Top Down Day

by Nicole Overby

Mom continues, “I need to know if you are okay with letting him go peacefully sooner rather than later. I’m not making any decisions until we all agree to what is best.”

  The silence in the room is deafening, so she asks again, “What do you think?”

  Kristen answers first. “I think we should let him pass. He’s suffered enough.”

  She takes a break to catch her breath and starts picking at her fingernails. Her nervous habits clearly portray her emotions despite her words saying to let him go.

  She’s whispering now, “Even if the doctors can ever stop the bleeding, which would be more than a miracle…”

  She wipes the tears from her checks and rests her hands on her lap.

  “...it’s been too long.”

  Her tone sounds different now. It’s analytical and precise. I can see her brain turning as she speaks from her clinical experience. There is a noticeable disagreement between her brain and her heart. And I’m not sure which one I agree with.

  “His organs have gone days without proper blood flow.”

  The thought makes my stomach turn.

  She is able to rationalize her thoughts because of her medical experience. She’s thinking of Dad’s quality of life because she’s seen it ripped from so many others in the hospital. I’m so impressed with her ability to separate her heart and her brain right now.

  “Thomas?” My mom asks.

  I know what I need to say, but I don’t feel ready. I wish she would just make the decision so we all didn’t have to admit our acceptance out loud. She knows we would respect whatever she decides to do, doesn’t she? Kristen is looking at me intently, waiting for my response.

  “I agree with Kristen” is all I can manage to say before I choke on my words, and the tears I’ve been trying to hold in all spill out.

  We can hear Mom take a deep breath before finally asking, “Natalie?”

  Pausing before continuing.

  “What do you think?”

  Time seems to stop as we wait for her response. We all know she’s going to be the hardest one to get on board. She’s been clinging to hope this whole time, and I really think she convinced herself that he was going to make it out of this with no scrapes or bruises. I’m preparing what I’ll rebut with if she says no. What words to strategically say to show her the truth.

  Natalie answers so faintly, softer than a whisper; it’s almost hard to hear, “Let him go.”

  Wow. Is that it?

  My mom’s voice comes through the phone one last time, “One more thing…”

  What now? What more can we take?

  “Are you all okay with what you said or do you need to come back for a final goodbye?”

  Kristen

  I can’t even remember what I said last night, but I know I can’t go back or I’m going to change my mind.

  Natalie

  I never even said goodbye. Should I tell him goodbye? Can I tell him goodbye? I don’t want him to think I ever gave up hope.

  Thomas

  I don’t think I can look at Dad knowing this will be the last time. I’ve already done that once this weekend and it nearly crushed me.

  “Guys?” Mom is checking to see if we’re still on the phone.

  I look up at my sisters, who both look terrified by the thought of seeing him again. That man in the hospital is not our dad, and it definitely isn’t a memory we want to keep of him.

  “Sorry Mom,” I answer back, “we are all shaking our heads over here. We’re content with our last words.”

  That is what they wanted me to say, right?

  Kristen

  I hear Mom ending the call. “I’ll call you with an update later. I love you all. So much. Goodbye.”

  No one is saying anything. We’re all focusing on different parts of the walls surrounding us, not daring to look at each other. What other updates would there be?

  Without much thought, I can hear my voice start to spill, “This doesn’t feel real.”

  I don’t want to bring everyone down with me, but I don’t have any control over what I am saying.

  Thomas speaks next. “I know. What are we even going to do?”

  Before I can digest the question, Natalie responds. “I think we should pray.”

  Pray for what? His soul? God’s plan? For us and the shitty days to follow?

  Natalie starts us off, “Our Father, who art in Heaven...”

  No one has the strength to say a prayer from our hearts. How can I pray to something that is giving me so much pain right now?

  Yet, we all join in, “...Hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.”

  Saying the familiar words, we sound in unity. Sobbing through our words together. Asking for help together. Praying for Dad together.

  “Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses…”

  Their voices soften and eventually fade away. Why did they stop? Did I mess something up? Give me strength to finish the prayer for us all.

  I’m the only one finishing the prayer, “...as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. Amen.”

  Are they tired? Confused? Giving up? No one utters another word, and I don’t bother asking them what happened.

  After nearly forty minutes of heavy silence, I scan the room.

  We all lay in different spots on the three-piece sectional. It’s quite the scene to see four mid-20 year olds all trying to fit onto one couch together. Everyone’s feet are placed right above the next person’s head. Brandon is holding Natalie tightly, too afraid to let her go. Suddenly, the ringing in my ears starts to get quieter. The ring! I almost forgot to ask Natalie and Thomas if they’ve heard it! I turn to ask Natalie and Thomas, but they are both passed out. Brandon with his arms still wrapped around Natalie, is also asleep. I grab my blanket and begin to close my eyes.

  I don’t have the energy to let my mind wander away. In a matter of minutes, we’re all fast asleep. No more nightmares; no more ringing. Our heavy hearts are greeted with silence, and for once, peace.

  |4:04 AM|

  Dawn

  The hallway feels lighter, the coldness of the wall doesn’t sting as much, when I hang up the phone. The most dreadful conversation was over. Yet, even with their approval, I still don’t feel positive about the decision to stop the procedure. My knees are losing strength and the wall can’t support all of me. I run my back along the wall and slowly meet my butt to the floor.

  Should I let the doctors try one more time to stop the bleeding? Should I let the surgeons continue to remove organs to see if his body can survive without them? The next step would be removing his rectum because of the blood clots. My stomach turns as I think about this. Kristen is right; his organs are damaged beyond repair. Corey could never be able to live a normal life again. Corey would resent me if I kept him in this world when he couldn’t enjoy any ounce of what it has to offer. I would rather suffer the pain of losing him than put him through any second longer of physical pain. I need to move forward, so Corey can move forward.

  I search for Ed's number in my contacts.

  Corey and his dad have always been close. I knew every Saturday morning Corey would be on the phone with his dad. Ed always treasures talking to Corey, especially after the losses they have suffered through together. Edward lost Corey’s sister at seventeen to cancer. Losing a child is unimaginable, and I know Corey carried the pain of his sister’s death every day of his life. Death has a funny way of always sticking around, reminding you of the ache when you think you have gotten one step ahead of it. Then, there was Corey’s mother. She cherished her three children more than anything in the world. Two months before the girls were born, Corey’s mom had gotten extremely sick. Her lupus had worsened and the doctors explained that the dialysis treatment was no longer going to be temporary. She would be placed on dialysis for the rest of her life if they decided not to end treatment. Corey didn’t talk much about those last few
days with her when the decision to end treatment was made. He told me he sat with her and sang; his mother loved his voice. Her death was very hard on Corey, and he never got over the fact that she wasn’t able to meet the girls.

  My dad had been updating the family on Corey’s state, and I’m grateful for it. I’ve needed to process the information on my own, without having to be strong enough to pass along the updates to everyone else. As I stare down at his name in my phone, I realize this will be the first time I have spoken to him this weekend. How am I going to face him? How do I tell my husband’s father I don’t think I can let the doctors keep tearing away at him? No one and nothing can prepare you for a moment like this.

  The line doesn’t ring for more than five seconds before Elton answers.

  “Dawn?” Concern radiates over the line.

  I take a deep breath before answering. “Hi, Ed.” My voice sounds heavy. I listen to it crack as my nerves overcome me.

  “How are you? I’ve been thinking of you and the kids so much.” His voice trembles with each word, but he remains calm.

  I can’t engage in conversation. My head falls into my hands, trying to blink back tears. My heart needs to prepare for grieving, and it’s my personal responsibility to take Corey out of his misery. Clearing my throat, I begin.

  “Ed, I’m not sure what to do anymore. I don’t think Corey is going to make it.”

  I pause to see if Ed has anything to say, and begin picking at my nails.

  “They are beginning to remove some of his organs. No, not some, a lot. The prolonged loss of blood has caused them to fail, Ed The doctors can continue to remove fragments of what remains or we can stop all medical care and let Corey pass away peacefully.”

  I swear I can hear the breath taken right out of Ed’s body.

  With a deep breath, I add, “I’m so sorry Ed, so sorry.”

  I can’t imagine if someone called me to ask what to do for Thomas, Kristen, or Natalie. The knot in my stomach grows, and I can feel my body slowly start to overheat. This is hard enough to live through; I don’t need my mind wandering to other terrible scenarios.

  Ed clears his throat and begins to speak. “You know, I had to make this decision for Audrey. It came down to the type of life I thought she would want to live.”

  I could feel the tears building up in my eyes. Stay strong. You need to hold yourself together.

  He continues to speak, “It was the hardest decision of my life.”

  He understands the pain and the confusion I’m going through right now. Why didn’t I call him sooner?

  “You know Corey best, Dawn. You know that whatever decision you and the kids make we will support and understand.”

  The ball in my throat is growing larger with each tear I try to hold back. I try to remember their flight information. I believe they land at 2 PM today. I can try to see if the doctors can keep him alive until then. How many more hours is that? It’s about a quarter after four in the morning now. About ten more hours. No, I better say about twelve by the time they get their luggage and drive here. Could I ask the doctors to keep Corey in his misery for nearly another day?

  I can hear Ed blowing his nose in the background.

  “I’m so sorry, Ed. I can’t imagine Corey will make it until you get here, but I can ask if the doctors can try to keep him alive until you arrive.” Twelve hours is too long to hold on. It’s twelve more hours in a coma for Corey and it’s twelve more hours of agony for the kids and me.

  Ed doesn’t hesitate with his response. “No. I can’t let that happen.” The sadness in his voice sends a shock wave through my body.

  “I can put the phone up to his ear, if you want to talk to him?”

  Thank God for technology.

  “That would be perfect, Dawn. Thank you.”

  Pushing off the floor, letting the coldness run from my fingertips through my body. Walking into the room I keep my head down.

  I feel the tears finally release from my eyes as I lower the phone to Corey’s ear. I don’t have to pretend to be strong for Ed anymore. I can’t imagine what Ed’s telling his son for the very last time; I can’t imagine speaking to one of my children for the very last time. What would I say? Glancing up, his lips catch my attention. The corner of his mouth is cracking from the dryness. My lungs feel tight and my breaths are short. Something about his lips looking as painful as they do. Something about realizing how a piece of him this small, so insignificant, has been abandoned. His lips were overlooked, but he depended on us. He will always depend on us if we keep interfering. For everything. Big or miniscule. Even his chapped lips. I turn to look at the floor; I can’t look at Corey while he listens to his dad tell him goodbye.

  |4:29 AM|

  Dawn

  “Hello? Dawn?” Louise’s voice sounds disoriented. I had a feeling she wasn’t getting much sleep over the weekend, and she sounds terrible right now.

  Corey and Louise have always been close, especially after their sister passed away. As Corey and Louise grew up, they remained just as close. They also had a weekly phone call on Saturday to catch up. Louise looks up to Corey, and telling her the news is sure to shatter her world.

  “Louise, it isn’t looking promising.”

  Her crying is loud and forceful; I can’t make out any of her words. Losing one sibling was hard enough; now she is about to lose her second sibling, making her an only child, and she’s only in her fifties. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself before going onward.

  “Louise, I need to know if you would like me to hold the phone up to Corey.”

  I try to sound calm. I want to be strong for her during this terrible time.

  “If you have any last words you want him to hear from you, I can bring him the phone.”

  Hearing his sister sob so violently is going to be hard for Corey to hear.

  “No, no. I can’t.” She cries out on the phone.

  Is she sure? Will she regret this?

  “Are you sure?”

  Should I give her some time to make sure this is what she really wants?

  “Corey and I talk every week.”

  I can hear her sniffle as she realizes the weekly calls would soon only be a memory.

  “He knows how I feel about him and the relationship we have. I can’t bear saying goodbye.”

  Each additional word is harder to understand as her sobs grow stronger once more.

  “Plus it’s not even Saturday; we catch up on Saturdays.”

  - ELEVEN -

  |4:37 AM|

  Dawn

  The nurses begin to give me instructions, but I can barely hear them over my own thoughts. Am I making the right decision? Is it time to let him go? Am I being a good wife? Have I been a good wife?

  “Ma’am, did you hear what I just said?”

  Her head turns slightly when she asks her question. Each word slowly and carefully spoken.

  Is it that obvious I’m not paying attention?

  I look up at her with embarrassed, rosy cheeks. “Yes, I’m sorry. My thoughts got away from me.”

  “I understand. Well, like I said, we will disconnect the ventilator and slowly stop all IV treatment. We’ve turned off all monitors so you won’t hear or see his vital signs. We’ll be watching his vitals outside at the main desk. It won’t be long after all treatments have been stopped.”

  Her eyes meet mine, and it’s obvious she feels uncomfortable giving me a rundown on how my husband will shortly pass away.

  “You may not be able to tell when he’s passed, but when you hear a knock on the door you will know. We’ll give you a few moments to get situated before we begin disconnecting. Let us know when you’re ready.”

  Pausing once more, she interlocks her fingers and holds her hands in front of her.

  “Take your time.”

  I nod my head to signal my understanding. My tears are all dried up and one last bit of strength enters my body. I have to be strong for Corey right now. I want him to be completely at peace.
I need to give him this moment; he of all people deserves a peaceful passing. My brain is signaling to every muscle in my body to be still, be strong, and give every last bit of strength to Corey.

  As I enter the room, it feels colder and darker inside. The loneliness is intensified now without the nurses running around. The emptiness in the room matches the emptiness in my heart. There’s a small chair strategically placed right next to his bedside with a blanket draped along the back of it. The only light is coming from a dim five-foot floor lamp in the back corner. It’s strange not having the green, blue, yellow, and red lights illuminating from his monitor.

  I’ve already rehearsed what I’m going to do first. I walk over to Corey, and with each step I can feel my heart getting heavier, harder to carry. I stare at his lifeless body lying next to me. How did it come to this, Corey? I reach for his hand and gently lean down to plead to him, “Corey, if this isn’t what you want, if there is anything you want me to do differently, please, I'm begging you, squeeze my hand, move your eyes, do anything, and I won’t go forward with this.”

  I wait for what feels to be an eternity and wipe the tears rolling down my face before it hits the top of my lip. As his wife, I have to honor him. I have to do what’s best for him. I have to think about his well-being before mine.

  “Okay.”

  I nearly choke on the word.

  I walk outside the room to notify the nurses to begin the disconnection process. As I turn to walk back in, I inhale a long, deep breath. In a few minutes I will be a widow. I’ll have lost the most important person in my life. Am I ready for this?

  I take each step inside a bit slower than the step before. This room feels depressing; this can’t be how Corey goes. Think.

  I reach for my phone and search Amazon music for ‘Gospel Hymn Station.’ Corey used to sing hymns all the time to put the kids to sleep. I need to tell him how much I’ve enjoyed these past 28 years of marriage together. How grateful I am for all he’s given the kids and me. How I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to survive without him.

  “Corey, don’t be afraid. You’ve done everything you’ve meant to do on this earth, and as much as we will miss you--and damn--will we miss you... ”