted differently?
I was told "no, we don't resent you. We are just glad someone was with him. You did all the right things." But one time it was followed with, "but I would have done it differently. I would have known..." Did they mean what I heard? No. But...That sentence. Those words. That sentence sent me into an even deeper spiral. The guilt was already there but that took it to another level.
I sat down in the lobby waiting to pick my mom up. I had a few precious minutes to work on what I was going to say at the funeral. I didn't call it a eulogy. That seemed too tragic. I didn't call it a tribute. That seemed too optimistic. I didn't know the name for it. I just knew I had to speak at his funeral. I sat with my notes open on my phone and typed with my thumbs and index finger. I couldn't get those other words out of my head though - "I would have known..." It created such tension, such heaviness. I had to walk outside.
All I heard in those words was "you failed him. He would still be alive [if someone else had been there]. I couldn't possibly have done all the right things if someone else would have acted differently. If I had done all the right things, then someone else should do the same exact thing I did - right? That's the only way it made sense to me. That's the only way I could hear it. My sister-in-law called me while I was in my head. I got in my car with the windows down, a light breeze, and she listened to me - she heard me, she acknowledged what I was feeling, and she helped me through that first moment. She helped me get to the next moment.
But the thing is, no one knows how they will react in a moment like that. It happens in mere seconds. I have read about it. I have learned about it. Fight or flight and all that. They didn't know. They weren't presented with that situation. And that made me feel guilty - because I knew not being there would bring its own set of pain and questions and guilt. Sometimes I think I was only there because I couldn't have handled not being there. And while I would blab to anyone who would listen the first few days, I also kept parts of it close to my chest. I tried to keep details to myself - to keep some of those images out of their heads. But if I thought someone could give me answers - if they could help it make sense - I told them what I saw. And I was protected in a lot of what I saw.
It is the deepest gut check to wonder what he went through - what he experienced - what he heard - what he saw. Did he know he was dying? Was he scared? Was he in pain? What was he thinking? Did he know I was there? Was he comfortable? I have spent days ruminating on those very thoughts. I knew he was fighting. He was a pillar of strength even in those moments.
A couple days after my dad died, someone had a post on Facebook. It was about a nurse having a wife talk with her husband as he was dying. They were citing that the hearing is believed to be the last sense to go. I didn't know. I. DIDN'T. KNOW!! I didn't know that and it kills me. What would I have done differently? The main thoughts going through my head - "keep him calm, encourage him, give him hope, keep him relaxed." I didn't want him to be scared. I didn't want him to know I was scared. I didn't want him to know how bad it was. And part of me didn't want to know how bad it was. I wanted him to be comfortable and know he was receiving help. I wanted him to know I was right there beside him.
No one tells you what is right. Did I do right? Or should I have been pounding on him - pleading with him to fight, shouting at him to come back, desperately begging and crying and praying and pouring out all of our hearts on him and letting him hear how loved he was and saying goodbye. I didn't know he wasn't going to make it. I didn't know that was the last time. I didn't know. And I still don't know what is right.
Everyone was counting on me. He was counting on me. I tried to tap into what I had seen on shows and movies (but who even knows what is real in that), what I knew from others' experiences, what I felt to be right, what I had learned in CPR training. I thought. I thought about so many things. But did a single right thought come into my head? There was a time I remember thinking "why did someone else have to think of that?" It snapped me into more action and I was thankful for the help. But I felt inadequate.
My mind in that moment - Stay calm. Do not alarm him. Keep him calm and comfortable until emergency help arrives. Get yourself ready for CPR. We got him a pillow and I asked for a cold washcloth. The best they could do was a bunch of wet paper towels. I pressed them firmly, but so very gently, on his forehead. I held them there for what seemed an eternity. I made it a point to say "Dad" repeatedly and to encourage him.
I fear. I fear what I felt as "remaining calm" was actually just me being frozen. I fear I am still not prepared (enneagram 6 anyone?). I fear I am the worst possible person to have around in a crisis. But I know I wasn't just frozen. I thought and I took action and I made hard calls. I prayed from a part of my soul that had rarely been felt. I had laser focus on my dad. I tried to get out as much pertinent info to EMS. I told them immediately he needed oxygen. I told them who he was, his name, so he wouldn't just be seen as "72 year old white male presenting with respiratory distress." I said so earnestly "that is my dad." I tried to walk them through what happened - just the highlights. There was no time.
Everything I did was oh so deliberate but - was it right?
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