The Processional and the Funeral

I was feeling a lot of pressure to make decisions because they wanted to arrange a processional with KCFD.  I knew I wanted to take him to Wichita to be buried because I wanted to work with Jayde and Isidro at Lakeview Funeral Home since we knew them from Sue's funeral 6 1/2 months before (yes, Scott's mom died 6 months before he did).  Tara started arranging and got approval for an ambulance to take him to Wichita.  I called Lakeview and asked for Jayde.  She called back quickly and I got her and Tara connected to make arrangements.  Since we weren't embalming him in KC, we needed to go the next day (Monday).  I felt so nauseous that it was moving so fast.  Kimberly (my younger daughter) called me to tell me she thought I should sell the house and move back to Wichita.  Monday, Jessica showed up at my house wearing a mask just to hug me, then we met a slew of people at Research.  I wasn't able to watch, but the color guard draped him with a flag and they loaded him into the ambulance.  We followed the ambulance and a chief's vehicle with members of dispatch followed us.  Tara was supposed to be in the ambulance but one of the chiefs ordered Tara to stand down after she'd tried to get one of the dispatchers removed from the procession.  She had previously filed a grievance against Scott for "racial comments".  It was all bull but it made me angry that she was there and Tara wouldn't be.  I was tempted to make a fuss, but I knew everything they were doing was a courtesy.  We listened to his final call on a radio.  So we headed out with his coworkers driving the ambulance.  We went to Eastwood (dispatch), seeing fire trucks along the way, firemen out saluting.  At dispatch, there were so many apparatus' and firemen and EMS out saluting.  Arrena drove so I could video it all. Then we headed to 33s, since that was his old station, before we got on the highway.  Through most of the route, we saw fire trucks and ambulances on overpasses with their crews out saluting in the rain.  It was very moving, especially when one small town had a sign that said, "In honor of Scott Davidson."  I was told that a lot of the rural ones were volunteer and they still chose to do this on their own time.  Kimberly texted me to ask if I had a spare laptop because hers was acting up: "This might not be the right time to ask" and "have as good a day as it can be."  When we got to Emporia, the ambulance needed refueling, so we all stopped.  Emporia FD chief came over and gave me his card and a coin.  Stephanie said they'd been talking to Scott the whole way, saying, "Look at all these people who showed up for you."  Emporia FD blocked the road while we got back on the highway.  Sometimes we had a police or highway patrol escort and sometimes we didn't.  Arrena was about run off the road by a pickup and the chief behind us turned on his siren.  When we got to El Dorado, we turned off on highway 254, which surprised me because it's easier to get to the funeral home from K-96.  A friend of his mother's texted me that they'd said on the news that we'd be going through Andover.  There was news and fire trucks at Andover.  We'd also seen a few Sherriff's vehicles out too.  When we got on K-96, it was out west by the zoo.  My mom called to see where we were and we were all puzzled.  Mom was at Lakeview, waiting to see us all.  I tried calling Stephanie but got her voicemail.  It soon became apparent that we were going to Resthaven, on the opposite side of town.  They'd obviously planned it because Wichita FD and color guard were there already.  We stayed in the van while they unloaded him and the dispatchers stood watch.  I was angry that that woman was closer to my husband, but nothing I could do about it.  Jayde was there and said they prepare the body at Resthaven and apologized that we hadn't known.  Then the ambulance and chief's vehicle headed back to KC and we went to check into our hotel.  We spent the next few days making arrangements.  I wrote the obituary because I wanted it to tell who he was, not just the basic statistics and also for him I would write, even though I haven't been creative in a long time.  We tried to find a place to get rapid testing to be sure we were negative for Covid.  My mom was afraid to be around us and for the funeral, I wanted to be sure we were negative.  We found a place that cost us $150 each, but we made appointments for Wednesday and they did come back negative.  So we went to see my mom.  Arrena's boyfriend drove her car up.  Thursday we had Thanksgiving with my brother and my mom.  I hadn't been eating much and lost a pound.  It was also her birthday, but I'd already sent her gift, not knowing we'd be in town at the time.  I really dreaded Friday when we would have a private viewing and then the public visitation.  That would make it real.  I couldn't turn back from there.  I kept waiting for someone to tell me there had been a mistake and he was ok.  I really didn't want to go.  But he was there and he wasn't ok.  My best friend, my biggest supporter, my rock, my hero, the one I never deserved was dead and my heart was broken.  I wept.  I cried over his body and touched him and kissed his cheek like I had wanted to that night, until the tears ran out.  I was so dehydrated all week from crying.  We looked at all the flowers--there were some from KC's mayor and the city manager.  We decorated grandma and grandpa's grave and also Sue's and Scott's grandparents'.  A couple of people came early.  We left later than we meant to, but we hurried to get some Chick-fil-A and drop Billy and Paul off at my mom's house.  Then we headed back for the visitation.  My friend Katina stayed there the whole three hours.  My best friend Kimberly had been in town for Thanksgiving and they stayed an extra day to come.  My friend Sheri came too.  The color guard stood watch  and changed out every 8 minutes.  Tara had come and brought flower arrangements from the union and the fire department.  Several members of KCFD were there and they'd brought an ambulance down for the funeral.  I'd recommended our hotel because it was between the cemetery and the church.  I'd chosen it accidentally, thinking it was one we'd stayed at before.  Two by two, the KCFD personnel came to give me condolences.  One chief sat down next to me and asked me how they'd managed to get that smirk on his face because he said Scott had had that smirk the entire time he knew him.  I was glad he saw it and commented on it because I felt like he was smirking too.  I said it was because the Chiefs beat the Raiders Sunday night in a nailbiter.  I'd been giving Isidro, a Raiders' fan, a hard time about it and got him to admit that he was glad they won for Scott.  As we were leaving, I got choked up watching the last color guard salute him.  The 3 hours seemed to fly by but my neck and shoulders were so sore.  Some old friends brought up dinner at my mom's house.  When we got back to the hotel, it seemed strange to see the KCFD ambulance parked out front.  Just a few minutes later, Jessica sent me a picture of the ambulance.  I ran outside barefoot, looking for her.  I asked where she was and she replied "Wichita" and I replied that she was at my hotel.  We were all crowded into room 116 and they were in 119, so I went over to hug my friend.  I hadn't really thought they would come, but I was so glad my best friend was there for me.  Saturday I dreaded too because afterward it would all be over and everyone would go back to their lives but I'd be stuck in my grief.  We had to get going early because Pastor Riffee had wanted a morning service to allow time to disinfect before Sunday services.  Arrena and I had decided to dress in Chiefs' gear to match Scott (we buried him in his Chiefs' Superbowl shirt).  THE Fire Chief, Donna Lake, had come down for the funeral along with several other chiefs.  Tara introduced me to all of them.  The honor guard was on again.  The service was beautiful.  The songs I chose all made me weep.  Tara spoke on behalf of the union and the fire department and as a friend and presented Arrena and Billy with coins from the fire department (Kimberly didn't come because she was afraid of Corona) and me with a medal for Scott.  Pastor Riffee preached a salvation message that at last count, over 800 people watched on the livestream.  I was glad the livestream went outside because I spent some time with him after everyone left and wept and touched him and kissed his cheek.  When I was ready (would I ever really be ready) they closed the casket and draped the flag over it and wheeled him out into the windy day.  Color guard stood watch and they played the bagpipes (and drums) while they put him in the hearse.  We followed the hearse, the ambulance followed us, and all the chiefs' vehicles followed behind.  The livestream resumed after we got there, as they unloaded him to the bagpipes and color guard again.  I followed after and we had a short entombment service.  All of the chiefs came by to give their condolences and the color guard folded the flag and gave it to KCFD, who presented it to me.  They played Amazing Grace on the bagpipes, which always gets me.  My friends came and hugged me, then everyone left but me, the kids, mom and my brother, and Pastor and Mrs. Riffee.  Isidro gave me a Chiefs' helmet magnet that I placed on his casket over a scratch, like a bumper sticker.  Then they struggled to get him situated in the "couch" mausoleum I chose.  I could have had him buried near his mother and grandparents but I wanted him inside.  The mausoleum has room for me and we'll be side by side, which is why they call it a couch.  We stayed as they sealed it up and put the marble face back on.  Then we went to his mother's friend's for lunch.  After that, Billy and I went to mom's and Arrena and her boyfriend went to visit her dad.  Billy hadn't wanted to stay with grandma like he usually does.  At first he said the house was haunted.  Then he said he just wanted to stay with me.  Arrena said he finally cried at the funeral.  He told me he was going to get a job to pay bills.  Sunday morning we went to church with mom, where I was angered by people not wearing masks.  We ate lunch and then left to go back to KC.  It's been a lot of paperwork ever since.  Arrena asked if she could move back in to help out.  When she's not here, just me and Billy make the house feel so empty.  She's been cleaning and organizing the house for me while I sit and do paperwork or just scroll through Facebook.  My therapist said when someone dies people wish the whole world would stop.  For me, it kind of did with all the publicity (the mayor holding a press conference and the governor ordering flags to be half-mast).  The hard part is when everything goes back to normal.  The words of the songs from the funeral keep playing in my head.  I'm ok most of the time, but sometimes I lose it.  Usually in the shower or at bedtime.  I know I'll see him again, I know where he is, but I mourn for my loss on earth.  I don't know if it's ok with God, but I talk to him sometimes--"See? I'm doing my self-care."  Or I was telling him how the mayor and the governor have made speeches about him and that the Fire Chief came to his funeral.  Then it dawned on me that he doesn't care.  He's with God the Father and Jesus--who cares about earthly big wigs?  The Lt. Governor sent us a card about "perpetual adoration society" for Scott.  We asked Arrena's friend and she said it meant they were praying for him all the time to honor him.  I miss him so much.  And I don't know how to finish raising Billy without him.  Billy had two meltdowns in the hotel before Arrena's boyfriend came and Arrena and I could barely contain him.  She got a bruise from being punched in the jaw.  My aunt said we (plus my mom) should travel and finish seeing the 50 states.  That gives me something to look forward to.  I've been thinking about taking the kids on a cruise too, since we loved going so much.

How I lost my husband Scott

Scott worked the weekend ending with November 1.  He'd gotten a cyst on his leg.  I can't remember the name of the autoimmune disease, but he would get cysts on the backs of his legs and sometimes they would rupture.  Both of us felt like we were getting colds or a sinus infection, but that only lasted a couple of days for me.  On Tuesday, the 3rd, we got out to vote.  Then on Friday the 6th, Scott felt bad enough that he asked me to drive him to Research Medical Center.  His leg had gotten infected so much that it swelled up like a basketball and he had a hard time walking.  With Covid, the hospital only allowed one visitor, so he had me drop him off since we had Billy (my 15-year-old special needs' son).  They talked like they were going to keep him for 24 hours on IV antibiotics, but then they sent him home after about 4 hours.  He was supposed to follow up with our family doctor Monday or Tuesday.  But, Sunday the 8th, it was hurting worse and he was starting to have trouble breathing.  He didn't want to go back to Research because he was afraid of getting Covid, as all the cases were being sent there.  So, we went to overland Park Regional.  I parked the truck with Billy in it and went in to help him talk to the doctor. He thought he might be having congestive heart failure.  I explained everything, then left with Billy.  He got a bed quick since I said, "CHF."  He texted me around 7pm that they gave him IV antibiotics and it made him puke.  I had just read that a friend of ours had died of Covid when Scott texted me that they'd tested him for Covid and he was positive.  The doctor told him he'd have lost the bet if they'd bet on him having Covid.  They were going to send him home, but he asked them not to so they were going to transfer him back to Research.  They wanted to test him for blood clots by CT but he wouldn't fit, so they treated him anyway with 3 shots to the abdomen.  There weren't any available beds at Research, so they put him in a positive pressure room.  He finally got some pain meds at midnight.  They wanted him to have oxygen and they couldn't order some for at home for some reason, so he called our doctor to see if he could, rather than being sent back to Research.  Scott said he felt better.  Other than complaining about the beds and that his sleep apnea kept setting off alarms so he couldn't sleep.  They called his leg infection cellulitis.  He kept begging to go home, so finally around 5pm Monday, they discharged him and we picked him up.  As the week went on, we got sicker.  I felt like I had a bad flu--extreme body aches, headaches, fatigue.  The doctor's office didn't call till Tuesday.  In the meanwhile, guys he knew from work brought over some small O2 tanks for Scott to use.  We didn't get the O2 machine that the doctor ordered until Thursday.  During this time, we were also dealing with his leg draining fluid, so we got bed pads and surgical dressings because every time he would stand up, the wound would drain everywhere.  He tried to sleep in the bed, but laying down, he couldn't breathe, so he slept sitting up in his recliner, except for one night, sitting on the side of the bed.  The doctor wouldn't give him pain pills while he needed oxygen because it would depress respirations.  He kept track of his O2 sats with his phone and Samsung Health app.  After he remembered to take his diuretic Thursday, he felt better.  But Friday, the diuretic and the oxygen weren't enough.  At bedtime, he started running a fever.  Until then, I thought he was whiny like with a "man cold".  But when his temperature hit 104 degrees, I was worried.  He'd already had Tylenol and couldn't have more yet.  He couldn't take ibuprofen because he was already on an NSAID.  I stood there with wet washcloths on his face and neck while he shivered.  I frequently had to sit down to rest since I was still sick.  I finally got his temp down to 102, but I was afraid to go to bed, so I dozed off in the recliner.  He woke me after about an hour and said he needed me to call an ambulance.  He didn't think he could walk to the truck.  I called and it was his shift (paramedic/dispatcher), so I identified him and one of his coworkers said, "oh hi, Robin."  They sent out Raytown's ambulance, a fire truck, and a chief.  He knew a lot of them.  They helped him up and to the cot at the bottom of the porch steps.  At the steps, I joked that it was "all downhill from here" and we talked about his usual joke that "all bleeding eventually stops."  I told him I loved him and they loaded him into the ambulance.  By this time, it was past midnight.  At 1:45, he texted me he was doing better on high O2 and to get some sleep.  At 10am on Saturday, he sent me a picture with his bigger O2 hoses and said he had massive pneumonia.  They have a larger CT machine, so they checked him for blood clots and found none.  The neighbors had seen all the commotion the night before and texted to check on us.  Coworkers texted too.  His nurse in the E.R. was a former MAST coworker.  While he waited for a room in the E.R., they tried to make him comfortable and brought in a big recliner.  They gave him plasma from a recovered donor and some anti-Covid med.  He said, "So I'm stable, don't feel great, but not dying."  He said if he moved, his sats dropped but recovered quickly so they weren't worried.  He said it was hard to talk or take a deep breath without coughing.  He asked about Billy, who'd woken up not feeling well.  He told everyone to contact me so he wouldn't have to keep explaining and because he only wanted to talk to me, so I was inundated with messages.  We discussed what the plasma did and he told me that he had 3 IVs and that they were opening up 2 Covid wards.  He said his blood sugar was 337 so he was getting insulin and there were nurses from New Orleans to help as a payback for KC helping them when they had a surge.  He was finally moved to a room (4105) around 2am Sunday morning, which caused his breathing to become labored, being moved around.  He asked how Billy and I were feeling.  We both watched church (Abundant Life) online--converted Muslim missionary speaking.  He said this was the hardest thing he's done--missing everyone, bored, and working just to breathe.  He wanted his laptop bag and his clippers to trim the hair around his mouth.  So I drove up there with his bag and included some underwear and shorts.  I got halfway there and realized I'd forgotten the clippers, so I went all the way back home.  Since Scott likes to "stalk" me, he was watching on our app Life360 that I'd gone back.  I put on my mask and left Billy in the van and took his bag to security.  They made me remove his 5 Hour Energies, which are currently still in my purse.  People kept asking if they could do anything for us--I almost asked someone to take his bag so I didn't have to get out.  Scott was still keeping track of work shift and said they were down 5 out of 11. He sent me a picture after he'd shaved up a bit and asked if he looked Amish.  His blood sugar went down to 230 and he said his sats actually went up when he was dozing.  But they plummeted to the 70s when he got up.  Regularly he was 88-95 on the special nasal that flowed 60 LPM.  And they gave him some more meds for clots even though he didn't have any clots.  He was watching movies and shows on his phone and watched 2 episodes of The Good Doctor, sad emotional episodes about Covid.  He was sad about our being separated, but texted "God is good all the time, all the time God is good."  On Monday morning his blood sugar was 207 and he was having trouble maintaining his O2 if he was coughing.  Then he asked how we were doing.  He asked if I was still tasteless and I said, "Ha, ha, yeah, I married you, right? Lol."  He wanted me to use the oxygen machine if I got even a little short of breath.  He said they brought in boxes of contacts for him but he didn't know how they knew his prescription.  He also asked for pictures.  I sent him a funny one of Shadow, our cat.  Billy was acting up and Scott said to tell him he loved him and then he prayed for us.  I sent him a pic of Billy.  He said the "stupid" lung doctor wanted him to lay prone in an airbed, which he sent a pic of.  He said he felt like his lungs were better.  He wanted to get on Minecraft with Billy for a little while.  The infections doc came in and told him it could be a few days to a week.  His blood sugar went back up to 267 so they decided to put him on an insulin drip.  They also gave him more O2 and lasix.  Then his blood sugar dropped down to 196.  We discussed short term disability and emergency pay.  They gave him the insulin drip with sugar water so he didn't crash and ordered hourly blood sugar checks.  I sent him a pic of me and Shadow.  He said his blood sugar was down to 171.  During the night, it ranged from 183 to 141.  Tuesday he sent me a pic of his bruised forearm where they kept taking blood.  He said the respiratory doc was torturing him with the "suck in device".  He was expected to do it 10 times an hour.  We discussed the neighbor who was noisy at midnight and he looked up the P.D. non-emergency number in case I needed it.  I asked why his glucose was so high and he said that Covid was messing it up.  I had been wheezing a little, so my best friend Jessica brought me a nebulizer and I sent a pic of me using it.  He wanted me to check my pulse ox and told me how to with my phone.  He asked me to get in touch with Arrena, my oldest daughter, and have a plan in case I got worse--he was very concerned and adamant.  He said it was his job to worry about us all, which I argued, so he said it was biblical.  Arrena ordered N95 masks to be prepared.  He said PT made him get up and stand and he thought he was losing some of his belly.  He asked how Billy was.  He said he felt less short of breath and asked if I was still wheezing.  He said his head was pounding and his glucose was 147.  He said he was frustrated and angry because he was sick of insulin and dextrose, sick of pulse ox not reading right, and sick of being poked every hour.  Sick and tired of being sick and tired.  He got so frustrated, he was cursing and considering refusing the glucose monitoring.  Wednesday he said he'd had a long night, slept a little, got off the drip, and had a bad de-sat after he peed.  His sats were dropping every time he peed and it took extra O2 to calm back down.  He said he was getting insulin injections every 4 hours since his glucose had gone down.  Then he asked how I was feeling and how Billy was doing.  I'd stopped wheezing but I ached all over and hadn't slept well.  Then he asked how Arrena was because she had just called to check on us.  He said he was frustrated with how long it was taking to heal and that he was very uncomfortable.  I asked if he was on steroids and he said he was and that's why they were worried about his blood sugar.  He asked if I talked to his coworker because there was a big issue with emergency pay.  He forwarded me the emails.  They were trying to exclude dispatch from emergency pay and the union was filing a grievance.  He said he missed me and said he thought this was the longest we'd been apart in 11 years.  He reminded me to keep doing my self-care (it had been a year since I was hospitalized and I was still fighting daily depression).  He told me he'd paid the bills.  He watched Iron Man on his laptop and had a cheeseburger (or half of one) for dinner, inspired by the movie.  He again asked how I was doing and said his breathing wasn't too bad.  He texted, "I spent the last nearly 2 hours listening to Christian music on Pandora and bawling and praising and praying.  Feel better now...Needed some emotional release I guess."  He said they were going to put a condom cath on so he could try the bed.  He felt like his cellulitis was about gone.  He said his legs were really swollen and he needed them up and to pray that it worked.  He sent me a Facebook memory of the two of us when we ere young.  He asked for a selfie, so I sent one of me, Billy, and George, our other cat.  We talked about groceries and the book I was reading and selling the trailer to get a 5th wheel and the girls using the trailer like a guest room.  Thursday he woke me up at 6:55am, saying being in the bed about killed him and he was barely keeping sats up.  He said they might have to intubate him and he was scared and tired.  They told him that laying and prone were the 2 ways to heal the lungs.  He told me I was officially his medical decision maker if they called me.  I asked him what he wanted and he said whatever I can deal with.  He told me intubation didn't have good odds of survival.  He said, "I'll fight for us, just know I am very tired."  I was scared so I texted Jessica and she asked why he wasn't on a bi-pap, so I asked.  They'd wanted to but he didn't want to do the face mask.  But I pointed out that it would be better than being intubated and I suggested anxiety meds to help.  He told respiratory and they were considering it.  I sent him a pic of George curled up on his blanket.  He said he was breathing better.  I told him he'd freaked me out, which I, in turn, passed on.  He said that he'd been freaked out too and that he didn't want to scare me, but he wanted me to be prepared.  I decided to post on Facebook to get more people praying .  He told me where he had some cash hidden and then told me to fight tooth and nail for Line of Duty if they worst happened because I deserve it.  I told him to stop doing that.  He said, "I felt like a fool last night talking about a 5th wheel, thought of the rich man story in the Bible.  I just want to heal and serve God better."  I was getting scared and had to take my PRN anxiety pill.  Later they told him no anxiety meds because it depresses respirations, but they wanted to do the bi-pap.  Arrena had texted her boyfriend's nurse mother and she said that if he couldn't handle the bi-pap, the ventilator would be next because he needed rest.  He agreed to the bi-pap and told me, "I love you so much."  I said I did too but I needed him around longer.  He asked about Billy.  I'd been so flustered by the morning texts, I'd forgotten to give Billy his morning meds so he was acting up on zoom and I had to shut him down early.  The respiratory doc was hesitant to go more invasive with the bi-pap since he was breathing better but wrote the orders anyway.  He sent a pic of wearing the bi-pap and said it was weird but he was getting used to it.  He ended the night by saying, "I think this was right."  He was on the bi-pap all night.  Friday morning they were trying to change to a different breathing technique and his sats crashed.  They asked him if he wanted to be intubated if it came to it.  Then they had him lay prone and it was hard to text.  His nurse called me at his request to tell me they were intubating him.  She said she knew he was bad because he'd accepted intubation when he'd previously fought the bi-pap.  I texted him, "I love you. Don't you give up."  He texted back "Ok."  When he got to the ICU, his nurse there, Amanda, called me too.  Then later his doctor.  I updated Facebook and began praying harder.  I called that evening and talked to his nurse Seth, who told me he was stable.  Saturday morning, I talked to his nurse, Kimberly, and things were the same.  In the evening, I called and got Seth again.  He said everything was about the same.  His blood sugar was higher again but they weren't worried about that.  They were more concerned about his kidneys because he wasn't producing a lot of urine.  I went to bed, but before I drifted off, around midnight, a nurse called and said that Scott's lung had collapsed and they were trying to get a trauma surgeon there to re-inflate it with tubes.  His sats had dropped so they'd x-rayed him and found the lung collapsed.  She said they'd call me back when they had more info.  So I sat to wait.  I texted Jessica, Arrena, and mom and then updated Facebook.  Then I got on my face to pray.  It seemed like forever before they called.  I'm not even sure if it was the same nurse and I don't remember most of what she said to me other than that it was very bad.  His sats were dropping and they didn't think his heart would last the night.  The pressure in his chest was too much and his lung had popped.  I remember her asking me if I understood what she was saying.  I can't remember if she said they'd already done chest compressions but she asked me if they should resuscitate him and I said I didn't think he'd want that, so she listed him as a DNR.  I asked if I could come up.  She said they'd get someone to approve it.  I called Arrena and asked her to come right away.  I started the van and updated Facebook.  Tara, his co-worker, union rep, and our friend, texted me and begged me to let her drive me to the hospital.  I didn't want to wait for her but she said she'd be fast.  She was on duty and ran lights and sirens back to get her vehicle.  She gave me an N95 mask to wear.  We drove to Research and went in. She identified herself as my representative and said she'd wait outside.  They went through my bag, then led me to ICU.  The nurse said we had to hurry because he was crashing fast.  I was wheezing again so rushing down the halls was hard, especially while upset.  Just outside the ICU, they met us with gloves, a gown, and a respiration mask that looked like a beekeeper hat.  I had to carry a machine that delivered oxygen to the mask.  They put this over the N95.  I was sweaty and claustrophobic..  Then they let me in.  They said I was the first person to be on the ward.  They took me to room 30 and he was there on his stomach, his vital signs weak.  Seth was there with his doctor, taking care of him.  I don't know if he knew I was there or could hear me past the monkey suit and all the machines.  He was on a paralytic so he wouldn't fight the tube and fentanyl for any pain.  I held his cold hand and touched his hair and told him I was there, that I loved him, and that Tara said to tell him she'd take care of me.  I asked if I could take off all the garb because I already had Covid and I just wanted to hug him and kiss his head one more time.  Seth said he'd ask but I never got an answer.  I wanted to rip it all off anyway, whether they allowed it or not.  I wish I had.  I was only there maybe 5 minutes when Seth said he was gone.  I couldn't tell any difference.  They listened for a heartbeat and called his death at 3:23am.  They asked if I wanted them to turn him over so I could spend some time with him.  I went out into the hall and sat down, crying while they drew the curtain and got him into position.  One of the nurses rubbed my back and said she used to work with him on the streets and she was sorry.  Once they had him situated, I went back in and sat next to him and cried.  I held his hand and made note of his crooked pinky so I'd never forget.  They told me to take as long as I needed.  I knew he was gone, that he wasn't there anymore, that his spirit was in heaven, but I had a hard time leaving him.  Part of me wanted to run, but the other part wanted to stay there where he looked like he was sleeping (except for the tube) and hold his hand and pretend nothing happened.  I eventually left and peeled all the gear off me and Seth walked me down to the emergency department.  I told him my son has a one-on-one teacher named Seth.  He told me his uncle who'd been to Vietnam, worked with special needs' kids.  He led me to the parking garage, so I had to go through and around to get back to Tara.  She was surrounded by 4 people.  One was the chief that came when we'd called 911, one was introduced to me as Chief Cashen, one said he owned a funeral home and asked to pray with me.  We talked some about God and where Scott was.  Then Tara drove me home.  She said one of Scott's friends had been there but had gotten a call.  When I got home, Arrena had her boyfriend and her roommate over.  She said Billy had gotten up and she'd told him what was happening.  I felt nauseous.  I went to bed, but Jessica had messaged me, so I cried to her until about 6am and slept until Billy woke me up about 10:30am.  I'd already had several messages.

To be continued...

My journey through grief

I struggle with depression, anxiety, and Borderline Personality Disorder.  My latest bout with depression has dragged on for over a year and my husband's death overlapped that.  Several people have suggested I blog about my journey through the grief of losing my husband so maybe I can help someone else.  I warn you that this is going to be raw, straight from my journal, except where I need to edit for privacy's sake.  It's not going to be pretty and right now it's not very inspiring.  I hope that God can use me somewhere along the way.

Express Lane 7/5/17

Haven't had any appointments in two days -- it's a miracle! Got more quiet alone time!

Express Lane 7/4/17

Billy called wanting to come home. Actually had decent communication with ex. Had the house to myself for a while!

Express Lane 7/3/17

Started physical therapy. Gave up my evening ALONE to eat BBQ with teens, walk half a mile to watch fireworks.

Express Lane 7/2/17

Sent Billy to his dad's for two weeks. Hunted and hid rocks for our "rock group." Kimberly's 15th birthday!

Express Lane 7/1/17

Celebrated Kimberly's birthday and she went home with the grandmas for a week.  Figuring out new cell phones.

The Misadventures of Robin

So, today is not a day for an Express Lane blog post. There's no way to convey a day like today in twenty words or less.

I knew today wouldn't be a PLEASANT day because first thing, I had a GYN appointment. I know no one likes those, but I've had some particularly bad experiences that have kept me out of *those* places for a long time. 

So, my GPS on my phone was trying to get me to go past the office and make a u-turn to go back to it. I ignored it and turned in the parking lot and looked for a nonexistent parking spot while the GPS continued to squawk about leaving the parking lot to go a different way. The doctors' building is attached to a hospital that has free valet parking so I thought I'd let someone else park it for me. I stood by the valet podium for a few minutes but never saw a valet. I was going to be late, so I decided to park across the street at another doctors' building and walk over. When I parked, the GPS was still whining, so I was shutting it up, juggling my keys (I'd taken the fob off, intending to hand it to the valet), grabbing my purse, and locking the door so I could hurry across the soggy just-watered grass and across the street. I took the elevator to the 4th floor and checked in. When I sat down in the waiting room, I looked for my phone. I couldn't find it. I dug through my purse, but no luck. I left it in the car. I must have. But a bit of panic set in that grew as the time in the waiting room stretched on. I watched the end of one DIY show and a whole other one. I was getting more agitated as I waited, wondering if my family was trying to call or text me. What did we ever do without cell phones? I was hesitant to even make a follow-up appointment without my "brain" to show me my calendar.

I hurried out to the car and the phone wasn't there. I dumped my purse out in the seat. The anxiety was very real. It wasn't so much the PHONE but the LOSING it that had me nearly in tears. I've always been forgetful but it's gotten so much worse lately. I can't focus. I've been reading and taking self-assessments and I'm sure I have ADD. This was just one more example of how much I struggle and it was humiliating. I went back to the doctor's office and asked the receptionists. They called it for me and dialed my husband so I could ask him to look at our family GPS tracker. He said it was showing that it was still right there. I checked the sofa cushions in the waiting room. There's no central desk in that building that someone might turn it in to, but I stopped in the first office when you come in the door, but they hadn't seen it. Someone suggested asking at the hospital's front desk, so I walked over there and was sent to the ER to check with security. Security was on a call, so I waited, very agitated, for a while. I decided to go check at the other doctor building in the parking lot where I parked, so I walked back over there, checked under my van, then drove to the building's main doors. It was the same setup, with no main desk. There's a pharmacy, though, so I asked in there. They took my name and my husband's number and a description in case it was turned in. I drove back to the ER and met the security guard as he was coming back. He even radioed the pediatric ER to check with their security. He also took my name, number, and description and said they sometimes get turned in at the end of the day. That made sense because no central desk might mean someone would have turned it in to the receptionist at any of the offices they were visiting. I couldn't imagine stopping in every office of two four-story buildings. I was exhausted so I reluctantly went home. Maybe someone had answered when my husband called it and he knew where it was. Only one way to find out.

As I walked in the door, my husband said, "It's gone. Someone stole it." The tracker had showed it moving and he thought maybe I had it so he called. After multiple calls with no answer, the phone was shut off. The last location was going a different way than I was going. I felt awful. My son was upset about his Pokemon Go game but he saw I was upset and tried to comfort me instead. I got on my laptop and started changing passwords on anything I thought could be accessed. My phone has a pass protection home screen but eventually someone could hack that. I remote locked the phone through Google and sent a message to my phone, invoking my autistic son in the plea, in the hopes that the thief had a heart.

My husband and I had therapy 30 minutes away from home in the afternoon, but on the way there, my stomach cramped up and I had to visit the bathroom. While I was in there, my husband found out our therapist had gone home sick and they'd tried to call my cell phone. Touché, phone thief.

We looked at new phones and started to make an insurance claim but that was a joke. We've paid for insurance for two and a half years but to replace it is a $200 deductible. On an old phone. (Who even wanted my phone? There's been two upgrades since mine and the screen is broken. I was in the wealthy area of town--why the heck would anyone want my stupid phone???  Besides ME!) I checked eBay and Amazon and found new phones the same version as mine for $180. That insurance is worthless!

I was about to head out to get dinner and checked my Google tracker and saw the phone was back on and it was showing location near a lake South of us. My husband tried to call it a few more times with no luck. I wanted to go out there. I was fully mad at this point. It didn't take much convincing to get my husband to come. I took my laptop so I could trigger Google to ring the phone so we could hear it. I pictured people hanging around the lake and the phone ringing in someone's pocket and a confrontation ensuing. I grabbed a thick wood stick, just in case. My husband brought a "just in case" too. Only his was a handgun. He was worried the thief would have a weapon.  He said that this is who I am, the kind of person to go charging after someone, but that it was potentially dangerous and he was worried.  He didn't try to talk me out of it though!

My adrenaline was pumping as we headed to the lake. I could hear badass theme music playing in my mind. Mama bear was ready to charge.  Maybe the mamas will get this--we were watching Bolt last night and I felt like Rhino (he's my favorite!). We got near where the signal showed and it was behind a building in the woods. I hopped out and grabbed my stick (it was more like a pole). I charged into the woods, but about halfway in, my adrenaline failed me. The brush was thick and thigh high. I was stepping on top of the brush and below it, I could feel branches and it was very unsteady. I came to a small stream which my son could have easily jumped, but I'm 40 and have a ruptured disk. In the middle of the stream, there was a pipe, so I steadied myself with the pole, put one foot on the pipe, grabbed a branch on the other side, and stepped over. It was so muddy because of all the rain we've had and there were lots of thorns catching me. I was praying that there were no snakes, spiders, or poison ivy. I heard a noise and saw movement up ahead so I stopped to watch and listen but I decided it was probably a deer. I fell at one point and was glad I brought the stick or I might not have had the strength to get back up. The brush became so thick, it was impassable and I couldn't see a break. I moved laterally, hoping to find an opening, but there was no way. I decided I had to turn back. But, the path back from where I ended up crossed TWO small creeks and had so many thorns! I hadn't dressed for a hike. I had on my slip on shoes (athletic type, not flip flops) and capris pants. I was muddy and my ankles and legs were getting scraped up. I was picking barbed thorns out of my hands and laying my stick across thick thorns to try to walk over them instead of through. When I finally got back to the road, I was panting. I haven't exerted myself this much in a long time. My lungs still burn. I came around some trees and my husband and the van were gone. I walked back to the driveway by the little building and waited and pretty soon he pulled up.

He had heard the commotion in the woods and then the tracker started to move.  He thought I had flushed someone out.  There was a little gated road down the way a bit that was locked or we'd have gone in that way.  He thought  they were coming out there, according to the tracker, so he headed after them.  He couldn't see anyone though, so he came back to get me.  We picked up the signal in the middle of a field, but we couldn't see anything.  Then it jumped to the next field over so we kept going.  We drove down a twisty driveway and disturbed deer, but saw no people.  The signal jumped again and showed the phone was north of us, so we headed through this nice neighborhood.  I got out again and walked down a trail that should have given me a clear view of whoever had the phone, but I saw nothing.  We went at it a different direction but we still saw nothing.  We stopped and talked to a park ranger who was interested and seemed to think the whole thing was pretty cool.  I was not amused.  Give us a hand, Barney Fife! The signal had stayed stationary so we wondered if it had been ditched.  Then it jumped around again and ended  up back at the same place we started!  Ugh!  We had driven around for about two hours.  We had originally suspected it might be some kids, so I tried sending messages to the phone that we were tracking them and that we didn't have to get the police involved--we just wanted the phone back.  I even said they could leave it somewhere and just let us know where they left it.  No response. The battery was at 11%, so I finally made the decision to remotely wipe it and send it back to factory settings.  Then we headed to get Kimberly's birthday dinner and home.

We had thought that whoever had it must be on bikes or dirt bikes, moving through the fields and trees like that.  But, my husband now thinks it might have been a boat.  Even though the pin was in the woods, the radius was large, so it's possible they could have been on the lake.

I came home and cleaned up my scratches.  Then I found a tick on my knee!  I forgot to add ticks to my "no critter prayer."  Then I felt one crawling down my arm.  I took a long hot bath and then we found another one on my back! I've got itchy bites and my skin is just irritated but more than 24 hours later, we found 3 more ticks on the back of my thigh. Where did they come from? I hope there are no more! I am so sore and tired. Remind me that I'm 40 and shouldn't do crap like that! Wait, nevermind. My kids kept reminding me that I'm too old and I am not all big and bad. Then Arrena refused to go to the basement because there's a mouse down there. Mmmmhmmmm. But we won't talk about that. 

It was an adventure for sure, but we upgraded to new cell phones. I have a new high - tech brain! I definitely didn't want to have to pay more and I hate changing phones because I get used to the way I have things, but at least I don't have a cracked screen anymore so the jerk thieves can keep the broken, factory reset, decommissioned phone. 

Express Lane 6/29/17

Moms are here for Kimberly's birthday. Quote du jour when Billy punched Arrena for messing with him: "it was acid reflex!"

Express Lane Hump Day

Ex wanted to send a stranger to pick up Billy. "No" set off name-calling, threats, Arrena's texting fingers of fury.

Express lane Tuesday

My therapy day. Realized I'm paying her to listen to me talk for an hour. Need to work on that.

Express lane Monday

Got sucked into Facebook drama over rocks. Story at 11. (Not really)

Express lane sunday

Newsflash: mom gets sick and the kids lose their minds. Wait, you've heard that one before?

Express lane Saturday

Arrena had an interview for a babysitting job and then I took the kids garage-saling

Express Lane Friday

No appointments, but much tired and much headache. I created a Minecraft monster (Scott). Trampoline broken. Arrena's having a sleepover.

Express Lane Thursday

Somber and disconsolate therapy with a side of musical theatre in the park. Overall, a well-rounded day.

Express Lane Wednesday

My 12-year-old son found my hidden donuts: "Somebody's been stress eating in here." pic.twitter.com/x2zZrweIUV

— Robin Davidson (@Robin_Tweets_) June 22, 2017

Express Lane

I know I haven't posted in a long time and my posts have been few and far between.  Maybe one of these days I'll have gads of spare time and will update you on my life.  I have no idea who even keeps up with my blog besides my husband, my mom, and my mother-in-law.  Hey, y'all.  Anyway, I had the idea to do a new blog series that hopefully I can keep up with (fingers crossed).  I'm calling it "express blog".  You know how you go to the grocery store and get in the express lane that says "20 items or less"?  This is the premise I am going to use.  My express blog posts will be 20 words or less.  Maybe I should start a Twitter account, though I swore I never would.  I will likely throw in a few longer posts if the muses demand.  Maybe this concept will help me get in a routine of writing daily.

For example, today's express blog might go something like this:

I couldn't handle the crazy meltdown, so Billy went to respite at the residential treatment center.

Maybe in the future they will be funny or pithy, but not quite feeling it today.

Celebrating Grandparents' Day with No Grandparents

Since today is grandparents' day and i just lost my grandmother, I wanted to take a minute and post about her.  This will probably be long, I am sorry, so you can scroll on if you like.  

It seems like the more funerals I go to, the harder they become.  Is it because the older I get, the closer I am to the people I lose?  Is it because I have less people that I love left?  My uncle might say that it's because it reminds me of my own mortality.  I think it's because as the scales are tipped, as more people I love wait for me in heaven than are left here on earth, I get homesick.  It's because it's harder to brave this wretched world without those people in your corner.  My grandmother's preacher talked about my grandma being a prayer warrior and it struck me that I lost one more person that advocated for me in prayer.  

My grandparents were my ideals.  My grandpa was the greatest man I ever knew and I want my son to grow up to be like him.  My grandma was the greatest woman I ever knew and I want to be like her when I grow up.  I am not saying they were perfect--I know better.  My grandpa was strong, but funny and ornery.  He had huge hands that built houses, but could cradle my babies with pride and softness.  My grandma was really the only babysitter I ever knew as a kid.  We played dress up and she gave us big spoons to dig in the yard and she sang songs to us, putting our names into them.  She was funny and strong and ornery too.  Once when my brother was little and throwing a fit, she threw herself down on the couch and had herself a fit.  My brother stopped and stared, probably wondering what in the world happened when adults lost it because he'd never seen such a thing before.  Grandma said later that she had to pick herself up before she lost control.  She added that she knew why kids threw fits--it felt good!  Five years ago, when she had breast cancer, she opted for a mastectomy because she didn't have time for chemo or radiation because she was taking care of my papa, who was in the late stages of Parkinson's.  She came home from surgery and got busy doing laundry, kicking it down the hall, and swearing when the kids protested, that she wasn't lifting anything.  She broke her wrist about two years ago, falling in the parking lot of the store.  She did her shopping, including lifting a heavy bag of cat litter or cat food, and drove to my mom's house.  She saw mom was busy doing laundry and said they could just go to the doctor "next week."  She ended up needing a steel plate and screws to put her wrist back together.  And even with a diagnosis of stage 4 pancreatic cancer, she still had her sense of humor.  A nurse was asking her routine questions before a surgical procedure and asked my 88-year-old grandma if she could possibly be pregnant.  Grandma had several liters of fluid built up in her abdominal cavity and she certainly looked very pregnant.  Grandma rubbed her belly and said, "Oh yes, I am due with twins any moment now!  I'm going to get my name in the papers!"  Everyone in the room burst out laughing.  

She rapidly declined and rather than the guess of 3 months the doctor tentatively gave her, it took only 3 weeks and her pain was over and ours began.  Four years and 22 days after we lost Pops, grandma joined him.  I've tried to quantify why I have taken this so hard.  The only thing I can coherently bring together is that I feel lost.  My mom is the only parentage I have left.  No grandparents, no great-grandparents, not even my dad.  We have a 5 generation picture up on the wall in our living room, taken 15 years ago when Arrena was a baby.  In 15 years, we are down to 3 generations.  If I feel that way, I have no doubt that my mom feels even more lost than I do, since she is now the matriarch of our little family.  Have you ever seen the Facebook meme about looking around for an adult and realizing you're it, so you start looking around for someone adult-ier?  My mom no longer has anyone "adult-ier."  She moved a block away from my grandma when Pops died so they could take care of each other (because grandma was a natural caregiver and needed to do that) and much of her life revolved around her mom.  And yet, she seems to be holding up better now than she did before grandma died.  It was the anticipation, she said.  However, I was stoic before and now I am grieving.  

But, we don't grieve as those who have no hope.  When I say I have hope, it's not in the "wish" sense of the word, it is in the assurance as strong as I know that I am breathing and my fingers are typing this.  My grandmother and my grandfather and my dad and others are this minute in heaven with Jesus.  Not because they "believed" there is a God.  Not because they attended church.  Not because they were good people.  Not because they followed some list of rules.  Not because they prayed some "magic prayer" that gave them hell insurance.  Not because they were baptized in a river or a chlorine-cleaned baptismal tank and came back up a wet sinner.  They are in heaven today because they had a relationship with Jesus Christ.  They accepted his forgiveness for their sins when he died on the cross in their place and they followed him until he took them home.  They left behind an example and a legacy of what following Jesus looks like.  They loved Jesus and it showed.  They were kind and loving and forgiving and gentle and selfless and humble and joyful.  I love Jesus and I strive to be like him, but I fail sometimes.  My grandparents are an example of a lifetime of learning and becoming more and more like Jesus.  

I will see them again.  No maybes or wishful thinking or delusions or mindlessly following the masses or positive thinking or "if I'm good enough" or fairy tales or whatever people like to say to excuse our Christian beliefs.  I KNOW.  I am SURE.  I am GUARANTEED.  I stake my life and the lives of my family and my children on this.  THAT is how serious and sure I really am.  My grieving for my grandmother is temporary and selfish because I miss her NOW.  Because I want to be where she is.  I am world weary.  The problems of life physically cause me pain.  And one less person to help me walk through this life breaks my heart.  

I was reading a Max Lucado book and he was writing about Lazarus.  Many people have speculated as to WHY Jesus wept when Lazarus died.  The passage in the book talked about people being in a cage of fear of death.  They had seen Jesus heal people and raise others from the dead, but apparently it wasn't enough for them to believe fully yet.  He related a story of a missionary who went to a remote tribe that was suffering from disease.  All they had to do was cross a river to get to a place that had medicine to heal them.  But, they believed there were evil spirits in the river and they would rather die of the disease than to go near the water.  The missionary told them he had crossed the river to get to them.  They wouldn't get in.  He got in and splashed around and they still wouldn't get in.  Finally, he dove into the river and swam across to the other side and stood on the bank, waving to the tribe, who cheered and then followed him across.  We have a savior who dove into the river of death and swam to the other side and came out alive to show us that we didn't have to be afraid of death--he has conquered death.  Therefore, I don't fear death for me or my loved ones who follow Jesus.  

I asked grandma to give Pops and my dad a hug for me when she got there and I told her I'd meet her there.  I will see them again.  I hope you all, as my friends, will be there too because I have some amazing grandparents that I'd like to introduce you to!  But, first, I want to see my Jesus.