Questioning

The other night my Mom was watching a TV show in which a character had witnessed the death of a friend, and suppressed the memory of how it happened.  The show was mediocre at best, but it did get me to thinking about how people perceive traumatic events.  When I think about the night that Ryan died, which I do often, I sometimes wonder if I'm remembering it right.   Even more often, I wonder if something was done differently, would the end result have changed too?

That night was obviously extremely stressful and traumatic for me, and I spent many weeks after it replaying the night in my head, trying to find some small detail that might have changed things. I'm sure that I was in shock for some time, and in retelling the story to my family, I found that I couldn't recall what order things happened in.  At what point did I call 911?  Was it before or after Ryan stopped seizing?  What did I say on the phone?  How long did it take for the ambulance to get there?  These are questions that I'm pretty sure I know the answers to now, after being able to think about it, but in the stress of that night, I don't know that I can be sure I'm remembering it correctly.  And inevitably, I get to worrying that I did something wrong.

I think many people in my support system would be dismayed to hear that I still think about that.  We've talked it over dozens of times; the coroner told me that there was nothing I could have done differently, several impartial doctors have told me the same.  I think though that there's a chance I will never stop thinking about it.  Part of this is because of what I mentioned before- that maybe I'm forgetting something or remembering something wrong, and therein lies the key to what happened to Ryan.  With how sudden and unexpected Ryan's death was, it's impossible to stop thinking about why it happened, what caused it, and how it's possible for someone to just not wake up one day.  The mystery of why Ryan was sick in the first place gets into my head, and I struggle every day trying to figure out how this could have happened and what puzzle piece I'm missing that could explain everything to me.  

Probably the more significant reason that I can't let go of what happened that night is that I was there.  I was the only one that was there.  Ryan and I were the only two people in that room, and I can't help but feel an accountability for the way things happened.  I feel like I should have been there for a reason- I should have been the one that could have helped him, and kept him here where he belongs.  The fact that he's not here anymore feels like it's because I couldn't stop him from leaving.  Nobody else in the world had a chance to help him, but I did, and I couldn't.  Regardless of what my brain tells me, that there was no stopping it, the simple fact that I was in the room makes me feel responsible.  I also know that if the situation were reversed and I was the one who died, Ryan would probably be feeling the same thing.  

We were responsible for each other.  Caring for each other was our number one purpose in life.  I think that's part of what being in love is.  It's comforting, knowing that someone is there to care for you above all else, and that you can return the favor.  Now, the person who cared for me above all else is gone.  Beyond that, what was my biggest purpose in life is gone too, and I can't help feeling responsible for him not being here.  It's not because I did anything to cause it, but because I wasn't able to do anything to stop it.  What happened to Ryan was rare and inexplicable, and it's no one's fault.  So there are only two places to direct the blame; at God, or at myself.  I know that it's not my fault that he died.  But there's simply no way to stop these thoughts from coming into my head and from weighing on my heart.  I'm not sure that I'll ever really be able to stop asking myself questions about what happened to Ryan and if anything could have stopped it from happening.

The Beginning

In re-reading my first post, I realized that I left out something very important.  I was in love with my husband.  Perhaps that should go without saying, but we all know that not all married couples are in love, and for those that are, the love sometimes fades.  That was not the case with Ryan and I- our relationship was getting better and better.  I can honestly say that the night before Ryan died, I was the happiest I'd ever been.

However, when Ryan and I met in 2005, I saw no path to a long-term relationship.  We met while we both had part time jobs working at Borders bookstore.  One night after I filled in on a Sunday shift, a mutual friend and co-worker suggested we go out for a drink.  That was when Ryan and I first got to talking.  Ryan later loved telling people how we met;  he'd say that we met the old fashioned way -  "in a bar".  I'm not sure what initially attracted him to me; I think I asked him once and he said that I seemed "interesting".  I could be making that up though, it sounds like something he'd say.  For my part, I had recently gotten out of a long term relationship, and I found Ryan to be a nice change of pace. He seemed like the type of guy I should be dating, a mature adult with his life together.  That's not always easy to find in your mid-twenties.  In that first meeting, I found him to be clearly very smart, articulate, well-traveled, a good conversationalist, and handsome.  I remember being irritated with myself that I immediately thought about whether or not I'd go out with him.  I thought it was unlikely that he had thought that way about me.  But, after that night, I don't think it took two weeks before he asked me on our first date- dinner at a jazz club in the city.

Shortly after we started dating though, I found out that he was only in Pennsylvania temporarily - in January he'd be returning to North Carolina for a teaching job.  This was a dead end relationship.  It was a disappointing realization, because we were having so much fun together.  I decided though that the fun was worth it, even if it wouldn't last.  We spent most of our free time together for those few months.  Our last date before he left was on New Year's Eve 2006, when we had a great time dancing at an Irish pub we used to frequent.  When we left each other that night, I was surprised how sad I was, knowing that it was over.  I knew I was going to miss him.

One of our first pictures together, taken at a wedding in which Ryan was a groomsman.  
Summer 2006, Blowing Rock North Carolina..

Obviously, our story wasn't over.  Later that spring, Ryan was accepted into Temple University as a PhD candidate, and was moving back to the area in the summer.  I never thought that would definitely mean we'd start dating again, but when he came back, he told me how much he'd missed me.  I'll never forget the first time we saw each other again.  He took me to one of our favorite places, and we sat next to each other in a semi-circular booth.  He put his arm around me and pulled me in so tight it might have been considered uncomfortable.  But with him, it felt like coming home.  It felt like I was in the place I was supposed to be- we both were.  From then on, I don't think either of us ever really looked back- that night I started my life with my perfect mate.

When I think about all of this now, about the feeling of Ryan's arm around me in that booth, I can still almost feel it.  And then when I realize that it's gone forever, I think my heart breaks all over again.  How can something so wonderful not only be gone from my life, but be gone from the world, with no hope of getting it back?  I think in moments like this, I sink into hopelessness, a feeling that nothing will be okay ever again.  In my life, the most "right" I've ever felt was being with Ryan, and the loss of him changes the way the world feels to me.  While I know that people lose their spouses all of the time, and they go on and many find very fulfilling lives again, for me right now, that just doesn't feel at all possible, and I don't know when it will again.

The Worst Day of My Life

Six months ago today was the worst day of my life.

That's because in the very early hours of that day, just after 3 am, I was abruptly awoken to the sudden death of my soul mate.  I don't intend to write the details of that night right now, though at some point I may.  I will simply say that on that night, my otherwise healthy and vibrant 32 year old husband was killed by a cardiac arrhythmia in his sleep.  While I woke up to the noises of his death, it's my belief (and most fervent hope), that he had no idea what was happening to him.  He went to sleep a happy, fulfilled man, and simply never woke up.  

Ryan was a remarkable man for many reasons, a man who was many things to many people, and had achieved much in his short life.  He was an intellectual, a family guy, a collector, a sports enthusiast, a goofball.  He was a man who believed in hard work, and priorities.  Just a few short weeks before his death, he was able to achieve his greatest dream - he graduated with his doctorate in history.  We put a lot of our personal life on hold until he could finish this professional milestone.  Ryan and I were both so looking forward to the next phase of our life, which was to include plenty of us time, a new house, and hopefully a family.  And then, on February 9^th, the two of us found out that after six months of trying, I was pregnant with our first child.  This was ten days before Ryan died.

I can't explain to you the twisting emotions of finding out about a pregnancy and losing the father of the child within two weeks of each other.  My heart doesn't know how to hold them together.  But, I will say that the baby is my little silver lining- and probably saved my life.  In the hours, days, and weeks after Ryan's death, knowing about her existence gave me my only reason for taking care of myself, getting out of bed, forcing myself to eat, and not allowing myself to sink into complete depression.  

During these six months of extreme grief, I've contemplated writing many times, but I think this is finally the right time.  I write for several reasons, first and foremost, as a catharsis for myself.  I hope that through the writing, and the act of publicly mourning, I can work to get some of the hurt out of myself and perhaps even work towards healing, which seems impossible.  If I’m very lucky, my personal catharsis can also help others who knew Ryan to grieve, and maybe those who didn't know him to grieve for someone in their own lives. 

I'd also like to use this as my own personal, ongoing tribute to the man that gave me the happiest years of my life.  As I mentioned, he was many things to many people, and at his memorial services I had the opportunity to hear many eulogies.  I wasn't strong enough to give my own.  I'd like to tell anyone kind enough to listen about my Ryan, someone who I think existed just for me, just as I in certain ways only existed for him.