Category: Stephanie

How could this have happened? I’m still reeling about it and will be for years to come, most likely. I know that full well. Nothing makes it easier, and I don’t expect anything to make it easier. Time might help, I’m sure. But there’s still this absolute hatred I have towards time because it takes me further away from the days I had Stephanie with me still. I don’t want to move on.

The doctor ran a test around 2am to confirm their suspicions, and she was officially pronounced as having passed at that time. For me, I think it actually probably happened Sunday night when her brain functions diminished and her breathing was no longer above the ventilator. That’s also when I stopped feeling to wait. But officially, it happened this early this morning.

I have these moments where I’m terrified that maybe I’m wrong about everything regarding God. I’ve never felt more forced to deal with what I really believe than now, when my wife’s eternity is just beginning. If what I believe is right, then I can have hope for her and desperation for that day that I will join her. For me, I’ve never really questioned things, and when I did, it was only for developing my own arguments for how sure I am in my faith. And, deep inside me, there’s no way I could ever question my faith to a point where I would turn from it. But it’s just critical now that what I believe is true, so I can’t help but find out where I stand. I hate it.

I just don’t know how this has happened. A year ago, she had never had a seizure that we knew about. Life was “normal” and we were just living our lives like any other couple. I know I’m not the only one with such circumstances and realizations. For some people, it’s a car crash or something even more sudden, and here I am saying how fast this happened. For any of us in this position, it just doesn’t seem possible. I can’t comprehend it.

Some of you have claimed that I’m strong. I don’t feel strong. I don’t feel like I have the strength to handle this. I have made it this far, but this is just the beginning of a life made impossible. I know God will help me. I know in time, it will get easier. (To be honest, though, at this point, I don’t want it to get easier, because that feels like I’ve moved on and that breaks my heart to think about.)

I was thinking about this blog and how Stephanie had no knowledge of it (at least not in the way it is now). I realized that anything I do from now on will fit that distinction. I don’t know how to live a life that she doesn’t know about. We shared everything, and it’s going to be soul-crushing to not have that.

I don’t want to wander around wallowing in my pity, either. But that’s where I say I’m not strong enough, because I don’t know if or how I’m going to do that.

God give me strength for today and for tomorrow and beyond. I don’t know how to do it or what I’m doing or going to do.

Tonight, around 6:45pm, I was told the results of something called a flow test. This test shows if there is still blood flow in the brain. Normally, they would measure brain activity, but because of all the medications Stephanie was on, they couldn’t ensure that wouldn’t affect the results of such a test.

I was told that the flow test came back and showed no blood flow in her brain, which is pretty much what I expected. Yesterday morning, her brain activity was much lessened according to the EEG, and her breathing was nothing above the ventilator, so she wasn’t doing any breathing on her own.

Later tonight, they will run some clinical tests to check her pupils and if she is really not breathing on her own. The results of that test will determine when she should be “pronounced.”

I picked out a spot for us in our city, which she loved. She always wanted cremation unless I felt I needed a place to visit her, and I think I do.

They’re going to take out her EEG leads and wash her hair, and make a spot for me on the bed, which is so nice of them. I need one more chance to cuddle her. Although, I just found out that there might be one more night before they do anything with her, so this might not be our last just yet.

I have to be honest. I’m really selfish. Don’t worry – I’ll explain.

God is doing some amazing things through this simple blog where all I’m doing is talking about myself. That’s the first way I’m selfish. I’m just talking about myself constantly and my struggles and what’s going on in my life with this disaster that has struck me down. I’m certainly no one special and not doing anything out of the ordinary from what I can tell. I wanted an easy way to keep everyone up-to-date with how Stephanie was doing. I never expected it to grow to over 2000 people (maybe more).

But He is really doing some serious stuff. Those of you keeping up on the comments have no doubt read some awesome stories about people coming closer to God, marriages being strengthened, and faith being restored. I’ve received even more stories via email. Obviously, I have nothing to do with this. Like I said, I’m no one special. I’m just some selfish guy sharing his story about some bad stuff going on in my life. I love God, and that’s about the only reason I can figure that He’s using me.

I’m selfish on another level, though. If I was given the choice, I’m pretty confident I would scrap all the good God is doing in your lives to have my wife back with me right now. I’d do pretty much anything if it meant I could have her back. I miss her tremendously. (Although, the love you’ve all shown for me over the past week or so would give me serious pause at this point in time.)

However, all of your stories really, truly make my pain so much less. I can’t explain it besides the great glory of God. The Holy Spirit in me is rejoicing so much over your stories that I can’t help but be overjoyed and my pain be diminished. Again, I thank you for coming along with me and for sharing your stories with me. Don’t forget for one second that it is making a difference in my life. And don’t stop sharing.

I love you all deeply, for it is Christ in me that provides that love.

I’ve been saying all along that God has been telling me to wait. I found that message particularly absent this morning (and even last night to a degree). Now that today is over, I think I know why.

Much of today was spent considering the next few days and what needs to happen, or what our options are. I found out (much later in the day than I would have hoped) that Stephanie’s brain activity is much diminished – almost non-existent from what I’ve seen – and her breathing is not above the ventilator like it was all this past week. I take two things away from these points.

First of all, I’m ready to move on, for as much as that is possible. All the talk about making her comfortable and organ donation and autopsy would have been nearly impossible for me any day before today. But, I felt at peace about it. I was able to consider the options (not that I had much thinking to do, since Stephanie and I had talked about where we stand on those issues) without falling apart amidst them. I was ready to talk about all the logistics.

And that’s not to say that I have given up on God bringing a miracle still. I still have no doubt He can and will give me a miracle, but am nonetheless preparing in accordance with what is necessary as far as the hospital is concerned. These considerations, while unnecessary if she is healed, have created so much growth in me simply because I have considered everything and really thought through the next days and sometimes weeks. I don’t believe God will hold any of that against me when considering if I have faith that His healing will happen.

And that brings up the other point I take away from not feeling like I need to wait. With Stephanie’s worsened condition today, God is really setting Himself up to shock everyone with her healing. God kept telling me to wait on Him and for His miracle because He is now at a point where it is practically at its most impossible to happen. And a miracle happening would crush any doubt that God did this. The doctors aren’t even trying anymore, so they couldn’t even say they did this or that and it somehow worked. God has told me that I’m done waiting. I feel done. I feel okay and ready for whatever His plan is.

I know I’m not completely ready for either outcome, but I’m as ready as I can possibly be.

I’m so grateful to a host of amazing doctors we have here. In a way, I pity them, though. They do all they can and try their best, but it’s almost laughable how much their abilities pale in comparison to God’s. And praise God for that!

We will be meeting with the doctor this afternoon at 1pm EST to determine what will happen with Stephanie. I won’t talk here about my thoughts, but regardless of our decision, I know God still has His plan. There will absolutely still be more for Stephanie, although it might just be in her passing that He will do great works.

God is giving me peace about everything – peace that defies all understanding. That won’t make things easier, which is part of how it defies understanding; how I can have peace yet turmoil. It’s just the same as how I can have joy in Christ despite the pain and sorrow. Without God, there is no understanding it.

I look at my wife and just can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe that I’m here, in this room, still trying to fathom how quickly a life turned around. I can’t describe how differently I saw this week going. I can’t believe this isn’t the worst nightmare I’ve ever had.

I can’t figure out how I’m going to go on. I can’t determine how I’m going to be a parent to my two children without my other half, my helpmate. I can’t picture how I’m going to make it from day to day without her by my side. I can’t imagine walking back into our house, or sitting in our living room, or standing in our kitchen, or laying in our bed. I can’t figure out what I’m going to tell my children (at least Brady, as Halle is too young to understand anything), or how they’re going to respond to Mommy not being around anymore.

I can’t accept this. I can’t stop wondering “why, God.” I can’t stop wondering “why not someone else” or “why not no one else” or “why now” or even “why not, God.” I can’t stop being angry at a fallen world where stuff like this has to happen to people every day. I can’t stop asking and wondering.

I can’t stop believing that a miracle will happen. I can’t stop wondering why I can’t stop believing. I can’t stop begging God. I can’t stop pleading and crying and screaming and asking. I can’t figure out why I’m in the cross-fire.

I can’t stop aching or hurting. I can’t stop being miserable. I can’t stop thinking about all of these things.

I can’t stop having hope in God. I can’t stop having faith in Him and knowing His ways are above our ways. I can’t stop believing His Word. I can’t stop believing how much He loves us and how He proved that when He sent His Son to die for us. I can’t stop remembering God and Who He is and how He is. I can’t seem to forget that He loves me.

I just can’t figure out what He’s doing.

And what it has to do with me.

Tomorrow afternoon we will talk with a doctor once again about our options for Stephanie and plan out a timeline for when those things happen. I wish I could call in sick!

However, I think I somehow feel peace about it. I say that now, though, and wonder if that will remain as tomorrow afternoon arrives. I feel like I’ve had nothing but time to think about what will happen if God heals Stephanie and also what will happen if He doesn’t. I’ll never be ready for the latter, that’s for sure, but I’ve thought about it as much as possible without it actually being reality yet. At least for my state of mind today, I don’t feel like it will be necessarily difficult to make that hard decision. What I do know is that a miracle from God will not be hindered by any decision I end up making.

I have been saying that God keeps telling me to wait. I’m feeling that less and less, and have to wonder if tomorrow is the reason why I don’t feel I need to wait any longer. Maybe this is why God has been telling me to wait. I’ve been encouraged by a number of you to have confidence in whatever decisions I need to make. I wish that was easier than it is, but I’m going to pray about that over the next day. If God still wants to heal Stephanie, maybe He is waiting for the most incredible healing possible. If His plans don’t involve that, then it’s time for me to let her go, as crushing a realization that is.

Like I said: either way, I can’t get in the way of God’s plans. I take rest in that fact, all the while wrestling myself to sleep.

I have this daydream where I come home like I always do to find Stephanie working on dinner and the kids come running into my arms. She tells me when the food will be ready, we kiss and embrace, and I melt to feel her in my arms again. How many days that has been the story. It never lost its meaning to me, and now there’s a threat to that ever happening again.

I miss her.

I miss normalcy and being home.

I have bounced around so much between all the different emotions associated with something like this. Most often I find myself back at one emotion: anger.

I’m angry that this could happen so suddenly. How does this happen? How is it that a week ago, we were both at home, enjoying a wonderful relaxing day together, and yet 2 hours later, my world crashed. I’m really angry that it happened, and I hate how quickly it did. There is no ignoring the thousands of “what ifs” even though I know it does no good and is only making things worse for me.

I’m angry that we thought seizures couldn’t do her any harm. I’m aware that the seizure itself hasn’t done this, but we had no idea that she could stop breathing and have cardiac arrest because of a seizure. I’m mad I didn’t know that. And that’s a “what if” – I might have called 911 even sooner (not that I waited that long, but I’ve seen so many seizures, I didn’t call immediately). Of course, I would have spent the past year even more terrified, I suppose.

I’m angry for my kids. Don’t get me wrong – it’s going to be beyond miserable for me if God decides not to heal her. But my kids will not have their mother to raise them, and that’s just not fair.

I’m angry because it isn’t fair. That’s one thought I have constantly. She’s 33! That’s not fair. It’s not fair to her, or to me, or to my kids. It’s not fair that her own grandparents, let alone parents, will bury her.

I’m angry because of how good we had it. We loved our life together so much, and it’s not fair that it was cut so short. I’m glad we managed to cram 50 years into 5, it seems, but I wanted to cram 500 years into 50. I want my wife back and I want my marriage back and I want normalcy back.

I’ve managed to be careful about being angry at God. In general, I’m not angry at Him. I don’t blame Him for this. I know it’s only because of man’s sin that pain and death exist. And I’m angry at man and sin for that. I know “all” the answers for times like this. I know God knows what He’s doing. I guess what frustrates me is that I don’t know what He’s doing and I wish He would tell me. I’m angry to not know.

I’m so weary of waiting. I am so completely worn out. My heart is stretched and my eyes are heavy and my mind is exhausted and my emotions are spent. I have felt everything so powerfully over the past week, and now I am just at a stand still of sorts. I don’t want to be here anymore, but being at the hospital is not the problem. Being in this “place” is the problem.

I’m not just a little angry, either. I want to rage out, grab the chair I’m sitting in and start smashing it into things. Sadly, I’m a rational and non-destructive person and can’t get myself to do just that. (Maybe later, though.)

I hate to talk about a righteous anger because that just seems like a cop-out to me for being angry. I’m not trying to make excuses, or to make it sound like I have every right to be angry. But at the same time, I can’t find any reason not to be.

Sweets,

I love you more than I ever knew I could love. God has given us such a beautiful marriage. We started off as such good friends, and we couldn’t help but to fall in love with each other. You are my best friend. You are my confidante. You are my lover. You are my other half. I adore you.

Every time I think of you, I am just amazed at how beautiful you are, both physically and in personality. I find it impossible to take my eyes off of you. When I can’t see you with my eyes, I do so with my heart. I love your hair and your eyes and your sweet smile as you look at me. I love your skin and the way I can hold you forever. I love the way you fit so well in my arms. I love your love for other people. I love your humor and the way I can hear your stories over and over again and still laugh as hard every time. I love your strength, and even how difficult you can be sometimes.

Remember how good we were together? We used to always say that, huh? “We’re good together, you and me.” Oh, how I love that about us. And we always say how we’re just like an old married couple – like we’ve been married 50 years. But we also always talk about how we are still in a honeymoon phase, and probably always will be. As my brother said, “It’s like they’re still dating.” Oh, Darling, I love our love.

I know I wasn’t always the best to you. And I know you say the same about yourself towards me. But we always figured things out and loved each other even more after those painful rifts.

This year, especially, was the most beautiful thing we could have ever hoped for. We had some amazing memories, doing those things that we’ve always loved doing together. And I couldn’t ask for a better last week with you than the one we had. If not for the seizures, I would have loved every minute of it. We laughed and played and talked and prayed. We went shopping and walking hand-in-hand and to a movie.

The one word that keeps coming to mind when I think of our marriage, Honey, is “beautiful.” There is no other word to describe it in my mind. I love you so much. Thank you for making my life so wonderful.

“Stay with me forever.” We were always telling each other that. I will, Sweetie. I will stay with you forever. I hope that we can have more time together on earth before we get to forever, but either way, I’ll be with you forever. Stay with me and I’ll stay with you.

Kisses,
B.