Understanding What Happened

I've thought to myself many times since G died that if I could just understand what happened, I could maybe accept that he's gone.

I know it was diastolic heart failure - it says so on the death certificate. That's not really what I mean.

I mean how did we get there. I looked back through pictures last night and came across pictures from the summer and early fall and just couldn't reconcile it. Yes, he was tired. Sleeping more during the day. Having a hard time breathing. But that had happened so many times over the years! More diuretics, a longer stay at the hospital, a procedure -surely that would get him back on track. He seemed to be putting on water weight but who didn't gain weight during the early part of COVID-19?

We were doing family walks, fires in the chiminea. S'mores. Sitting on the porch chatting while our son did his rest time. Playing board games. Watching movies. Ordering Chinese takeout. In April he rode a scooter on our son's birthday. In May we went on a LONG walk (for him) in the woods and started dreaming about going camping as a family sometime. In July he set off fireworks for P and our next door neighbor. In August he was busy at work (on Zoom of course) and really enjoying it for the first time in a while. He was wrestling with P in September.

But at the end of July he was in the hospital for diuresis that didn't do much. And September 28th his heart rate was over 180 and we had to call an ambulance. Then there was the ablation that didn't work because there were too many problematic pathways. And then the cardiomems implant that was such a hassle and disappointment. The hospitalization on Nov. 25th (10 year anniversary of his transplant). The news that there weren't any medical interventions left except maximum oral diuretics. Which didn't work. The doctor appointment over Zoom when a lung transplant & heart transplant combo were mentioned. Our last time decorating the Christmas tree when he was too weak to do the decorating but sat and handed ornaments to me and P instead.

The lack of appetite, abdominal pain, muscle weakness, leg pain, struggle to get adequate air, inability to concentrate, being so cold and needing to wear gloves and lots of blankets inside.

The relief from the pain on the 18th after getting enough medicine. The banana bread and "strawberry sauce" I made him for dinner that night. Our last night together doing "thankful and Bible story" and him being able to read the Bible story to P. Going downstairs together the next morning. Sitting at the table and chatting. Him drinking orange juice. Him feeling awful all day. The beginning of the end. I can't even begin to think about that day - it's too painful.

It was unfolding piece by piece but I couldn't see it. Neither did I want to. I thought we had more time. Worst case scenario, I thought at the beginning of December, is that he would die the following summer. I never could've imagined it would be weeks later. I wasn't ready to say goodbye, but I doubt that anyone ever is.

I'm starting to wrap my mind around what happened. I hate it. It is crushing. And there is a part of me that feels like it is starting to make sense and that when it does, I will have some degree of peace or acceptance. Maybe not. Maybe so.

But I miss him so much. I want him back. I want a different story for me and for my son. I love G. Always have, always will.