Losing Alex, Part 2

So when I left off yesterday, the ambulance had just left to transport Alex to the hospital.  At this point I started collecting Kristi's stuff, like her purse and her keys.  The deputies were still trying to ask her questions, and I got impatient.  I wanted to get her to the hospital.  Why on earth did they need to know the names and birthdates of everyone living in the house?  Surely that could wait??  Apparently not.  They kept doggedly asking Kristi questions, and more than once I stepped into the spell out names to keep the process moving.  There was some back and forth about whether or not to go get her other kids from school.  I thought that we would want the kids close at hand so they could say goodbye to their father.  In the end, Kristi decided to leave them in school.  When the deputies were finally finished getting all the little details from her, I drove Kristi to the hospital in her car.  She was in no shape to drive.

The drive was difficult.  Not the driving itself—I had no trouble with it.  But Kristi—I don’t remember exactly what was said, but it was during this trip that I told her it didn’t look good.  I knew deep down that Alex wasn’t going to make it, but how to say that?

During the drive Kristi called the dialysis clinic.  I’m not sure what was going through her mind.  There might have been some part of her that was just hoping for someone, anyone, to help her make sense of what was happening.  She talked to one of the nurses, who was very shocked and sympathetic.  Again, the call worried me.  Kristi still sounded vague and a little unsure of what she was even asking.  I was relieved when we reached the hospital, only because I knew she needed concrete answers.

We were met at the door to the ER by our bishop and a hospital rep.  Kristi said, "This can't be good," and we followed her to a conference room.  The rep was joined by the ER doctor who told us that Alex had died.

I had been trying to hold back the tears (not terribly successfully) this whole time because I wanted to be strong for Kristi, to help her.  At that moment I kind of sobbed a little-- and Kristi turned away from me and said, "I can't look at you, I'll break down."  I apologized-- I don't think I've ever tried so hard in my life to get my emotions under control, just because I knew she was barely holding herself together.  I needed to be strong for her sake.  It felt like a Herculean effort.

The doctor went on with his explanation, making it clear that he felt that everything possible had been done to save Alex's life. (I think Terence said later that they tried to restart his heart for at least 45 minutes.)  It was encouraging to me because I knew that later, if Kristi ever starting kicking herself that if she had only done (fill in the blank) Alex would still be alive, I could refute that.  Everything possible had been tried.  It must have been Alex's time to go, and nothing would have changed that.

The next hour or so was a blur while we waited for permission from the medical examiner for Kristi to go in to see Alex.  Kristi's friend Sheri arrived, so there was someone else to be with us.  Kristi attempted to call several of her relatives to let them know the news.  Those phone calls were bruising for her.  One of her relatives swore loudly and at one point hung up on her.  Seriously, I know it's shocking to receive the news that a relative has died, but some of those phone calls made me want to wrench the phone away and shout.  "She just lost her husband!!!!  Quit making it about YOU!"

Eventually we received permission for the family to go into the room and see Alex.  Kristi called Nic to ask if he wanted to.  Nic did want to, and Terence brought him to the hospital.  I walked down that hall, that desolate ER hallway with Kristi, and waited for her outside the curtain. Some moments stretch long and vague, and this was another one.   I was back in control of my emotions, but inside I wondered if I was going to be able to be strong enough to support Kristi through this.  Especially since I knew that a very long march was ahead of her.  A part of me panicked a little bit, but I prayed for strength (I did a lot of silent praying that day, actually), and I felt just the tiniest bit of comfort.  It was as if I heard a little voice telling me to just keep putting one foot in front of the other, there was no way past this but to go straight through it.  So that’s what I did.

One foot in front of the other.

(To be continued.)