Second Chance

I remember the first time I posted this picture. It was after Rick suffered carbon monoxide poisoning in the Spring of 2019 at our log home in Snohomish. I have come to realize that by all intents and purposes, he shouldn't have survived that. But he did. I’m sure that our angels were hard at work that day because I had no reason to go down to the burn pit, I was busy unloading meat from the butcher, and I still had to cook dinner. Now I see it as a good thing that a little inconvenience saved Rick’s life. The butcher forgot to put our fifteen pounds of bacon in with the rest of the meat. They were about to close, but told me if I left right away, they would stay until I got there.

Our son Wade was putting baby Paxton down for an afternoon nap, so four-year-old Avery walked over to visit Nana & Papa. While I was busy placing things in the freezer, I put on one of her favorite shows, Spirit the horse, to entertain her until I could focus on her. Once I got off the phone,  I gave Avery the option of going with me or going back home. She decided to go with me. We jumped in the car so not to make the butcher wait too long for me and headed down our long circular driveway. Rick’s pick up and Devin’s van were down by the burn pit. Rick was using his truck to haul pieces of treated lumber, debris, and tree limbs to be burned. As I rounded the corner by the burn pit, I was confused to see Rick’s boots sticking out in between the vehicles as if he were sleeping. I slammed on the brakes and told Avery in a calm cheerful voice that I would be right back, careful not to frighten her. She couldn’t see what I did from her car seat in the backseat.

I panicked and started yelling his name only after I closed the car door. I fully expected him to be annoyed with me for “freaking out” because he was “resting on the ground for a second.” My mind still having difficulty processing the scene. Whatever was going on, my husband was unresponsive and lifeless on the ground. I ran to him and was shocked to see him on his back, head turned dramatically to the right, and his face was a deep, dark purply red and he wasn’t breathing! I already knew what I was going to have to do; CPR on my husband. Intuitively I “knew” the day might come and here we were. At first glance I assumed it was a stroke or heart attack with his family history, but it was something else just as deadly. I dropped to my knees next to him to assess him, to give the 9-1-1 operator vital information. My heart was beating erratically, and my hands were trembling. I took Rick’s face into my hands and put his head in the CPR position. Instantly he started gasping, slowly and shallowly. Within thirty seconds, he was breathing with less effort, but it sounded slightly gargled. His head turned in that way was cutting off his ability to breathe! Next, I felt a pulse,  it was fast and thready, but at least his heart was beating and now he was breathing. I lifted an eye lid to see what his pupils were doing. They remained tiny pin sized holes, but what startled me was the whites of his eyes were nearly the color of wine.

With shaking hands, I called 9-1-1. I told the operator what she needed to know, gave her my address, and pleaded with her to hurry! I promptly hung up on her and called our oldest daughter, Kayla. No answer. For a minute, I couldn’t remember how to use my phone to try Bri next. Thankfully, she answered, and I blurted out to her, “I think dads had a stroke, he’s unconscious but breathing and has a pulse. Meet us at Providence, call everyone else now!” I sounded calm, but inside my head I was screaming; terrified the paramedics would get here too late. I knew I couldn’t leave him in case I needed to initiate CPR, so I quickly ran to Avery and put on a brave face, took a deep breath, and opened her door.

She smiled at me, unfazed by the delay and me leaving her in the car alone. Clearly, she had no idea what was going on. I smiled at her reassuringly, I said in my calmest voice while unbuckling her car seat, “Hey baby. Papa is hurt. I need you to run to Daddy and tell him Papa needs help at the firepit, ok. Run as fast as you can. That’s my girl, you are so brave!” I set her on the ground facing her house and she took off. Quickly, I was running back to Rick. I looked behind me to see our little granddaughter pumping her tiny arms and running up the gravel hill to get to her house so her daddy could help! My heart burst with love and pride for that blonde little girl. She was giving her all to help her beloved papa, there is no doubt about that.

 It didn’t take long before Wade was running towards me looking terrified. He yelled to me, “Mom, why aren’t you doing anything?” Which I replied, there’s nothing to do. He’s breathing again and he has a pulse! Wade dropped to his knees and started crying at the sight of his dad unconscious on the ground. He was touching him and talking to him begging him, “Hang on Dad don’t die. I still need you.”

Both of us were scared that each gasp would be his last. Watching our baby, now a grown man crying at the thought of losing his dad, broke me. It had already been 10 minutes and there was still no ambulance! I was sure they were going to get here too late, and I thought he had to have some type of brain damage from lack of oxygen, but the fact that his heart was still beating was promising. I didn’t know what to think, but if he lived, I was sure he would never be the same.

The ambulance arrived 20 minutes after I called. Wade’s phone was ringing constantly as our five adult children tried to figure out what was happening. Regardless, they were all heading to Providence sure that their dad may die. Within minutes of the ambulance arriving, Rick began to regain consciousness. I remember the relief that surged through my body. Then, just as quickly it was replaced with concern. He was confused. Didn't know where he lived, who the president was, or what day of the week. But when they asked him if he knew who I was. With the crooked grin, he  replied, “Yeah, I think I know who she is.”

That was good enough for me! I knew he was going to be okay. As they were putting him on the stretcher, he started to protest, but they convinced him he had to be observed. By the time we made the 20-minute trip to Providence, he was fully coherent telling them all about our amazing working breed the Louisiana Catahoula. The paramedics got to hear how we got started with them and how we competed with them down south seven times a year. While he was chatting away, my heart was soaring with relief. My prayers had been answered. Tears of relief welled up in my eyes as  I said, “Thank you Jesus. Thank you.”  

Once we got into the hospital, I couldn't stop touching him. Whether it was his leg, his foot, the soft part on the inside of his arm, his rough hands from years of arduous work, his prickly beard, his soft lips, or baby fine hair. I couldn't keep my hands off of him. I was so incredibly relieved he was still with us. Rick tried to convince me to go home, but I couldn’t leave him behind. I didn’t want to miss a second with him. I stayed with him overnight in the hospital. I didn't sleep well in that horribly uncomfortable hospital chair. And that's when I took this picture. His surviving that day reignited my passion for him, I nearly lost the man I’d been with for my entire adult life. I couldn’t begin to know what life would be without him. For over forty years I had been holding his hand and I wasn’t ready to let go just yet!

Knowing how things ended for us only a couple of years later I realize it was a blessing that day happened the way it did. It made me careful to never take him for granted. I said thank you a little more often. I love you even more and enjoyed many moments of our remaining time together. We got to keep him with us for a couple more years and because of that scare, I have zero regrets. They were fantastic years that were made better by the realization that day that it could have ended so differently. We got a second chance, and I was determined we would enjoy however many years we had together. Funny sidenote: our son in law Don went and spent a couple hundred dollars on Wagyu steak. We had a big family barbecue the next day and we created our own holiday. He said cheerfully, “This is our Dad Didn’t Die celebration! It’s worth the money to get to enjoy our happy ending!”  

Looking back on that time I realize that was our second chance and it was a good one. I was so angry that Rick was ripped away from us so soon, and when he was so close to retirement. In that shop when I was working on Rick, I never felt more alone than in that moment. I felt abandoned even by God, no one was hearing my cries or my prayers to bring him back. Recently, I came to understand that we already had a second chance and someone else out there needed one, too. I am less angry about losing him these days and it’s replaced with gratitude we got that little extra bit of time with him all because the butcher forgot the bacon.

I miss him terribly. I miss the way he always validated my hard work or even simply appreciated the everyday things I did for him. I used to get annoyed because his appreciation was always accompanied by a slap on my butt or grabbing a breast. A simple thank you would suffice, but that wasn’t as much fun if you asked him. Man, he gave the best hugs! I felt safe and loved in his strong arms. Every single time. When I doubted myself, he'd get mad and tell me all the ways he thought that I was capable. I miss that, too because I have come to realize I was a strong determined woman because of who I had walking life with me, facing it alone is often times daunting. I miss the little mundane things that made up our life together. And yes, I'm still in awe of the fact that he loved me until his last breath.

~He will forever be my favorite hello and my hardest goodbye. ~Author Unknown