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t m c » p u l s e | m a r c h 2 0 1 7 15 I called our close friends. Every call started the same, almost as if I was a robot. "Hi, it's me. I was calling to let you know that Bryon passed away this morning." Almost everyone, if not everyone, started to cry or seemed shocked. Bryon came close to dying many times over the five months he spent in the hospital, but he always seemed to bounce back. I think everyone wanted to believe that he was going to bounce back. I know I did. I continued to make each phone call in a robotic manner. I was surprised at how easy it was to make the phone calls, but I know now that I was in some form of shock. Before my husband died, I always thought that being in shock was a mental state in which one couldn't function at all and that there was some level of not believing the current situa- tion. At the time, I did not think I was actually in shock. I was functioning. I fully understood that his body just couldn't take it anymore. It had been a long five months and I had been staring at all his numbers on the monitor. I knew from his numbers over the previous three days that he wasn't going to bounce back. For five months, I knew that death was a possible outcome, and I thought I was pre- pared for it. But you are never truly prepared for it. After the nurse cleaned him up, I was allowed to go back to his room. As I walked in, I was taken aback at how still and quiet it was. The beeping machines that had been working and monitoring his vitals had been shut off. They were no longer needed. After five months, Bryon finally looked like he was at peace. I sat to the left of him and just looked at him. My friend and I decided to say a Hail Mary. We cried through it. Then the priest came. A member of the pastoral care staff had tried to contact him while he was saying morning Mass and the priest scolded me for the inter- ruption. I remember saying, 'I am sorry my husband didn't die at a more convenient time. I did not know you were saying Mass and I really could do without the atti- tude right about now.' I have never snapped at a priest like that before. Let's hope my grandmother never finds out. Earlier that morning, when the nurse sent me out of the room to clean up my husband, I thought I wouldn't need to come back. I had just spent three days in his room watching him actively die. The death felt so final. I didn't think I needed any extra time, but when I went into the room, I found that I needed to just look at him. I remember thinking about how I was never going to kiss him again or feel his embrace. I was never going to hear him tell a funny story. He had been a person who was so full of life, and now he was gone. I didn't want to leave him. The next time I would see him, he would be in a casket. His nurse was waiting for hospital transpor- tation to come and take him to the morgue. I began to feel anxious. What if the transporters didn't arrive? What if his body got lost? I felt like I needed to stay there to make sure he was moved to the morgue. I had spent five months monitor- ing his care and needs. Was his test done? What were the results? Did the specialist see him? Did he get his medicine? Does he want to change the channel on the TV? For five months, I had to have my cell phone fully charged and by my side. One time, when I dropped my daughter off at daycare, I left my phone in the car and had a panic attack when I got back to the car and realized that I had left my phone there. What if something happened to Bryon and they were trying to reach me? But as I looked at him, I realized that the life was gone from his body and he no longer needed me to monitor every move. It was time for me to go back to Albany. It was time to go home and see my daughter. It was time for me to go home and plan his funeral. As I walked out of the ICU, I approached his team of doctors, who were rounding on another patient. They all stopped and just looked at me sympathetically. I thanked them for taking care of my husband and told them that I knew they did everything they could. It was late morning when I walked out of the hospital like I had every day for the past five months. The only difference was this time I was walking out of the hospital for the last time. And it was without him. S unday, Aug. 21, 2016 8:35 a.m. My husband had just been declared dead. I sat quietly in a chair on his right, while the doctors were finishing up. Our friend, who is godmother to our daughter and like a sister to me, was sitting on another chair in the corner of the room. We were told to go to the waiting room so they could clean him up. We could come back and see him before they took him to the morgue. My friend and I went out to the waiting room where her signifi- cant other was waiting. We knew we had to let peo- ple know about my husband's death. My husband worked in politics so my friends made sure that the proper people knew of his passing. I decided to make calls to my family and friends. I wanted to make sure everyone close to us knew before the news of his death started to appear on Facebook. My first call was to my father. It was his birth- day. I had made sure to wish him a happy birthday on his Facebook wall at midnight, because I knew my first call of the day to him was going to be tell- ing him that Bryon was dead, and I wanted to say happy birthday before he got that news. I asked my father to call our relatives. Kerry McKim with her husband, Bryon, and daughter, Maddy. Credit: Courtesy photo The First Few Hours After Losing My Husband An essay by Kerry McKim He had been a person who was so full of life, and now he was gone. I didn't want to leave him. The next time I would see him, he would be in a casket. — KERRY McKIM