At the time:
The moment when Annie’s previously dormant brain tumor suddenly pounced in the form of a grand mal seizure on April 18, 2013, changed everything in our lives. For her, a life and death battle had begun. For me, my perspective on everything changed. Every single worry or concern I had – work issues, how our son Stephen was doing, world events, local news, home finances, sports, politics, weather, etc. – went out the window. The only thing that mattered was Annie’s life, health and survival.
All I could do was hang on and try to hold it together, especially on that first night. The experience was like that of a free-fall, where a trap door opened into an unknown abyss. It was instant and violent, with no warning. And there was nothing I could do. I was powerless to fix or improve anything.
The worst part was the disappearance of Annie’s personality and essence – what made her who she was. She was there physically, but everything else was suddenly gone. Seeing her in that vegetative state sent me into a panic and left me barely able to breathe, think or feel.
Thankfully and mercifully, that state only lasted ~ 12 hours, the longest 12 hours of my life. Once they were over, I felt a surge of strength inside that powered me forward into the unknown.
What I’ve learned since then:
Whenever I think back on April 18, 2013, it reminds me of just how delicate life itself is. Anything can happen to anyone at any time. Life can change in a split second. That’s not to say I walk around in fear of what’s waiting for me around the next corner, but rather in deep gratitude for every moment of “normal” life and health.
Up until that day, I did not or could not fully appreciate the pure gift and preciousness of life and health. What happened to Annie could have just as easily happened to me. She was healthy, strong and living a full life. Then, in an instant, it vanished.
For some strange reason, it seems that loss is required to see clearly, at least that’s the way it’s been for me. My entire perspective on life completely and permanently changed that day. Things that bothered or upset me before no longer do. I now focus on what’s important in life and let go of the little stuff. I focus on what matters instead of what doesn’t. Life and love are what matter to me.
I constantly remind myself just how precious life is. How grateful I am to be able to breathe in and breathe out. To be present, right here, right now. To be able to see, hear, think and feel. It is all truly astounding.
I have also let go of the “Why?” question that used to haunt me. Why did this happen? Why her and not me? Why this and not that? I have no idea why and will never know. I’ve come to see it as a distraction technique rather than dealing with grief head on. I’ve learned not to argue with grief or try to run away from it.