15 years ago today was the worst day of my life. I usually commemorate this day in some way online, and this year I wanted to share the original blog post I made about that day. It was originally published on a blog I had started as a way to document my pregnancy and motherhood. It was called A Girl Named Wendy and I posted to it daily. The following post is difficult to read. It was written on September 12, 2011, and I still hadn’t slept following the trauma detailed here. A lot of people were reaching out wanting to know what happened, and writing this post was a way for me to communicate it while protecting myself from the overwhelm of having to repeat it.

Writing has been the connective tissue of my life, and it was the writing of this that did help me finally sleep. I have kept it preserved and never edited it. Grief never really goes away. You grow around it and through it. It becomes part of you.

The Worst Day – Originally published September 12, 2011

The blog is going to be depressing for the next while. On Saturday, September 10th, at around 4:00PM, I lost the person who meant the most to me. He was the love of my life, the father of our son and one of the kindest and gentlest people you will ever meet.

It was like any other day, which is what makes it so hard to come to terms with. Everything was normal. Dave went to bed at 1:00AM on the 10th after we watched our regular episode of Dexter. It was normal for him to go to bed earlier than me so I said goodnight, tucked him in and went on with my night reading various things online and watching documentaries on Netflix.

Dave would regularly have seizures that would occur in his sleep. We were still working to find out the cause, but it seemed to have something to do with his type 1 Diabetes and insulin dosage levels. We were on a waiting list for him to see an Endocrinologist, for which there was a 14 month wait. On this night, Dave had one of these seizures a few hours after he went to bed, at about 5:00AM. Like any other night, I heard him start seizing and went into the room to ensure he was safe and that he was in a safe position (on his side) when he finished seizing.

At around 7:30AM, I was getting pretty tired and figured I’d try to get Darwin to settle down so I could go to bed as well. Like most nights, Darwin was having a hard time settling down. I’d rock him to sleep or breastfeed him to sleep but as soon as I put him in his crib and went to bed, he would start crying. Eventually I gave up and just brought Darwin to bed with me. It still took him a while to settle down after that. Last time I looked at the clock before we both fell asleep it was around 9:00AM.

I awoke at around 12:30PM to Darwin crying. Dave wasn’t in bed anymore and his pillow was not there either. It was normal for him to move to the couch in the early morning/afternoon and nap. I thought nothing of it and this was confirmed when I took Darwin out into the main room to change his diaper. I changed his diaper and sat down on the loveseat to breastfeed him. Dave was on the longer couch, asleep, facing out from the couch. He was fine and everything was normal. He stirred when Darwin cried but quickly fell back asleep.

I finished feeding Darwin and went back to bed with him at around 1:00PM or so. I awoke to him crying again at 4:00PM. When I awoke and looked at the clock, I found it odd that Dave had not woke up yet but reminded myself that he had had a seizure and usually slept longer and was groggy the day after. I carried Darwin out into the main room again.

I sat on the loveseat and looked over at Dave who was still asleep on the couch, but facing the back of the couch. I called his name, “Dave! Wake up, it’s 4 o’clock!”.

He didn’t move.

“DAVE! Wake up!”

Still nothing. I’m getting worried. Something was weird about the position of his body. I walked closer to him and realized it didn’t look like he was breathing. You know how you can see someone’s torso moving steadily up and down as they breathe? Dave was still. I instantly panicked. This was my biggest fear. I closed the remaining distance between he and I and I grabbed his shoulder to shake him awake. Something was very wrong. His whole body moved. His body was stiff.

No.

His face was pushed into the back of the couch (made of leather), and I shook his shoulder again while calling his name. I thought, he can’t breathe, he had another seizure and is unconscious and can’t breathe, and pulled hard on his shoulder to get his face away from the back of the couch. I expected he would start breathing again once his airways were free.

No. No. No.

That was when I saw his face. His lips were pulled back from his teeth, which were streaked with blood. He usually bit his lip or tongue when he had a seizure. He appeared to be snarling, and his eyes were rolled back, with just a sliver of white showing between his lids. He did not look like Dave. At this point I lost it.

He’s dead.

“DAVE! NO!” I screamed, phone in hand already dialing 9-1-1. I lost all feeling in my legs and fell to the ground, stunned. I couldn’t get up. I had Darwin in one hand, breastfeeding him, and my phone in the other and as it rang through to 9-1-1 I just screamed his name over and over again, hoping he would turn around and tell me he was okay. The line rang once. Twice. A woman answered. “9-1-1, what is the location of your emergency?”

“I think he’s dead!” I cried into the phone, all the breath rushing out of me. I began to hyperventilate and sob uncontrollably.

“Ma’am, breathe!” she responded to my panicked state.

Fuck you. I thought. If Dave could breathe he would still be here. I don’t need to breathe, he does. Right now.

I called our address into the phone as quickly and as clearly as I could. “Please hurry, I think he’s dead!” I called out. Darwin started to cry.

She told me that an ambulance was on the way and began asking me a series of questions. She asked if he was breathing. I told her he was not. “He’s cold. He’s stiff.” I cried. She asked if it was cold in the room and I told her that it was not. I kept repeating “I think he’s dead.” as she explained that the ambulance would be there soon and asked if I wanted her to stay on the line. “Yes” I responded, I didn’t want to be alone. No way.

For the next 8-10 minutes (which felt like hours) she asked me questions about him. How old he was, when the last time I saw him alive was, what had happened. I explained that it appeared as though he had a seizure and must have suffocated in the couch. I sobbed and told her that he just became a father and had his entire life ahead of him. I told her that our son was only 25 days old. Not even a month old and his father was dead. She was sympathetic and told me that everything would be okay. I hoped she was right.

I kept thinking, “Paramedics are trained to save lives. They can bring him back. They will save him.”, I kept this belief until they arrived a few minutes later. I let them in and they too told me to breathe and to try and calm down.

They made their way to his body, “Is he dead?” I asked, shrieking. The way she looked at me gave me the answer to the question. “I’m sorry, he’s gone.” she responded.

“Can you save him? Can you bring him back?” I blurted out, crying. “I’m sorry, it’s too late. He’s been gone a while.”, she responded. I broke down again at this point, sobbing and unable to breathe. Why Dave? Why our family? I thought and began screaming whatever made sense to scream into the air. I told Darwin I was sorry. I screamed the word “no” over and over again until it didn’t make sense anymore. I was hysterical.

The paramedics asked me to go to the bedroom. They said it would be easier if I didn’t see him. They helped me into the room where I sat on the bed as they asked me questions about what had happened. I choked out as much as I could at the time and answered the various questions they asked me. Two cops came in and questioned me. I explained to everyone that Dave had seizures and that I always heard them start to happen so I could always be there as he seizured, making sure he was safe when it was over because he would go unconscious for 2 hours following a seizure. I didn’t hear this one and itkilled him. When he stopped seizuring, his face ended up pushed into the back of the couch, the leather forming a seal over his mouth and nose. A few inches of leather suffocated and killed him.

The police asked me if there was anyone I needed to call. I asked if I could call my mother and if she could come be with me. I felt so alone. They brought me my cell phone from the other room and I called her. I explained that Dave was dead and that the police were sending a squad care to pick her up. She was upset and in shock and within 20-30 minutes she had been picked up and arrived. She hugged me and told me how sorry she was. I explained again, to her, what had happened. 

The paramedics left and a coroner arrived. She asked me many of the same questions and I went over everything again as best I could. She asked about his medications and I explained his insulin and how we thought it was linked to the seizures. She kept commenting on how cute Darwin was and how I had to live on for him and take care of him as well as I could.

Everyone was so nice.

The police asked about Dave’s parents and I told them where they lived and what their names were and gave their phone number. I told them I didn’t want to call to inform them. How do you make a phone call like that? How do you tell someone that their child has left this world? He said he wouldn’t want me to make that call anyway and that due to Dave’s age and the suddenness of the situation, they should be told in person. The RCMP would be sent out to notify them.

The coroner came back in and explained that Dave’s body was going to be picked up soon and that it would be taken for an autopsy to see if there was an underlying cause of death or some sort of other condition that might have been causing it. She explained that she would call me on Monday to let me know more information. The people who were there to pick up Dave arrived. They asked me if I wanted to say goodbye.

Initially I said no. I didn’t want to see him again. Not like that. I wanted to see him alive and well. Not like that. Not on that couch the way I found him.

I changed my mind, knowing I would regret not saying goodbye, and wandered out into the main room. I asked if he looked normal or if his face was still screwed up. They told me he looked peaceful. He was still in the same position on the couch and I decided to say my goodbye’s. I didn’t look at his face, but stood behind him and poured my heart out to him with Darwin in my arms.

I told him how much I loved him, and how much he meant to me. I thanked him for giving me the best year of my life and for providing me with a beautiful son. I told him I was sorry he was gone, and that I was sorry if I ever didn’t make it perfectly clear what an amazing man he was and how perfect he was for me, completing me and making me whole. I told him I loved him more than anything and that I didn’t know how I was going to live on without him. My Mom was by my side rubbing my shoulder and thanked Dave for treating me so well and for giving her a grandson. My Mom told me later that she kept hoping Dave would suddenly turn around and tell us he was okay. I wish more than anything that it would have happened that way. Before walking away, I promised him that I would be the best possible mother I could be for our son and that Darwin would always know what an amazing man and incredible father he was. I said goodbye and walked back to the bedroom.

15 minutes later it was just me, my Mom and Darwin in the condo. Dave was gone. They took him away. I would never see him again sitting beside me or coming in the front door or laying beside me in bed. His body had been taken away, and he would never take another breath.

I walked around the condo in shock. At this point it had been two and a half hours since I found his body. It was 6:30PM. I went into the bathroom and saw his razor and realized he would never use it again. I walked into our bedroom and looked at our bed, realizing we would never sleep beside each other or make love there ever again. In the living room his blood tester kit was there on the coffee table. I realized he would never again test his blood or inject insulin for his diabetes. In the kitchen I realized I would never again cook a meal for us to enjoy together. I looked down at Darwin, still in my arms, and realized Dave would never hold this sweet baby, his son, in his warm and protective arms ever again. This final realization hurt more than anything.

Since that horrible 10th of September I have been at my Mom’s house. I haven’t been back to our condo where we planned to live the first phase of our lives together with the child we created. It’s now the 12th of September at 3:30AM and I still have not slept since finding Dave there on the couch. Every time I close my eyes, I see the way he looked on the couch. The strange position his body was in, the way his face looked, the way it didn’t look like Dave, but somehow was. 

I don’t know what to do. I will keep the promise I made to Dave and will strive to be the best mother I can be to Darwin.

It doesn’t feel like he’s really gone. I keep expecting him to phone me telling me he’s okay or to go home and find him there sitting on the couch watching TV. I keep thinking I will see him come through the door, totally healthy and alive. I just want my Dave back. I want my best friend back. I want Darwin to have his father back.

He was so proud, and over the last few weeks of his too-short life, told me repeatedly that he felt like he finally had a purpose in life. He told me that at work he was more driven and saw a point to going there every day. He told me he loved the feeling of supporting his family and that it made him feel like a real man doing so. He told me that he felt like his life started the day Darwin was born and would do anything for us to be a happy family. He was a beautiful human being who was loving life and was so happy to be alive.

I will never understand why this happened or exactly how this happened. Right now I feel so helpless. I feel lost. Life is never going to be the same. I will never have Dave in my arms again and he will never look me in the eyes again and tell me how much he loves me. He won’t see his little boy grow up to be a wonderful man like he was. I don’t even think he realized how amazing he was. I am a better person for having known him and I will never forget how he taught me to love. What we had was special and a once in a lifetime connection. The day Dave left, today, is the worst day of my life.