Windows to the Soul

The night Rick died was like walking in a dream state, there were no colors only grayscale. It felt bleak and hopeless. I had one thought that played on repeat, “Rick died. My God. Rick died tonight.”  I was incredulous. Even though the never-ending movie reel of our last moments together played over and over, as if my mind was giving me the proof that I didn’t want to believe. It wasn’t a dream; it wasn’t a horrific nightmare. No, I would not be waking up from this. I would stare off in disbelief and shock.  My old life ended on the floor of Rick’s shop, as if the entire World ended and with that, so were the beautiful colors that once painted our lives together. Now dark, gray and cold. When I did have other thoughts, they were chaotic and full of panic as I realized I would never see him again.

Never run my fingers through his baby fine hair peppered perfectly with gray. Never touch the soft spot on the back of his arm.  Never look into his sky-blue eyes again. Never kiss his lips or watch his eyes bug out nervously when I excitedly said, “Babe! I have another project for us!”  My love was gone. Just like that, in the blink of an eye his life was over. I feared mine was as well. My sweet man with the heart of gold. Dead. Gone. No longer here. I would shake my head to loosen the grip of fear of what was in front of me and my family. If I didn’t, the fear would consume me.

My person, my safe place has left me. Even though I had our kids and other friends surrounding me, I felt utterly and completely alone. He was indeed an Earth Angel. The quiet gentle leader of the Curtis Clan, admired and adored by many who knew him. Death was so fucking final as I thought about the never-ending “nevers”. I shuddered as bile rose up into my throat threatening to cause me to vomit. I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths to center myself.

At the hospital, when the Doctor broke the news to me and after my screams of agony subsided, panic coursed through my veins like wildfire as I jumped up and stumbled to the Doctor begging him to let me see Rick. As I grabbed his arm and squeezed. He hesitated. Terror flooded my mind, making me frantic as I thought they would take him away from me never to see him again. It was a year into COVID. I was sure they would limit us from all being with him. But, for our family that simply was not an option. I’d like to think that even these strangers could tell that we were a solid unit and to separate even one of us from this sacred moment would be cruel. COVID be damned. I ran out into the hallway looking for my husband whose lifeless body was somewhere behind one of these curtains. Somewhere. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and yet I knew that I couldn’t simply start throwing back the curtains. Still, I fought the urge.

Our kids appeared out of nowhere and surrounded me. I was confused in my panicked state and as I looked at each of their tear-stained faces, I joined them for a group hug. Only for a split second. No time to linger. Rick was lying somewhere here alone, and he needed me with him. Quickly, panic took over again as I had frantically told them, “I must see your dad before they take him away. I must be with him! Please. Help me find him!”

Thankfully, the Doctor with the kind brown eyes was behind me and led us to where Rick was hidden behind a plain beige curtain. As he gently pulled the curtain back, I held my breath, hoping they were wrong! I gasped in horror at the sight in front of me. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment hoping the scene might miraculously be different when I opened them. He would be sitting up in bed, smiling and giving me a thumbs up like he did last time he rode the ambulance to the hospital only a couple of years ago. I stood there. Frozen at the doorway, the reality of our loss hit me like a punch in my gut, I exhaled sharply as an odd whimpering sound escaped me. I held onto the frame tightly as my exhausted legs threatened to buckle under me. I locked my knees and looked at my love, the pain in my chest was so real. My heart was dying, I would not survive this night. There he was, laying there, lifeless. There was no mistaking he was gone. He wasn’t sitting up in bed. No thumbs up and a crooked grin to set our World right again. I cried out for him, bit my lip as my legs ignored my commands to go to him.

The sterile, white sheet was pulled all the way up to his graying beard, so his feet stuck out at the bottom. He was still wearing his white tube socks, but his shoes were gone. For a fleeting moment I wondered, “where did his shoes go?” My eyes traveled up to his pale, colorless face. There was a large, transparent plastic tube in his mouth and taped to his cheek to hold it in place. IVs were on both arms, his neck, and l imagined they were beneath the sheet, too. All evidence of their valiant attempt to save him. Tears poured in rivulets down my cheeks as I wondered, “why didn’t you come back? I thought our love was supernatural. You should have come back to me when you heard me begging and pleading for you to stay. Why did you leave us?” I stared at him while I screamed those questions in my head. On the outside, I looked calm which was strikingly different from the screams reverberating in my head.

Slowly, on wobbly legs that threatened to collapse at any second I shuffled to him and grabbed his hand. I held it like I had done thousands of times in our forty-one years together. My other hand was holding his forearm. I squeezed his hand, hoping by chance he’d squeeze back. I shook my head in disbelief. Still surprised when he did not. I was shocked by the coolness of his hand. He just died! How is that possible? Only two hours ago we were enjoying dinner together. I gently ran my finger along the inside of his arm. It too was shockingly cold. My mind went back to the last time I gently stroked the inside of his arm when it was still warm and soft. He was alive then, but not now. How did this happen? I was struggling to comprehend that Rick was truly dead. Gone. In an instant. I shuddered as I felt the bile burning my throat.

How can it be he was alive just a few hours ago. We had finished dinner at Chile’s, and he was driving us back to the house. Our song came on, “Better Together” and without much thought I reached over and stroked his arm. He looked at me and smiled sweetly. That is the moment forever etched in my mind. The quiet, sweet love that required no words. That was the memory I tried to picture when the horrific movie reel overwhelmed me. It was a sweet moment, a common moment we often shared while in the car together. I loved the ease with which we simply enjoyed one another’s company, silence was rarely uncomfortable. I realized a few months ago, that a piece to this never-ending loss was that Rick was “home.”  I can move to another house, another state, searching for that safe, familiar feeling of home, but I will never find it again. You see, home was wherever he was. The safety, the comfort, the joys of “home” resided in him and his arms, now gone. In an instant. Now a memory. A longing to have that which will never be again. A realization that can still make me suck in my breath at the horror of it all.

Someone brought me a chair so I could sit next to him. I sat down on the hard, uncomfortable plastic still holding onto his hand. As I sat there, I memorized every piece of him that I could, so that I would never, ever forget what he looked like, what he smelled like. I tried to memorize how it felt to be cherished by him. It was indescribable the feeling I had knowing how much he loved and adored me. It was as if his mission in life was purely to make me happy. Nothing would ever compare to that feeling and I already ached for it. In its place stood a foreboding anxiety and fear that would follow me for years to come.

I moved the breathing tube over and removed some of the tape, so that I could kiss his lips one last time. They were hard and cold. Strikingly different than how his lips felt the thousands of times that I kissed them before. Why was I expecting something different? I loved his lips, loved the way they fit perfectly with mine. Another stab of pain shot through my body as reality set in, and I shuddered. I would never ever feel his soft lips on mine. Never again. Death is so final! I thought to myself, “This is horrible. How did we get here?” Without warning, those questions sent me into another fit of primal screaming and crying for my sweet Poohy. The kids  jumped up to support me as we cried together. A family devastated by his loss, connected by a love that started with a look between two country kids so long ago.

Those sobs sounded strangely foreign to my ears. A high-pitched mournful cry that seemed to come from somewhere else, other-worldly. Normally, I would be embarrassed. I would never emote like this where others could hear me. This was different. I was unashamed in my grief and my love for this man who merely two hours ago was holding my hand! My God, Rick was dead! Could this be just a bad dream? I knew I could not live without him. He was my rock, my metronome that made my difficult childhood a distant memory that I rarely thought of. With him I was safe. With him, my trauma responses seemed non-existent. He understood me and loved me completely even when I was unlovable. I was fucking terrified. How could I live without the safety of his arms? Realistically, I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to...

It occurred to me the other day that his eyes told the story of our lives from beginning to end. If I look at pictures of us or our children with him, his love is abundantly clear – his eyes sparkled with the love he had for each one of us. I thought of the twelve-year-old Darlene at the Bonner baseball field on that beautiful summer day when I saw Rick for the first time. I walked by this ordinary looking boy, as our eyes locked something like electricity shot through my body as I gave him my best smile. I couldn’t help but notice his eyes. They were the same color as the sky! Stunning. He gave me his goofy, crooked grin and my heart threatened to leap out of my chest. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. As I turned to walk down the steps of the bleachers, I looked behind me one last time. He was still staring at me grinning. And the electricity shot through me again.

I was too young to know what that sensation was, but now I do. It was our souls meeting again in this lifetime and we recognized each other. It was like, “Oh hello. I know you and I’ve missed you.” That is where our story began. My parents recently bought a house along the Blackfoot River, only ¼ of a mile from his home up Twin Creeks, but that’s for a different story.

Those bright blue eyes were a striking contrast to the eyes I saw on the floor of his shop, forty-one years later. Half open. Lifeless. Dark. Empty. I could barely see the blue. When I fell to my knees and held his face in my hands, they looked right through me into nothingness and my heart shattered. He was ripped away from me, and I was powerless to stop it. His sparkle was gone, not a hint of it lingered. Deep down, I knew but I desperately clung to the tiny sliver of hope that our love was so strong, he would choose to come back to me.

The story of our lives told through Rick’s eyes flashed before me. Young Rick, at the baseball field; the first time he mouthed, “I love you” from across the room; the look in his eyes every time he told me he loved me; the day we said our wedding vows; the minute Kayla took her first breath and cried; his eyes when he looked up from his phone to say, “Good morning beautiful.”   His eyes when he found out we were having a boy; when Kayla made him a grandfather for the first time; when the baby of the family proudly introduced his daughter to the Curtis men, again his eyes said it all. My God I will never again know another person that can convey unconditional love simply with their eyes.

It occurred to me  that our entire love story could be told with his eyes. It began at a baseball field, when I was a young girl, and our eyes connected for the first time. As I was leaving, I glanced behind me, and his sparkling blue eyes said all I needed to know. It ended in his shop, no longer that young girl, now with soft wrinkles at the corners of my eyes and hair that is turning silver, I desperately searched for that familiar connection in his eyes. As I was leaving the shop where he lay, I glanced behind me like I had done all those years ago. Except this time his eyes were empty, the sparkle, gone. They said all I needed to know. And I will never be the same.