He was STOLEN

As mad as I am, I'm so grateful that I didn't have to wait for him to die. I watched him die, not knowing what it was, but I didn't have to wait.

Friday, 12-20-2024, I woke up around 6:15am. I was exhausted and frustrated. My husband had been fighting a 'back spasm' for the last two weeks. He hadn't gone to work, taken out the trash, or washed the dishes because he was in so much pain. He barely ate, drank, or moved around. He was so uncomfortable. 

During those two weeks, I fussed. Fussing is my love language. I had to start our homeschooling Christmas break early so that I could care for him. In meeting his basic needs, I got behind on everything. Laundry, budgeting, paperwork, lessons at home and church, my daughter's personal care, and the list goes on. And so, I fussed. I also showed him stretches to help with the pain, provided him with water and food, and massaged the pain.

The night before 12/20/24 I injured my own back in an attempt to pick him up off the floor. He'd been laying there per instructions from a doctor at the Urgent Care. He said the back pain was too much for him to get up on his own. I didn't believe him because he had gotten up a couple of times earlier that day. I assumed he was being dramatic as he'd always been whenever he'd gotten a little sick.

So, on Friday, 12-20-2024 around 6:15am, I decided I wouldn't fuss at him. I would be nice. I was prepared to make him oatmeal and spoon feed him if I had to. He'd fallen asleep on the floor in the living room. He was on his back, like the doctor had instructed. 

I called out to him.

No response.

He looked as though he was sleeping. But he wasn't a deep sleeper. So, it didn't make sense that he wasn't responding.

"Lawd, you're really drawing this thing out, huh?"

No response.

"I know how to get your attention."

I wet a paper towel, squeezed out much of the excess, sat down next to him, and squeezed some of the water onto his lips.

No response.

I tapped him.

No response.

Panic began to set in and I hit him, hard. 

No response.

My daughter was awakened by the commotion and the dread in my voice. 

"Daddy?", she screamed.

No response. 

I attempted to call 911, but it wouldn't go through. So, I used my daughter's phone instead. We were instructed to do CPR until the paramedics arrived. My daughter went first. I encouraged her through her tears while flooded in my own. When my daughter was exhausted, I took over.

The first compression I heard a hollow sound escape his chest. His body was hard and stiff. He smelled like urine. I kept waiting for his eyes to flicker.

No response. 

After what seemed like forever, paramedics rushed through our door. The woman kneeled down next to him and a moment later declared, "Oh, he's in full rigor. I'm sorry ma'am. He's been gone for a while. There's nothing we can do." 

A sound I didn't recognize escaped my own mouth. 

My daughter called my mother. "Grandma. Dad's dead."

I knew my life had just changed. Drastically. Forever. But I didn't know what that really meant. Or how it would feel. Or what would happen next. I simply knew that I felt violated.

A 'back spasm' stole my husband.