One of my New Years resolutions was to start up my daily photo project again. I did well last year up until my life hit a wall and then it fizzled out. I love looking back on all of the memories that I captured in a photo just because I wanted to add a picture for the day to my blog. Only good came from doing that, and I really wanted to start it up again.
Little did I know . . .
Friday, Jan. 1 - am: Hannah & I went to visit Charish so she could tell me all about my Grandma Vee's funeral which was two days before. She squeezed me tight and cried . . . she was sad for me that I had to miss the funeral. She gave me our grandma's china and her Mickey Mouse watch and we cried together . . . and then we laughed at how our family was acting while going through Grandma's things. Death does weird things to people. Then we sat at her kitchen table and went through all of the pictures Charish found in her house . . . and we laughed . . . and cried some more. Charish had to work at 11, so Hannah & I left . . . but not before a nice tearful squeeze and I love you.
Jan. 1 - pm: Got home from Fallbrook. Had a nice healthy Taco Bell dinner with my silly family, and then . . . the phone rang. Walking to the phone I said out loud, "This BETTER not be bad news." I knew. It was mom, and her voice wasn't good. She told me Charish "passed out" at work, and that she was taken to the hospital. I knew that she was really worked up the past week with my Grandma's passing, etc. so I figured it was fatigue and wasn't too worried. Got the girls in bed and then the phone rang. Again. This time, even before I answered my breath escaped me like I was hit with a baseball bat to the chest. My mom said the words I will never forget, "They think she had a massive heart attack. You should go to her." I remember crying on the phone. I remember my amazing husband sitting at my side . . . holding me . . . but for the life of me I can't remember another word of that conversation. I called my good friend, Lindsay and asked her to come sit with the girls so I could go. She of course came with no question. That hour in the car on the way back to Fallbrook was THE longest hour of my life. All I kept saying was, "She better be okay. This better be a wasted trip." We pulled up to the hospital to find Jason pacing outside, talking on the phone. His face did not look good. It was full of terror and confusion. As much as he tried to make us think he was okay, you could just tell. Things were NOT good. They let us in to see her in the ER so that we could pray over her. As I walked into the room and saw the nurses look at me with sorry eyes, I knew. Deep down, I knew things were about to change. As I walked past a nurse and into the area where they had my sister I almost threw up. She was fine . . . TOTALLY fine this morning!! How in the hell could things have changed so quickly?! There were tubes coming out of her from everywhere . . . helping her breathe and helping her heart beat. My only sister was on life support. I. couldn't. believe it. And man did the tears come. I was NOT ready to see her being kept alive by a bunch of beepy machines that I didn't understand. During a prayer Wade kept saying, ". . . you will heal from this . . . " that part I liked, then the dreaded words came, " . . . if it be God's will." I wanted to open my eyes and smack him and tell him to take it back . . . but I knew I couldn't, because I knew he was right. After the prayer I couldn't move. I squeezed her bruised hand (why was she so f**ing bruised?!) and couldn't let go. I sat there with my face to hers, dripping my terrified tears all over her burned chest (they very clearly had to try over and over with the paddles to bring her back), and a dr. told me to leave. Didn't he know!? Didn't he see that my life-long best friend was so helpless. She needed me . . . and I clearly needed her. But the dr. kept inching his way closer and told me again that he had to run some more tests . . . so . . . I left the room. I sat with my mom, Wade, Ian and Jason in that emergency waiting room for HOURS. And just. waited. They finally moved her to the ICU . . . where we sat. and. waited. some more. It was past midnight and they still wouldn't let me see her again. At about 2am I literally, in the most pathetic way possible, begged the nurse to let me see her for just a minute before I left . . . but no. She did make me feel better by saying that her brain scans came back "clear". Little did I know that she was only saying that she didn't have an aneurism. That news gave me a little hope that things would be okay with time. Driving home was awful. It took me a good hour to fall asleep . . . I think I prayed the whole time.
Saturday, Jan. 2: I woke up after two hours of sleep, took a shower and jumped back in the car . . . alone this time. Wade stayed home with the girls and I went by myself. The last we heard, her brain scan came back clear. I was so hopeful that I even caught myself singing in the car. I saw the hospital in sight and took a giant breath and prayed for a little bit of strength. As I pulled into a parking space I could see my mom and brother . . . they looked scared. I reluctantly got out of the car, and to my complete horror, they both walked up to me . . . and they. were. bawling. What happened? And why were they crying?! My brother might as well have jumped in his truck and rolled over me repeatedly, but instead he said, "She's not going to make it." He grabbed me and we cried . . . and then I completely crumbled. Next thing I knew I was sitting in the middle of the parking lot and I could hear my mom telling me that I needed to get inside. I thought I was going to pass out, or throw up. Then we sat. some more. and waited. There was a special waiting room for family of ICU patients. I never want to see that room again as long as I live. They let me in to see her . . . and she looked a little better. I got some hope from that . . . a little. My dad came (the poor guy didn't even have a chance to unpack from flying home after his mother's funeral). He wanted to pray over his daughter, so we went in as a family. She had her eyes open . . . they weren't really looking at anything . . . but they were open. Then my dad prayed for her. All during the prayer I got the same feelings as the night before. He kept using the, " . . . if it be God's will" line that I have grown to hate. When my dad put his hands on her head, she closed her eyes . . . the whole time . . . and then opened them when he was done. That gave me another glimmer of hope . . . like she was aware of what was going on. I held on to that hope as tightly as I possibly could . . . and I prayed some more. HARD. They wanted to move her to another hospital where they have a better neurologist, but . . . like everything else involving hospitals . . . we had to wait; for approval, then for a bed, then when she finally got a bed, there was no dr. there. So . . . we waited some more and had her moved the next day. So, sadly we left her . . . again . . . and we went home.
Sunday, Jan. 3: Wade took the girls to church, and I drove back to Fallbrook to be with Charish. When I got there they wouldn't let me see her . . . why were they being so lame? They had to get her ready to move, and FINALLY they moved her to Palomar Hospital. My mom & I drove together and sat in the waiting area. Then we saw her get wheeled in by the paramedics and the tears began to flow again. It is SO awful to see someone you love so much in such a horrible condition. It wasn't long before the neurologist called our immediate family back into a room. He said that he couldn't do the main brain test until some medication found its way out of her body, so we would have to wait . . . even more . . . until tomorrow. But he was able to run some tests, and he sat there and talked about what he found and what he thought . . . and of course . . . it was all in gibberish medical terms. Jenn finally piped in and asked how often he has seen someone survive something like this . . . he said, "Very little, if ever, have I seen anyone wake up after suffering this kind of brain injury." (We did a lot of digging and tried to figure out how long she had gone without breathing, and came to realize that it could have been up to 12 minutes . . . not good). My whole world. stopped. But we still had one last test, and I was hopeful . . . because how else could I be? I was able to go in and see her as often as I wanted. I couldn't stop grabbing her face in my hands and putting my forehead to hers. I didn't want to ever forget every detail of her beautiful face. I talked to her a lot . . . sometimes I would tell her that her babies would be fine, that we would do a good job taking care of them . . . and sometimes I would call her a bitch and tell her that she better not leave me. I didn't know what to think . . . was she going to die, or was I going to get her back? The constant roller coaster was nauseating. And then, I left. I couldn't go home, so I went to Rick & Kathie's in Poway so I could be closer to her . . . just in case. Wade called and said that he wanted to be with me, so he dropped off the girls at Bryce & Andrea's and came. I couldn't have been more happy to see him in my life. I needed him bad. He just held me and let me cry. I love that about him.
Monday, Jan 4: We woke up and headed over to the hospital. We were the first ones there, so we went right in to see her. Again . . . I held her face and studied her. The tears really flowed this time and soaked her gown. I begged her not to leave me . . . and then she cried . . . I mean REALLY cried. She's had tears now and then when I've talked to her, but this time was different. And I got a little more hope. She COULD hear me! The nurse came in and told us that her heart rate was better and that she was breathing even more on her own. And she actually looked okay . . . despite the tubes and beepy machines. My hope grew that morning and I felt good. People started to straggle in and we were eventually all there. The dr. did his test and let us know that we had to wait some more, until 5:00 that night. So . . . we waited. What else was there to do? I spent a lot of time with her that day . . . stroking her hair . . . kissing her all over her face . . . and making sure that her burns were covered so I didn't have to think about the horrific circumstances that brought us to this moment. And I just talked to her . . . and cried all over her. I wanted so badly for her to open her eyes and say, "What is wrong with you?! I'm fine, yo!" ("yo" . . . a stupid word that we always use when talking to each other because it makes us laugh) because that's exactly what she WOULD have said if she were given the chance. Then 5:00 came around. Wade was gone getting food, and Jenn was gone getting migraine medicine . . . so it was just Jason, my mom & dad, Ian and me. We were brought into a little sitting room . . . and this time the nurse came too and she was carrying a box of tissues. Why did she have to be there? I quickly tried to block out why she would possibly be needed for this discussion. Then the gibberish started, and after 5 minutes of not understanding what the heck this dude was saying I had to ask, "What kind of chance does she have?" He quickly said, "On life support she will survive indefinitely." . . . Okaaaay . . . not exactly what I meant, "I mean, what kind of chance does she have AFTER life support is removed." His reply was the. most. breathtaking two words I've ever heard, "Zero percent." And then nothing . . . at least that's what I remember. Jenn & Wade came, and Jenn lost it, which made me not think of my own pain for a few minutes while trying to comfort her. I finally had to leave and just walk . . . away from everyone. I. was. dying inside. And no one could fix that. Did God not hear all of those hundreds of prayers that I begged and pleaded for Him to spare her . . . to spare her sweet kids and husband the heartache of living the rest of this life without her. To spare me of going every day for the rest of my life without being able to hear that infectious laugh and stare into those amazing eyes. Where was the miracle that we were praying for?! I instantly felt kicked in the face and I lost a LOT of faith . . . in that short time while walking alone in the halls of the ICU where my sister was dying. Wade & I stayed with Jason & my dad after everyone else went home. We had to talk to the Life Share guy who was going to organize giving Charish's organs away. She's only 35! We really shouldn't have to do this! After discussing a time to meet back as a family so we could let her go, we left . . . again.
Tuesday, Jan 5: I could barely move. I know I was breathing, but I had to think to even do that. I. felt. SO. empty. We had to give Life Share 24 hours to find recipients and to get them ready for their surgeries, so we had to wait until 6:00 to let her go. We drove to Fallbrook to pick up the girls at Bryce & Andrea's then came back to Rick & Kathie's house to wait out the day. I had to spend most of the day in bed. I couldn't believe that I was about to see my rad sister for the last time. I wanted. to. die. 5:00 finally rolled around and we headed out. My heart was telling my feet not to walk any further . . . I didn't want to do this. But . . . it had to be, and I had to be there. We got there and everyone was showing up. I noticed Jason wasn't in the waiting area, so I went to find him to make sure he was okay. He was with Charish and he was talking to the Life Share people. Then it was time . . . so we walked together to get the rest of our family so we could let her go. We all stood around her bed. We called a few people on the phone who couldn't be there and placed the phones on Charish's chest so they could hear everything. Wade & my dad said some final prayers . . . and it felt like absolute torture. I couldn't believe we were doing this. It was even worse to have to see my parents saying good-bye to their first child. I held on tight to her hand and arm and I didn't want to let her go. After the prayers and hugs . . . and snot . . . she slowly slipped away. After several minutes just sitting next to her bed with my head on her chest listening to silence where there should have been a heartbeat, I started to walk out. I couldn't do it, so I had to turn around and go back in. She was gone, I knew that, but I couldn't leave her. And then with my last words, & kisses all over her face, I looked at her for the last time . . . and left. I couldn't believe I was leaving the hospital. She was gone, and just laying there without anyone who loved her. And that was it. We picked up the girls, and drove home. Luckily we drove separate cars so I could drive alone with just Charly who didn't understand what was going on. And I cried . . . the whole way home. I couldn't figure out the right words to say to Hannah & Reha who love her SO much. I knew I had to do it . . . but how!? When the time came and we had them sitting there on the couch between Wade and I, I told them that she didn't make it and was with God now . . . again, the words are gone from my memory, but I can remember hearing the giant sobs coming from these two sweet girls. It's legitimately the worst sound I have ever heard.
The next week was filled with organizing things, and getting everything ready for Charish's funeral. I felt. so. lonely. The person I spent all my time with while I was at her house was gone . . . forever . . . and it sucked. We sat at the kitchen table . . . and looked through pictures of her and cried, and then laughed. Felt very surreal that Charish & I sat at the same table just a week before doing the exact same thing.
Saturday, Jan. 9: Chloe has been asking me all week, "Where's mom?" or "Mom's asleep at the hospital." Today was different, I knelt down next to her to love on her and she looked into my eyes and said, "I miss my mom." I told her I miss her too, and I couldn't hold back the tears in front of her anymore . . . this sweet girl was going to forget all of this and it ripped my heart out to think of that.
Monday, Jan. 11: The dreaded day came. We got everyone ready and made the same trip I had made every day for the last 11 days . . . this time to bury my sister. We got to the church during the viewing and I could. not. go in. I couldn't do it. My girls begged me to let them see her, and finally Wade took them in so they could see her one last time and so they could say their good-byes. I just sat there . . . paralyzed. I didn't want anyone to see me because I was tired of hearing, "I'm sorry." or "How are you?" . . . really?! duh. I'm terrible. I was supposed to do her life sketch with Jenn, but I couldn't do it. I just couldn't. So Jenn did it alone. I was so relieved to see two of my best friends, Amber Kennedy & Lindsay Evans, there to support me and to help with Charly & Chloe. This whole experience has really brought to light who my dearest friends are . . . and I have a lot of them . . . what a blessing. After the service we sat . . . and waited . . . some more. This time I'm not sure what we were waiting for. She was loaded into the hearse, and we just sat there . . . waiting. I just wanted to be done with this awful day. We finally drove over to the cemetery where my dad prayed over her grave . . . and then she was lowered into the ground.
. . . Now what?
I'm a bit stuck . . . spiritually, mentally, physically . . . I'm stuck. I have almost called her more times than I can count, and I have reached for my ringing phone hoping to see "Charish" on the screen. But . . . no. I won't get that again in this life . . . so I'm stuck. And it hurts.
As awful as the day was, I never want to forget it. She touched a LOT of people's lives, and has saved 6 people so far with her organs. She was a selfless and amazing person . . . and she still is. So . . . while the miracle didn't happen for us, it went to others . . . and I know that they thank God every day for her. And so do I.
I'm SO so blessed that I still have Ian in my life . . . I know that this will bring us closer, and I'm so thankful for that.
