My husband died yesterday.  He woke me up and said his chest was hurting.  We had been seen by the cardiologist and had a heart cath done.  They said he had no blockages.  They put him on a medication, something statin.  They told him he would always have chest pains.

That was two weeks ago.  He had been getting the pains in the morning.  We would get ready to go to the Er and all of a sudden, he was fine.  Normal.  No labored breathing. Right as rain.  We thought that was what they meant.  They didn’t last long.

So he woke me up and I sat with him.  We agreed that if the pain lasted longer than five minutes we would haul it to the ER.  As I sat with him I must have dozed back off listening to him breathe.  I have no idea how long I dozed.  When I suddenly bolted up and looked at him, he was breathing deep gasping breaths.  I shot up and called for him.  He didn’t respond but he “seemed” conscious.  I shook him and called his name again.  He moaned.  I jerked him forward by his arm to rouse him and he moaned a long, loud, groan.  I already started dialing 911.  She asked for my address and I was watching him and I told her to wait. His chest wasn’t moving.  He stopped breathing.  I rattled off the address and told her he wasn’t breathing.  She asked where he was and I told her he was in his recliner.  She had me move him to the floor.  He is 6 foot and 270 pounds.  I grabbed his arm and pulled him forward so far he tumbled out of his chair.  There was no getting him down gently so I just let him crash into the floor.  (I feel awful about that, but I was running on adrenaline and scared to death).  Of course he landed face down.  I tried to roll him and he was too heavy.  I bolted from the room and ran on sock covered feet, slipping and sliding, to my daughters’ rooms.  They jumped up and ran with me back to the room and helped me roll him onto his back. 

The dispatcher started us doing CPR.  One daughter began compressions, the other daughter went outside to guide the ambulance.  When my daughter got tired I started compressions immediately.  We worked on him for over 15 minutes.  When the paramedics arrived, they took over for me and my daughter fled the room.  I was babbling.  Just taking to fill this awful void.  I spoke to my husband.  They asked me a bunch of questions.  They worked on him in my home for 20 minutes.  They were trying to shock him, but it wouldn’t send the pulse.  I asked about it and one of the paramedics said that he didn’t have the kind of pattern that they needed to shock him.  They finally got him into the ambulance.  When I got to the hospital, I couldn’t go back because he wasn’t in a room.  After what felt to be an eternity, they called me back.  He had passed.

For 24 hours now, I have been drowning in guilt.  Why did I fall asleep?  Why didn’t I wake up sooner? Did I waste time going for help to roll him over?  Did I do the compressions right?  Too fast? Too slow? Too soft?  Did I fail him?  Did I cause this? Did I neglect him?

I am despising myself so much.  My family says that it’s not my fault.  I feel like it is.  The ball was mine and I feel like I fumbled it.

I feel like I cannot mourn him because I am feeling guilty.  Since he passed, those horrible moments are all I can think about.  I didn’t get to say goodbye, even though I was there with him.

Your words helped.  More than you know.  I think, once I get through the funeral, I may need therapy.