The Worst Day Ever

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The evening before Drew went into the hospital, I had come home from work and during the day Drew had turned completely yellow. I begged him to go to the hospital - that was his liver failing and I knew that. I called his parents and we were all on speaker phone begging him to go. And still even in that state he negotiated to go the next morning at 9 am. I want to delve into that for a minute - this shows how my husband was - here he was dying and still stubborn and still adamant to have his way. I have gone over this backwards and forwards in my head - asking myself the questions, “If I just didn’t listen to my husband and did what I wanted, would he still be here?” And the answer I have landed on is - No. My husband had gone to the doctor 6 months prior - I was only told by him what had happened at the visit but the prescription was $160 and he said we couldn’t afford it. This was when my husband gave up. I don’t know what that doctor visit revealed and I don’t care. It won’t change anything. It was at this time that Drew gave away one of our cats to his parents - the cat that was his little shadow and he gave him away. Just like previous history, I was told after he gave the cat to them. I honestly thought it was a good decision. They had lost their cat (cat came over with them from Saudi Arabia - lived the good life) - they needed the cat. They still need Poo Poo - and good. Love him - he deserves it. My mom has Fred - Fred was the cat that I wanted so badly, and Fred picked out Drew. We had gone to the Humane Society to get a kitten. I wanted the big sad looking kitten but Drew - Drew walked past Fred’s cage and Fred grabbed him and wouldn’t let go. So Drew convinced me that was our cat - and he was right. Fred is the weirdest cat - I have tons of videos. You have to invite Fred into the room otherwise he will just sit at the doorway. Fred’s tail is his nemesis and he is the only cat I have ever seen to catch his tail - I mean, he pulls it when he does and does fat cat barrel rolls, but he catches it. The first night we got Fred? He fell into the toilet. The second night we got Fred? He fell into the toilet. And from that point on - toilet lids stayed closed. The bathroom is Fred’s Disneyland. Playing on the back of the toilet - and falling into the trash can - that cat is 16 pounds - that is a shocking kerthunk! 

Those last 6 months with Drew were the hardest in ways that I can’t explain and will keep to myself (at least for now), I am still replaying a lot of it and going through the details. Basically collecting thoughts and memories, but my PTSD and anxiety was so bad in those last 6 months that I don’t even remember the person I was. Like how I don’t remember all of my blood clot - like my brain blocks out certain bits for protection. Nobody came over to the house in the last 6 months and we didn’t go to anyone’s. I went to work and I came home. I went to work and I came home. I was a zombie in those days - on autopilot. My emotions came crashing down - not in a sense of all emotions being felt but no emotions being felt. Like my body was protecting me and preparing me for what was to come. 

That morning at 6am - I woke up, saw that it was 6 am and decided I was just going to tell Drew it was 9am and just show him the time upside down. I went downstairs and woke him up. He was naked and couldn’t walk well. Just like an extremely drunk Drew. You know it is weird what you think about in times like these. I just kept thinking I need to get pants on my husband. That he was going to keep his dignity. I didn’t know that I would end up having to call the ambulance but I can’t tell you how glad I was to get pants on him. Just didn’t want the neighbors watching him naked, cause of course they watched. I would have too. When the ambulance got there - the 2 paramedics came in. They made Drew walk to the door because the gurney wouldn’t fit in the house - each one on either side of him carrying his weight. He fell so many times. His legs just kept giving way. The gurney was at the bottom of the stairs at the front porch and the step out the door made him trip and fall and he hit his head on the plastic porch railing. The steps down to the sidewalk - even harder. At one point he had fallen with his legs under him in such a way that he couldn’t get back up and the paramedics lifted him to the gurney. As my husband was being wheeled away - I had a feeling and I turned around and yelled - I love you Drew. Drew went into cardiac arrest in the ambulance and never woke back up - I learned later and through time.

Before I left the house to head for the hospital, I made the necessary calls - I couldn’t tell you what I said, I was in shock. And I went through the house to gather things that Drew might need for the hospital - what I ended up with, the only thing I could remember was a pair of socks. Those socks never left my hands, they became a security blanket that I could squeeze and twist. They felt like that old dog toy I carried around during my childhood - with one ear and one eye that my sister and cousin had “accidentally” removed - I still have that stuffed animal - Todo (his name was Toto but I always pronounced it with a d). Drew was only in the hospital for one night. Even now thinking back on it - I thought he would be checked in, get a cocktail of meds and be out. He was always so resilient. Being an electrician, there were a lot of injuries. Like this time an auger bit (think metal corkscrew) fell through the top of his hand - missing all the bones. All he needed was stitches - and while they were numbing him with the shots, I let the nurse know that she had passed through the skin and was just spraying the meds out. I mean I was also really close and taking pictures and Drew just kept saying, Please excuse her, this is how she is, I love her. But his hand healed quickly. He would boast about how he could always heal. So yeah, when he was checked into the hospital - I thought he would Drew his way out. And then it just kept getting worse. They had to attach a catheter and the bag for it just kept filling with blood. He was bleeding out. His skin was so yellow, it was almost orange. He wasn’t a candidate for liver transplant or kidney dialysis. During the night, I kept my hope going, not leaving his side, just watching his blood pressure. It came up a little during the night, but kept falling. But damn if I didn’t watch that machine, eyes glued, holding his hand, talking to him, begging him not to leave. Now, I think about the life he would have had if he had woken up - failed liver and kidneys, addiction and demons and I know my Drew would have hated it.

In the morning, the doctors asked to speak to all of us - The Levines and the Funderburks. I can still picture the conference room we sat in - with its blue carpet, and partial usage for storage of file boxes. The Funderburks sat on the opposite side of the table. And this is how it would and will stay. Always divided by a table and/or by counsel. The doctor - I think said there was no hope anymore and the best they can do is make him as comfortable as possible for his death. All I heard was, you know the sounds of the adults in Charlie Brown? That Whamp Whamp Whamp? That was what I heard, I knew what was going on and I knew what was happening but the absolute shock was still sinking in. I had to marinate on what was going on. I had to process it. To really process it. Drew will be dead. What in the actual fuck? 

We went back out to the main waiting area and I sat down on a bench and it finally hit me - and I screamed. I remember my father-in-law by my side, his arm around me, comforting me. And I remember a nurse coming up to make sure I was okay. I was not. My heart and soul were breaking at the same time and it hurt. It hurt so bad and took so long to fully break, but that initial break was gut wrenching and to be honest, I don’t think the words exist to fully describe that kind of pain - it is every cuss word, every bone breaking at the same time kind of pain. A part of my soul, my energy, my essence went with my husband and ouch! So screaming was needed. I remember my mother-in-law saying the sentence, “I am sorry I didn’t raise a better man.” And that sentence was really all I needed to hear her say, I just didn’t know it then. Drew’s actual death looked like lethal injection. The array of pain meds they were about to pump into his system….the morphine, the demerol, the other ones. After they did that, his blood pressure just quietly and quickly dropped until there was none. The nurse pronounced him dead. They said, “he’s gone” just 2 words that are so horrible. I hate those words. I hate the meaning behind them and what I lost and how they meant I had to learn that the worst lie is I love you, and that was from his parents. 

I remember his mother saying that X (his molester) wouldn’t be invited to the funeral. Drew and I had actually talked about him being there and how I envisioned beating him with an umbrella, Drew liked that. Drew had talked about his funeral to me but also his parents. He didn’t want anything traditional and he wanted to feel free in death. His father had happened upon a funeral place months prior to his passing, up in Kings Mountain in the Nature Preserve. Drew ended up being buried on a hill in a forest with a creek flowing below. And Drew wasn’t in a casket - he was in a basket. He is free. 

His funeral was lovely, just lovely. I wore a green dress (black felt wrong). In fact, the dress I wore was one Drew used to make fun of - it had poofy shoulders, that dress felt right. I adorned myself with all my favorite buttons and jewelry that themselves represented the life of my marriage. I did my eulogy first, then his father, then his mother - I think. I remembered his dad mentioned me at the end of his eulogy, but his mother left me out entirely. That hurt. Especially when I honored them - but that is the person I am and they are who they are. I learned from his mother that there were 153 people in attendance. 153 people!! I cried when I learned that. The man that thought he wasn’t loved, that man, had 153 people at his funeral. Obviously, he was wrong. The wake was at his parents house and I can’t tell you how much I just wanted to go home. I sat on their back porch on one of the conches in the corner, I just watched. I watched as alcohol was being served, drunk, and brought as gifts to the wake. I can’t tell you how disgusted that made me. Just after everything that had happened…..it just seemed tacky and nauseating to serve and have alcohol at your son’s wake who just died from alcoholism. I was raised in a different type of environment than my husband was….it’s that simple. I was raised with love. My husband was not.

While Drew was in the hospital, my sister and my Ride-or-die went to our house, with the awareness of its condition and the plan to clean it. And clean it my family and friends did - they Sunshine Cleaned my home. My 15 year old nephew had to roll out the recycling bin filled with crushed beer cans that filled my husband’s bedroom. Because of this, my nephew made a pact with his friends to never drink or do drugs. But that is not something that a kid should have to go through. I also learned that he had wanted to come up to the hospital, wanted to see or say goodbye to Uncle Drew. I was glad my sister said no. My nephews loved my husband - he was Uncle Drew. My younger nephew? Well Uncle Drew was there from his birth until he died and then he was gone. No more laughing with him. I hate that I was the one that introduced them to death and addiction. Because of that, I have tried to show to them that while it ended badly, it was love and from the grief, I still love. After all the trash was removed from the bedroom, fly traps were put up. The room stayed shut for 3 days - just for the flies to be caught and die. And those fly traps were full, they were nasty and disgusting and full. One of my best friends is trained to clean hermetically as she is a professional caregiver, and she went to town in his bathroom - and it was cleaned in a way that a hospital would be proud of. Our house had 4 attics - so it took me so long to go through everything. And we had lived there for a decade - I was now tasked to decide what memories to take with me in my new life. I have a lot - a large storage unit full. I will widdle down and keep what is the most treasured. I donated most of the furniture and a bulk of the housewares and kitchen stuff, it felt right for someone to be able to build a life while I was dismantling mine. 

I don’t know how I should close this out. I feel like I should have some sort of Jerry Springer Final Thought - but honestly? I think I am going to take a nap.