Heaven Came Down

 

Kim's Story:

We were supposed to be on a 21st anniversary trip, but I had spent that week in the ER and ICU instead, staring at Brett's piano hands that were curled up under his chin in a palsy-style shape. His eyes were pointed in two different directions like a gecko. He couldn't speak at all, and I was not even sure he could understand me. They had told me he probably would not live, and even if he did, it could be bleak. The neurology researcher said she'd seen only one other man Brett's age (he was 48) have a similar bleed and live, and that man was still in a wheel chair on a ventilator after 10 years.

They had recently moved Brett into the ICU from the ER, and I was doing a mental evaluation of my glorious new life I'd just been handed with a 3/4 of a mil price tag. I had two kids still at home (one in school). A crooked business partner had left us with a mess, and Brett had just been on his way to sign the final paperwork to fix it all, including saving our house. He did not make it to work to sign the papers. His name was on the house, and the mortgage company would do absolutely zilch to help. Soooo... yayyyy, bye-bye house.  As my favorite coffee mug heralds: "It is what it is."

Brett kept throwing himself out of bed, even though they told me that was impossible, him being paralyzed and all. I was thinking of a quote from our favorite movie (The Princess Bride): "I do not think that word means what you think it means." He definitely found a way to the floor from the bed. He was agitated, hallucinating, and he could not communicate what was wrong. His blood pressure was skyrocketed to something like 235/120, and nothing they tried was bringing it down. It was a miracle he did not have another stroke. Ever heard of Capgras Delusion? I hadn't. Super fun. Your brain looks at your very known loved ones and thinks they are imposters. We had already been through quite a bit in life up to this point, and I was already mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually and in all other ways, tapped out. I wondered what life was about to look like with a crippled, brain-damaged husband and no home.

Just before all this, he had come home from work February-ish (the stroke was in May) and had said, "I feel like I need to get every song I have written sung into my phone, stored on my computer, and I need to downsize my stuff." He began donating piles of clothes and belongings, sealing up and marking boxes to the point I was in nearly a panic. "Can you just STOP??? You are weirding me out. It's like you think you are going to die or something!"

He looked at me for a minute and said, "No, I don't think I'm going to die. I just feel I am on a short timeframe to get this done for whatever reason, and I have to do it fast." He sat every night with his super-high-tech setup in our living room: antique upright, a pair of kitchen sponges to absorb the vibrations from distorting the phone too much ... (new sponges ... we are classy people). I also remember some weird contraption that featured a bent coat hanger and an old pair of pantyhose strung over my artfully decorated shelving unit. He recorded the last song, then 24 hours later ... bam. Here we were.

I remember walking the dismal, depressing hall where there was so much sadness and darkness. People were dying or almost dying. Brett looked barely alive himself. I had this thought I felt was from God, but I did not want to do it: Play one of those audio files for his current nurse. I did not want to hear those songs. I had been told I should play his music for him so his brain could reconnect, but they were all on his computer, and I only had access to the few that remained on his phone. This song was one of them.

The next time the nurse came in, I half muttered, "Um, I know people in these beds probably barely seem like people sometimes. Do you have a few minutes for me to play a recording of him singing a song he wrote?" She was all in, so I hit play. After a minute or so, she was just holding his hand and sobbing, and God's presence showed up in that ugly room I did not want to be in. By the time God was done with this song, nurses had asked for the link to the recording. There were so many listens and shares, it crashed the site I had it stored on.

It was a tinny, non-impressive recording, as he lay hovering just above death. He never spoke a word or played or sang a note, and God still used him. Additionally, when I had to pack everything into the moving truck, he had so thoroughly boxed and labeled HIS stuff, I had it all in the truck in about 15 minutes. He had already packed to move. And without those weird days of after-work recording sessions in the living room, we would have had no way to demonstrate how the songs were supposed to go at all.

There you have it. Thanks for reading. -Kim

To hear this song, click below: