That Night

There is no nightmare like one that you can not wake from, the one that you will live every day for the rest of your life. I am finally sharing this story because it was recommended by my therapist as a way to combat the PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) she has been treating me for since this past March. It took me more than three years to finally seek help and it has taken me almost four years to get to the point that I am able to remember most of what happened on that dreadful night - the night that became my worst nightmare.

His name was Dennis. Three weeks prior he had asked me to marry him and I had accepted. He was everything I could have ever wanted in a man and he knew me better than anyone, including myself. I could never lie to him because he always saw through to the truth. And that was probably the best thing about Dennis, he saw all my faults, all my mistakes, and he loved me anyway, completely and unconditionally. Not every woman finds that in a man, so I still consider myself very, very lucky even today.

We had just gone to bed and the TV was on, although I can't remember what was playing. Suddenly he shot straight up in bed. 'I have to go to the hospital.' he said.

This would have been the second time we headed to the hospital that day, but unfortunately on the first trip he had convinced me to take him home before we even got out of Ocean City. That was my first mistake of the night.

We stopped at the grocery store on the way home so that I could run in and get him some antacids; he was certain that heartburn was all it was. And we had a small tiff because I picked up the wrong kind and I didn't want to go back in. I still feel horrible about that.

At home, he hugged me and told me how much he loved me and hated fighting with me and could we please make-up. This was his usually style, he could never deal with me being upset with him, he always apologized first, even though it was my fault more often than not. Another reason I loved him.

He made it to the living room with his jeans on but no shirt.

'I can't even stand up.' he said as he fell to the floor landing on the edge of our coffee table.

I didn't know he was dying.

Naked, I grabbed the phone and called 911. 'I need an ambulance; my fiancé has just passed out.'

I don't remember the rest of the conversation other than me telling the operator that the front door was locked and I had no clothes on. I don't even remember if the voice on the other end of the line was male or female. I can't even tell you how long it was before the police officer knocked on my door.

By the time he arrived I had moved Dennis to the floor on his back, he had fallen into a seated position leaning against what was left of the coffee table. My second mistake was not starting CPR. I do not know that it would have saved him, but I still feel that it is possible it would have.

Dennis had been breathing very deep and heavily, almost like a snore. I was told later that this is the sound of the breath leaving the body. But at that time, I did not know he was dying.

The cop sat with me until the paramedics arrived. It seemed like hours had passed but I knew even then that it was only a few minutes in real time. They burst through the door and tossed my coffee table out of the way. It is amazing how easily it was moved.

When they hooked Dennis up to the monitors, I could see the flat line. I do not remember how many times they shocked him but even with the returning flat line and that horrible, horrible sound it makes, I still didn't realize he was dying.

Who would have thought that a seemingly healthy 34 year old man would be having a massive heart attack?

The first police man was kind enough to give me a ride to the hospital. And my father met me there.

The nurse at the desk of the emergency room told my dad that my mom was on her way. I should have known then that Dennis was dead but at the time, I didn't. All I was thinking was that Dennis was going to be pissed when he woke up and that I was going to be subject to a good reaming.

A doctor came and led me and my father, and maybe my mother - I can't remember if she had arrived yet - to the 'Family Room'. A long time watcher of the medical series 'ER' I should have known what this meant. But I still didn't realize he had died.

What the doctor said to me is still a blur. I just remember wanting, needing, to see Dennis. Unfortunately, he was already gone.

I still have large blocks of time from that night that I can not remember. My therapist says it is because it is too painful and that slowly by talking about it I will come to a place where I can maybe not accept it but remember it.

Although the three years to follow were full of anger and depression, I was finally able to start dealing with my loss by talking about it. It has never been easy to talk about, but it does help.

I was lucky to have the wonderful support of my family and friends not only that night, but over the last four years as well. It was because of them and my three cats that I was able to come to terms with my loss... at least as much as I have.

The rest will come. And maybe someday I won't be so angry anymore or sad. But sad is not really the right word. It was pain; the kind of pain that comes from the very center of your soul and completely takes over. It was the kind of pain that cripples you and brings you to your knees screaming for it to end. There is no way to describe that kind of pain to someone who has not felt such a loss.

Hopefully someday I will get past it but until then, I just try to remember how lucky I was to have shared such a special love with such a special man. And I hope, that someday, I will be able to share that love with someone again.