A Blizzard, A Loss & Super Bowls
Two years ago today at this exact moment my son Jimbo died.
We’d had a terrible blizzard the day before when the hospital called me that he’d turned critical. In fact they’d done a code and brought him back to life but he was on life support. Since I was his emergency contact they asked if he had an advanced health care directive. I did. Then they asked since it wasn’t safe to drive could I fax it to them.
I could and did.
Maybe half an hour later the doctor called again and suggested I get there as soon as I could, especially if I hoped to see him conscious because he’d had another episode.
Of course, I couldn’t get there at that time. Everything even the malls were closed. I live in a rural area and the winds had created a drift of 5-6 feet in front of the garage. We couldn’t open any doors to the outside because of the drifts.
The nursing staff told me they’d call with updates until I could get there and I should feel free to call whenever I felt the need.
The rest of that day and all night, I watched the weather bulletins, checked road condition reports and closings, an prayed for the snow to stop and the winds to calm. I thought about Jimbo as a baby, all the happy times and difficult times of childhood, teen years, adulthood.
I waited to hear the sound of snow plows and shovelers. Finally the next morning about 10:00, the plows and shovels arrived and made the first swipe through. My SUV had 4 wheel drive. I bundled up, watched and waited. When I judged the remaining drift in front of the garage was about just below my rear bumper but 6-8 inches beyond was pretty much clear to the pavement, I kissed my hubby, said I’d call when I got to the hospital, gut in my car, started it, hit reverse and pure motherly determination plus good tires got me through what remained of that drift.
Driving to the hospital took a long time. Most side roads were still unpassable and the few main roads were one lane, sort of, both ways with huge drifts on either side. In open areas even though the winds had died, drifting was going on. I was so thankful for my plucky car.
When I arrived at the hospital, I had no trouble finding a parking spot though not much of the lot was plowed. I found where my son was located—the ICU (this was a hospital I wasn’t familiar with) and asked at the desk exactly where my son was.
I could tell in the woman’s eyes I wasn’t going to like what came. She told me to wait and his nurse, the one I’d been talking with the day before, would go with me. In a moment she approached me gave me the most recent update.
It wasn’t good. She asked if I had anyone with me. I shook my head.
She took my hand and led me to my son.
I walked to his bed and looked carefully at this shell of my beautiful boy, my handsome son. I knew immediately they kept him on life support until I had a chance to see him. His life force was gone. It was up to me to set him free.
But first, I held him in my arms.
Doctors came and talked in hushed tones. A chaplain came and asked if I needed help in making decisions.
Of course not. I signed papers.
So I held him in my arms again while they turned off machines. He never took one breath on his own.
He watched the Super Bowl from above to see him team win that year.
And I’ll be thinking of him while I watch the game today.Explore posts in the same categories: Family deaths comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.