So, I found my husband dead on the bathroom floor…
That’s it. That’s all I know. All I know is that he is dead. I guess you can probably imagine the thoughts that went through my head. Here lies my 32 year old seemingly healthy husband, lifeless. Who thinks they would ever have to make that dreaded 911 call??? well, I did. I had to call 911. When I first saw him, I asked him why he was sleeping on the bathroom floor. It took me several tries to wake him, some text messages and a call to a trusted friend before I could muster up the strength to call. My friend yelled at me, “get off the phone with me!!! These could be valuable minutes!” I hung up the phone and reluctantly called emergency services. I don’t know why it was so hard for me to dial those numbers, but I’m almost sure I was afraid about what I might find out.
“Ma’am? Is your husband breathing?”
I honestly couldn’t tell. Was he? Surely, he was breathing. He HAD to be breathing. Then they asked me to pull my non-responsive husband to his back. I couldn’t do it. I broke down in tears. I couldn’t even help him. I was too weak to move the dead weight. He needed to be on his back, but I could hardly open the door. His legs were blocking the door! I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t. I. was. HELPLESS.
As I waited for the paramedics to come, I tried again to wake him up. I felt like I had to be dreaming. Things had gotten unreal really quickly. It didn’t seem right that I was going to have to ride in an ambulance to the hospital with my husband. I wished that when I offered to take him to the doctor that he had just gone with me then. What was wrong with him anyway? How long would he be sick if he wasn’t even responding now? What in the world was wrong?
The police got to my house first, I guided them to where Gershon was in the bathroom and left them to do their work. I was too nervous to watch in case there was something serious going on. I went outside to pray and pace. It’s what I do when I don’t know what to do. It’s what I do when I feel weak. Pray and pace. God didn’t say anything to me. He didn’t say one thing at all.
Then the paramedics arrived…they went in the house, maybe 5 minutes pass…they come out. No Gershon. I ask, “is he ok?” They kept walking. I knew. Something wasn’t right, they would take him to the hospital if he were alive, right? Why weren’t they taking him to the hospital??? Gershon needs medical attention! He’s sick and unconscious, y’all!…Helpless.
The cops that were there were awesome, but they came out several times asking questions. What time did you last see him? What time did you find him? Where were you? How long was he not well? What’s his social security number? What’s yours?
“WHY????…Sir, is my husband DEAD?????” The officer looked me straight in my eye and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
My children were inside the whole time…
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