A Blanket and a Heartbeat

As soon as the doctor said “He’s gone,” I got up from the hospital bed and ran to the hallway. I somehow found my way to the waiting room and made some phone calls to friends and family with the awful news. I’ve learned that you go into a kind of shock following the death of a loved one. You simply go through the motions of things. After I did that, I needed to leave the hospital. I just couldn’t be there any longer. I left with two of my best friends and my aunt. My parents and siblings stayed until Sam was taken away, and they gathered all of our belongings and decorations from his room. I didn’t even think to ask until much later about the fleece blanket that was gifted to us while Sam was in surgery on October 7. A fellow CHD warrior had visited me and gifted me a hospital survival bag. One of the items inside was a handmade fleece tie blanket. It was blue and yellow with robots and I knew when I first saw it that Sam would appreciate it. I often used it when I slept in the waiting room each night, and he was covered with it when I walked into his room the morning he passed away. My sister covered him with it when the doctors and nurses stopped performing CPR. I curled up next to him in bed when I finally summoned the courage to accept that this was really “goodbye” and was able to walk in the room, and she put the blanket over both of us for privacy and comfort. I’m glad she did because, as absolutely awful as that morning was, that blanket almost shielded us from the other people in the room. It was like we were alone in our own little world. I heard his last heartbeats and breaths under that blanket. I wanted to keep it for sentimental reasons. I wanted to be able to hold onto the last thing he touched. Unfortunately, my parents didn’t think I would want it, so they didn’t bring it home. We called the hospital a few days later and were told that blankets get cleaned by an outside laundering company and there is really no way of tracking one specific blanket. Honestly, my heart was broken (again) for that. I felt like I lost a connection to Sam, as silly as that may seem.

Being hospitalized for over 4 months for heart issues, Sam had EKGs, echoes, chest X-rays, and about a million other types of tests performed. I decided I wanted a copy of his EKGs, so I could look at his heartbeats, something physical. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with them, but I figured that even just having them would be comforting. I called the hospital and asked for some copies. The nurse practitioner gave me 5 of them from different months and different stages in his heart failure. Looking at them made me cry, but it helped me feel close to him again. I loved seeing proof of my husband’s strong heart. I loved seeing proof of his life and existence, the actual rhythms of his heart.

I realized I wanted his heartbeat on my body somewhere, in the form of a tattoo. I wanted to have his heartbeat become a part of me, forever. His heartbeat was usually pretty irregular, so I wanted an opinion on a more “normal” one. I wanted to look at my tattoo and remember better times, not him being in an irregular rhythm or having a terrible day, battling worsening symptoms of heart failure (each EKG has a date at the top, so I know if Sam was having a good or bad day/week). I asked one of Sam’s nurses that I’m friends with on Facebook if she would help me pick out a few good beats. She was extremely helpful and excited about what I was doing. While on vacation in Georgia to visit my dad in March 2016, I took the plunge and went for my tattoo. I opted to have it put on my wrist, which I was positive would hurt worse than my back tattoos (it didn’t). After less than 10 minutes of sitting down in the chair, it was finished. I looked down at my arm and cried. The beats that Sam’s heart once made were now permanently part of my body. I was amazed.

I still long for that blanket, but I’m so thankful that I have something else physical to keep with me.

xo