The Art of Living Lost: In the Beginning

ScanOn Sunday I was leading a pack of boys scouts through the requirements for the Public Speaking merit badge; one of the boys, well spoken, lost track of his thoughts when speaking about his beloved sport, basketball.  When he was done, I suggested the next time he delivered a speech he imagine it with a beginning, middle and an end.

Afterwards, I wondered if maybe I was having a hard time writing my book because I’d not started in the beginning?  So here we go, from the very beginning of my lost to joy journey; take a deep breath as this will be infinitely harder for you to read then for me to write.  XXOO,

I rolled over in bed, then I rolled over again; only stopping when I bumped up against the warmth of our dog — where was my husband?

Sleep addled I walked from the bedroom, down the stairs, through the kitchen, into the living room.  Sleeping on the couch was my husband.  Feet up and mouth slightly open, I walked over to wake him up; as I bumped his shoulder I realized he was not asleep.  Intimately familiar with the symptoms of a diabetic coma, and knowing this time the Glucagon would not be my savior, I dialed 911.

When seeking help in a life or death situation you need to state the facts including your name, address and the reason for your call.  You must listen and respond as directed so the operator can assess the situation and dispatch the correct resources.

I was told to check for a pulse.  Check.  No pulse.

Chest compressions?  Check.  As I compressed, the air simply left my husbands lungs.

Next?  Mouth to mouth resuscitation.  Ok.  Given brief instructions, I moved into place.  Pinching Chris’ nose shut, I put my lips to his forcing in a big breath.

Feeling his cold lips on mine was vastly more than I could humanly process; throwing the phone in abject horror, I rushed to the knock at the door signaling the arrival of the first responder.  In shock, I allowed a policeman to enter my home and led him to Chris’ body.

Within minutes, my living room was filled with emergency technicians all working to save my husband’s life.  Hearing bits of commotion, my mother-in-law came down stairs forcing me to explain the dire circumstances and insist she stay calm.

I have no idea how long the EMT’s worked on my husband.  In the end, it was quiet.  As the emergency responders left my home, the dog and I moved to sit on the floor next to Chris.

Contemplating the significance of what just happened, I felt completely lost.

So why am I writing this now?  Because as weekly readers, you can’t fully recognize the significance of my stories without really starting from the beginning.  And it’s time.

Until next week,

 

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