“Please don’t die. Please don’t FUCKING die!”
“They’re close, Tim”, assured the 911 operator.
I looked at my phone. Elapsed time of the call: over eight minutes! I felt our five year old daughters arms tighten around my leg.
I pressed down as hard as I could on my wife’s motionless body. A blast of air came out of her.
I released.
Air rushed back in. It made a loud sucking sound. (Think of the sound people make when they unexpectedly run into zombies. Only longer.)
Ten minutes earlier, I was checking my eyelids for pinholes. A loud noise woke me up. I think I remember deciding that the cat must have knocked something off the counter. I turned my pillow to the cool side… closed my eyes…
We don’t have a cat.
I reached over… Malia wasn’t in bed. Uh-oh…
On my way out of our bedroom I ran into our boys leaving theirs.
“What was that?”
Before I could attempt an answer our attention was hijacked by strange, guttural noises coming from the next room.
A badger!
I don’t know why I thought it was a badger. I’ve never seen or heard one in person. I don’t even think they live where we were living. Nevertheless, that was my diagnosis.
TV had taught me not to take such a meeting lightly. Badgers can be fierce when cornered.
So I sent the kids in first. My plan was to watch how the badger fought… and come up with a counter strategy. Hopefully before it killed one of them. (For the thirty percent of you that have lost the ability to recognize humor… that’s a joke.) I told the kids to wait in the hallway until one of us… hopefully me, came out.
What I saw shook me to my core.
Malia was flat on her back. Her eyes wide open and lifeless… like a doll. Her breathing (the source of the badger noise) was ragged… irregular.
The intensity of this moment was total. I have never felt so alone.
“Holy Fucking Shit!!!”I yelled. No, that’s not entirely accurate. I think it was more like… “Holy motherfucking Shit!”
“No bad words Dad!” Our daughter Kaila, reminded me of our rule.
“Really!?” I asked. “Not even now?”
“No Dad! You promised.”
She did not get her zero tolerance from me.
Something… maybe a ghost, whispered to me. “She fell. Check her head.” I knelt down and felt the back of her head. No injury.
I didn’t need to check her pulse. The veins in her neck were chaotically dancing to some wild and discordant beat.
“Open your eyes,” I yelled to her, “please tell me what to do!”
And as I knelt beside her… yelling her name… begging for guidance… wondering what in THE HELL to do…
She…
Stopped…
Breathing…
I know what deafening silence sounds like.
“She’s breathing”, I thought. “You just can’t see it. She’s gotta be breathing.” THIS CAN”T BE HAPPENING!
But she wasn’t. And it was.
Immediately, Malia turned blue.
I now had something concrete to deal with. And I cursed myself for wishing for something concrete to deal with.
An inner howl assailed me. My past and future merged into a singularity of time. There was nothing but this moment.
Somewhere in the back of my mind an ominous countdown began. Two minutes.
Two minutes to brain damage, to death, to… I had no fucking idea what. I don’t know where I got that two minutes from but I was gonna make damn sure that we didn’t hit it.
The ghost whispered to me again. It gave me the structure to handle the crisis. “Get help.”
I sent our oldest son Wyatt (11) to call 911.
“Begin compressions.” The ghost commanded.
I collapsed her chest.
As I was administering CPR I gave the 911 operator the vitals. Sitrep, address, cross street. The operator stayed on the line.
To my relief the blue tinge quickly left her skin.
I sent the boys to the end of our driveway to meet the ambulance. We shared a long, confusing, driveway that had defeated many pizza deliverymen.
I collapsed her chest.
It was cold and dark. They didn’t want to wait down there alone.
I explained the math of the moment. if I stopped what I was doing… Mom would die. It couldn’t be me waiting down there.
I collapsed her chest.
“We’ve got one shot,” I said to them. “But if that ambulance misses us we’ll miss it.”
A look of seriousness crossed their faces. “Ok Dad, we’ve got this.”
I knew they did.
That left Kaila. She was five – and a HALF years old – as she reminded us daily. Quietly sitting behind me holding onto my leg.
“Kaila, go into the big bedroom.”
I collapsed her chest.
“No Daddy, I want to be here.”
End of conversation. There she stayed as I focused on the rhythm of compressions.
“ Hang in there Tim.” The 911 operator periodically encouraged me.
This wasn’t like the movies. Sweat dropped from my face, darkening Malia’s shirt. I was exhausted.
The reaper was in the room with us. I saw it in the corner. Eagerly rubbing it’s hands together… like a fly perched over a bit of hamburger… kept from its prize solely by my efforts.
I reached out to it in my mind. “I have money… ”
The reaper laughed.
I lifted my body off the ground and collapsed Malia’s chest again… and again… and again…
I heard the sirens.
Our daughter touched my shoulder. I wasn’t going to stop.
A stronger hand grabbed me. I looked up. It was a paramedic.
I slumped back into the wall behind me. Fatigue hit me like the gnarled fist of an old sailor. My clothes were drenched in my sweat. Blood, my blood… from my torn up knees, was all over my legs and the floor.
Standing, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My eyes were red. My lips stuck to my teeth. I looked like fire marshal Bill… after the Wayan brothers kicked the shit out of him.
More than eleven minutes had passed. One hundred compressions a minute. I was too tired to do the math.
EMTs surrounded her. They cut her shirt off, attached her to a machine, gave her an injection.
“Charging…”
“Clear.”
They put the defibrillators paddles on her.
Puh-thunk. Her body tensed. This wasn’t like the movies either.
No pulse… nothing.
“Charging.”
The machine beeped.
“Clear.”
Puh-thunk.
It went on like this for a few minutes. Maybe more. (I can’t remember.) Her heart would not beat on it’s own.
They transported her to the hospital.
The fire trucks and police cars slowly filed back down our driveway. The Sheriff was about to get in his car. He came back and hugged me. That was a first.
I needed to keep moving. I started cleaning up. The kids silently pitched in. I threw the shirt they cut off of her into the garbage. Wrappers and torn packages too. Then I mopped my blood from the floor. When I could delay no more we drove to the hospital.
I knew she was dead. I was a funeral planner now. On my way to make the arrangements.
We pulled into the parking lot. I silently vowed to myself that I wouldn’t fall apart. Not in front of the kids anyway. We walked into the ER holding hands.
My sweat pants clawed at the raw flesh on my knees.
A person calling themself an intensivist pulled me to the side.
Assuming intensivist was hospital speak for billing, (hospital bills are intense) I pulled out my insurance card. It turns out an intensivist is a Doctor who cares for the critically ill.
“Your wife’s heart is beating again!”
The floor turned into jello… or… maybe it was my legs.
She’s still very sick. Nowhere near to being out of the woods. But… she’s alive!”
I had to see her.
I passed the reaper in the way in. Being careful to keep the intensivist between us.
“See you soon,” the reaper said confidently.
“Cocky fucker.” I thought to myself. I guess being undefeated will do that to you. (Not that I would know anything about that.)
I got a brief look at it’s face when it passed. It wasn’t a skeleton, like I assumed. No, there was some skin on it’s face and hands. Wrinkled skin that was collapsing like old fruit. I couldn’t tell if it was a he or a she.
Too bad. It would have been nice to put that question to rest.
In a university setting a professor would probably have to refer to it as “they”. Funny world we’ve created for ourselves.
Malias face was flush. Incongruously peaceful. Her hair was wet. Pushed back away from her face. I’ve seen this face so many times. This is what she looked like after giving birth to our children. It’s what she looked like laying on the beach after a swim. Without all the tubes and wires.
It was as if I had no memories that didn’t include her. It was suddenly obvious how deeply interwoven our lives were.
Why do we forget this stuff?
We got Malia back home just in time for for Thanksgiving. What a Thanksgiving it was! I doubt that I shall ever have one quite like it again…and that’s ok.
When our guests were gone, the kids were in bed, and the dust from the night had completely settled, I looked at her standing there wearing the portable defibrillating vest – that she had to agree to wear to get out of the hospital. For the first time since it happened… I allowed myself to take a full breath…
I completely broke down.
There were setbacks and surgeries. Slowly she got better.
Months afterwards her cardiologist and I talked like two family guys.
“I’ve been doing this for thirty- five years,” he said, “I’ve never seen anything like it. Ninety-nine percent of people don’t survive such an event. And ninety-nine percent of those who do… are vegetables.”
I held up my arm and made a muscle. “My CPR is strong.”
He laughed. “That or you’ve got friends in high places.”
I thought about the reaper. “I’m quite sure I don’t.”
He paused thoughtfully and put his hand on my shoulder. “Listen… if there’s something you guys wanna do together. I recommend getting to it.”
Everyone’s got a dream. And we’re all waiting for the “right” time to live it.
The right time rarely looks like we think it will.
What do you hope to do with your one “wild and precious life”?
At your current rate… what are your chances of doing it?
You made me cry. Enjoy each and every moment. Malia is a miracle.
❤️
Mary Sue and I met all of you in Cottonwood Az. What an interesting gang. We’re looking forward to sharing your journey with you. Good luck and stay safe. Bill
Enjoyed meeting Malia and the boys in Missoula. Hope your adventures are memorable and you get to see the world. If you ever make it to western Canada we’d love to show you around. Our boys are upset we didn’t have time for the tennis lessons. All the best and safe travels.
Brad, Crystal, Gavin and Thane Parker
I was brought here by your camper trailer. Im looking to get a Fort as well!!! But Im so glad I stopped to take a look at your content. You are a great writer!! Ive basically gone through every emotion reading your blog. Life is crazy and its short. Im inspired by your drive to make incredible memories and spectacular photos. Please please please let me know if you ever find yourselves in the PNW. Washington has some great places to explore. Myself and my 4 year old daughter would love to join you guys on an short expedition.
I love what you are doing here! Keep up the good work! You are a very lucky father with a beautiful family!!
Thank you for the VERY kind words! We just may be headed your way…we’ll keep you posted. Oh, and if you do get a FORT you won’t be disappointed. Feel free to ask us any questions you may have.
It was an honor to meet you and your lovely family at the Lair. Safe travels and I look forward to keeping up with you on this blog.
What a family!!
It was truly a blessing to have met this family a couple weeks ago while on a Morgan Car Club run through the Sierras. We were at a friends cabin when Tim and the children were looking at the cars parked among the trees at Pinecrest. After short introductions and a conversation about cars, we said our good-byes, not knowing anything about this family, except that we ‘liked’ them!
In the following weeks, we visited Pinecrest again and got to know this family even more. They are living their life, day-to-day, and sharing all of life’s treasures through travel, reading, writing, blogging and photography. They are so much fun and have such an appreciation for life, in more ways than one, just read the Preface.
Wishing you ‘safe journeys’ and looking forward to reading more about your travels and life’s experiences.
Linda, Mike, Kathy and Carol.
i don’t know you folks,
i may never know you folks,
i hope and pray i meet you folks,
i cried for ten minutes after reading your preface,
i have always tried to live my life like this, and lately i have got off track. Similar traps,
Thanks for sharing this.
You guys are truly awesome.
w
Oh shit! I’m trying to hold my self from crying, what a wondeful story… thanks god you just got re-certified on RCP.
Now I’m following you and your family in this awesome trip.
Thanks for share, greetings from Chile.
Thanks for reading it! We’re headed your way…
Oh my, what a story. Just feel so happy that you are living the dream
Barnes and I sure loved spending time with all of you. You have a beautiful family and I love them dearly. Soooo very glad that our paths crossed. Hugs. Melody and Barney Bender
We enjoyed it too! The kids are still talking about you guys… and the ice cream. Safe travels!
My oh my ! What can I say ! Meeting “The Family” was the highlight of my trip in Mexico ! I wouldn’t have guessed in a million years our paths would cross. Maybe it was meant to be, but then again, maybe it was just plain luck
Little did I know when I went to the pool” that afternoon” a little girl would ask me to swim with her. Normally, I wouldn’t have said “OK”. Why did I say “OK” this time ? Was I bored? Was it because she has this innocent front teeth missing smile or was it because she just has a special way of bringing people into her world. Not long after meeting her, I met her brothers and parents. Dang, they all had that special way of bringing people into their world.
We spent a lot of time together and had a blast !
I still think it must be hard for Tim to be in his own head. Of course that is our joke! We had a lot of interesting conversations which I enjoyed very much.
I didn’t see too much of Malia. She was like an endangered species. Aloft and in hiding. lol
Wyatt was the event planner, social director and the business manager.
Carson was the house comic that ALWAYS had a “SMART” comment and a smile.
Kalia just just stole my heart and I don’t want it back !
It was very hard saying goodbye! Will our paths cross again, most likely not! I will never forget the brief time we had.
My life has been enriched by meeting and getting to know “The Family”. Thank You !
Preston
…and you said you couldn’t write. Until our paths cross again… que te vaya bien mi amigo!
I finally got brave enough to read this as I knew it would make me cry. I obviously knew the end result as I just spent two weeks with you guys, but I had to keep reminding myself as I was reading there was a happy outcome.
What a life changing event and fortunately you all took that seriously and changed yours lives. As you said, there really is only now, because you never know.
I know I told you all just about everyday from the time we met how much we enjoyed you and the kids. That is an understatement. You have the most amazing kids and they only turn out that way because of the parenting. I’ll always treasure that very special time together, and who knows…maybe our paths will all cross again. Safe journeys always!!
Andy
Wow. Fantastic. The open road is lucky to have you guys.
Itd be remiss not to acknowledge the inspired and the inspirational family from Cali that we met in Mexico (Manuel’s hidden gem) this past week..
Kaila for sharing your Da Vinci like talent during the the sand drawing game, the dudes for teaching me a bit of bird and marine life, the Mrs. for opening up and conveying her story of triumph, Senor Timoteo for uniquely genuine conversation, copper for the chill and max for the crazy (there may very well be a method to his madness)……we thank you. Although short, the opportunity to have been path-crossed neighbors certainly made our experience more special. Your family exudes hope, humanity, honesty, …simply put, you all are breath of fresh air…
Will stay connected. Eyes open, take care & keep enjoying!
Ruben + Michele
Wow.. if ever there was a story to make one understand the fragility of life. What an enormous blessing that she survived and that you all have taken on the goal to lead life NOW instead of waiting for some mystical day in the future when society deems it the “right time”. Travel well and I am sure our paths will cross down the road.
Well written and a poignant story. Because we’ve woken up every morning until now we assume that the next morning is ours as well; such a false sense of invincibility.
Travel well, hope one day our paths may cross.
If you’re looking for a unique experience that might include a secure place to camp and an opportunity to contribute to a very worthy cause, consider the Ara Project at Punta Islita on the Nicoya Peninsula in Costa Rica. The Ara Project raises captive scarlet and great green wing macaws for ultimate release into habitats where their populations are severely depleted. Their efforts have resulted in a significant increase in both populations. My guess is that they could use some short-term volunteer labor and the experience would be worthwhile for adults and children alike.
You could contact their general manager, Sarah Williams, at sarah@thearaproject.org.
Dave – that’s a great recommendation. I just sent her an email… we’re on our way to Costa Rica today. Thanks very much!
love the piece on education and school….the path you have chosen, enriches the lives of your three beautiful children, as well as yours, Malia’s and everyone you have shared visions with along your WAY!
Ti viglio bene,
Bae Bae