A Golden Heart Stopped

We haven’t posted on here in a while.  One thing we’ve discovered is it’s pretty challenging to have a family blog when you have no kids.  So, we are going to put our heads together and figure out what kind of content we can add here.  In the meantime…

As most of you know, Libby lost her father roughly a month ago. It was a very long trip and a difficult process to go through. We emerged from it profoundly changed by the experience. I thought it would be important to record the events from those days. It is for cathartic reasons and also for historical ones. Future progeny (tip of the hat with this word to Tyler and Joey) of Herb’s may want to read something like this in the future.

Memory, of course, is ever changing. If you were to ask every member of the Warren family to recount those days, they would have different memories and probably disagree with me on some facts. The only facts I may change at a future date are medical ones. But as for the rest of the events, I have written them as I remember them. Aldous Huxley said “Every man’s memory is his private literature.” This is my private literature.

Monday, January 25^th, 2010

Libby calls me at home to inform me that her dad has suffered a heart attack. She is not hysterical at all. She simply states the facts that he collapsed at work and isn’t conscious. She decides to come home from work because she can’t concentrate. She gets home and informs that her mom and Joey are flying in that night. The more we talk about it, the more Libby feels like we need to be there. She wants to be a support to her mom, but we also want to be there for Herb when he wakes up. We haven’t seen him since the wedding and feel bad about that.

I leave the house to run some errands for the trip. When I get back, Libby has most of the packing done and critical areas of the house cleaned (a co-worker of hers is coming to house sit for us). I’m amazed at how quickly this woman can prepare and organize. As we are packing late that afternoon, I wonder aloud if we should bring some dress clothes “just in case”. Libby blows it off with “Oh it’s not that bad. And even if he did die, he wouldn’t want people dressing up for his funeral.” We laugh it off and hit the road at about 6pm CST. We stop that night in Wichita.

Some skeptic is sure to ask, “Show me how resurrection works. Give me a diagram; draw me a picture. What does this ‘resurrection body’ look like?” If you look at this question closely, you realize how absurd it is. There are no diagrams for this kind of thing. We do have a parallel experience in gardening. You plant a “dead” seed; soon there is a flourishing plant.

Tuesday, January 26^th, 2010

We continue our journey after a continental breakfast at the hotel which consists of, presumably, days old bagels (appropriate considering the name of the hotel chain) and warm milk for cereal. Libby talks to her mom. No change in Herb. Still asleep but seems to be safe as far as his heart is concerned. We continue on up I-35 and then head west on I-70 at Salina, KS. As is the case with all of our car trips, we have fun listening to podcasts, talking, and laughing. Libby keeps in touch with her mom frequently during the drive.

We arrive in the Denver area at about 4pm MST. As we are heading north towards the hospital on I-287, traffic is beginning to get thick. We are passing by a residential area when a black Labrador runs into traffic from one of the houses. Libby issues a warning hiss with an intake of breath. I see it all unfolding, as if in slow motion, knowing that the dog will make it to the other side as I’ve always seen them do. Instead, the dog is broadsided by an SUV and careens clumsily through the air like a marionette puppet whose strings have been suddenly yanked. One leg flops up in the air, obviously broken. It is an awkward, terrible sight. It lands on the ground in the turn lane in a clumsy pile. Lifeless. “Oh Jesus” moans Libby and shields the left side of her view with her hand. “Keep driving” I say. As we pass, I see Libby look in the rear view mirror. I glance back. We both see what appears to be the owner running from the house to their dead pet. We are both in shock and feel nauseated. We finally arrive at Exempla Good Samaritan Medical in Lafayette. We will be there for the next seven days.

We head to the 2^nd floor. ICU. Room 15. We see Herb lying helpless and motionless on the bed. Machines are whirring and chirping all around him. Countless tubes and wires are running into his body providing nutrients and supplying vital information to his caregivers. His beard has been shaved to allow the nurses to put tubes in his mouth. Herb is going to HATE this when he wakes up as he’s had the beard for 40 years Sandi informs me. We are asked to be quiet. We stand near Herb’s bed, and I am praying silently for him. We are met by nurse Rick in the room. Between his account of what has happened and what Sandy has told us, we learn the whole story: Sunday night, Herb was complaining of lower back pain to his girlfriend Mandy (Herb and Sandi have been separated – not legally – for 5 years. She lives in SC). He decided to wait and see a chiropractor the next day. Herb went to work – Abound Solar in Longmont. Since he lives in Fort Collins, he had stopped by Human Resources to pick up some mail to take back to their Fort Collins branch. He was in the bathroom washing up when a co-worker observed “You’re not looking too good there, Herb”. “I’ve had better days,” he replied. It would be the last thing he would say. As he exited the bathroom, he started up the hall, turned purple according to eyewitnesses, and hit the floor. He was actually on the way to his car. Had the heart attack come moments later, he would have been on the freeway, and the story would have a much more abrupt ending. CPR was administered and someone trained in the use of an Advanced External Defibrillator began administering electrical shock. We would later find out that one of Herb’s co-workers and friends had campaigned just a year ago to get an AED into the facility. After 12 minutes of care from his co-workers, paramedics arrived. Herb would seize again in the ambulance and in the ER.

Rick explains that the main artery that runs behind the heart (I’m not a doctor or that well versed in human anatomy, so don’t be expecting a description here that belongs in the New England Journal of Medicine). This artery was 100% blocked. Two stents were applied, opening that artery. For now, Herb’s heart is stable. The concern is that he isn’t waking up. In addition, Herb had been induced into a state of therapeutic hypothermia. This is a medical treatment that lowers a patient’s body temperature after an event such as a heart attack. The goal is to reduce the risk of ischemic injury (tissue damage as the result of low blood flow). The concern is how long he was without oxygen. When you have a heart attack, you only have about 20% oxygen getting to your brain. In some cases, none. So how much oxygen did Herb get in those 12 minutes? No one knows. We speak with Dr. Bodoni. He tells us that some people bounce back quickly from heart attacks. Some take a little longer. It’s just a waiting game now. He tells us that he won’t start getting concerned unless Herb isn’t talking to us on Friday morning. We are concerned but not anywhere close to expecting the worse. Of course, he’ll be awake then.

There is no visual likeness between seed and plant. You could never guess what a tomato would look like by looking at a tomato seed. What we plant in the soil and what grows out of it don’t look anything alike. The dead body that we bury in the ground and the resurrection body that comes from it will be dramatically different.

Wednesday, January 27^th, 2010

Rick informs us that they are beginning to bring Herb out of his therapeutic hypothermia state which will take several hours. He also tells us that Herb, while assisted by the ventilator, is taking breaths on his own. This is a good sign. Dr. Bodoni comes in to see if he can get Herb to wake up. He treats him rather roughly by putting his hands on his shoulders and shaking him as if he is trying to walk a college student with a hangover. He picks up his arms and lets them fall. He pushes on his chest. I notice Sandi’s eyes are welling with tears. I don’t blame her…it’s hard to watch a loved one being treated like that.

Sandi, Libby, and I go downstairs for breakfast. While there, we get a call that Herb has just opened his eyes. I guard our breakfast while the women rush upstairs. I feel an enormous sense of relief and gratitude. Phew. This will be over soon, and we can finally talk to Herb. A few minutes later, the women return and tell me that Herb’s eyes had opened but according to Rick, they didn’t seem to recognize him. Nor did Herb respond to his name. He quickly went back to sleep.

Later that afternoon, Dr. Bodoni takes Sandi and Libby into Herb’s room and asks them to yell at him to wake him up. I stand there and, for several minutes, watch something I will never forget. Sandi grabs Herb’s shoulder, shakes him, and begins yelling “Herb, wake up! Wake up, Herb!” Libby yells “Dad, wake up! Time to go get your Powerball ticket!” (Herb liked buying lotto tickets and was reasonably successful with them). This goes on for a while. Herb doesn’t wake up, but the process makes me smile.

That night, we collapse in our hotel room. It is amazing how utterly exhausted you can get from worrying about a loved one and sitting around in a hospital all day. Snow has begun falling. It’s not really sticking, but it’s a beautiful sight.

You will notice that the variety of bodies is stunning. Just as there are different kinds of seeds, there are different kinds of bodies—humans, animals, birds, fish—each unprecedented in its form. You get a hint at the diversity of resurrection glory by looking at the diversity of bodies not only on earth but in the skies—sun, moon, stars—all these varieties of beauty and brightness. And we’re only looking at pre-resurrection “seeds”—who can imagine what the resurrection “plants” will be like!

Thursday, January 2^8th, 2010

Thursday is a fairly uneventful day. Since arriving at the hospital on Tuesday, the waiting room has been quiet. Suddenly, people begin to file in. I sit in “my area” by the window (so we can have cell reception) watching these strange people filing into the waiting room. Judging by their appearance and actions, I wonder if Larry the Cable Guy is in ICU. I start laughing inside at that observation. It’s important to find things to laugh at in times like these.

Herb has a CT scan this evening. As a result, they discover that he has pneumonia and will need to be heavily sedated for a few days so as to avoid further complications. This is also concerning because Herb still isn’t awake, and this will only delay things. The doctor tells us that he doesn’t believe Herb is going to die nor is he brain dead. But more tests and observation are needed to know for sure what is happening.

That night, I have a dream. I don’t remember what I dreamed before or after this event but what I do remember is that Libby was driving me out to an old non-descript warehouse in the middle of a very large field. Seems like it was a wheat field but probably doesn’t matter. It’s at night. There is a car waiting for us. I don’t remember any dialogue…I just know I’m supposed to get in that car. I get out of our car, and see that Herb is waiting for me in his car. It’s a plain sedan. I don’t know what kind it is. I get in and notice that Herb looks the way I remember him – full beard, dark tinted glasses, and stoic expression. I sit in the passenger seat and shut the door. The motor purrs as we pull away driving to an unknown destination. No words are exchanged.

This image of planting a dead seed and raising a live plant is a mere sketch at best, but perhaps it will help in approaching the mystery of the resurrection body—but only if you keep in mind that when we’re raised, we’re raised for good, alive forever! The corpse that’s planted is no beauty, but when it’s raised, it’s glorious. Put in the ground weak, it comes up powerful. The seed sown is natural; the seed grown is supernatural—same seed, same body, but what a difference from when it goes down in physical mortality to when it is raised up in spiritual immortality!

Friday, January 2^9th, 2010

The doctors decide that they need to give Herb an EEG exam. I walk into the room later that morning as the technician is getting him ready. He has at least 15 wires attached to his head with many more to go. Libby tells me later that there was activity according to the digital output. The technician said there was more testing to do but that was initially a good sign.

One of Herb’s co-workers, Dan, shows up and spends some time in the room with us talking. He also talks to Herb and gives him a hard time for not waking up. He has brought some Get Well cards that he reads to Herb. Dan is an ultra-friendly guy. He asks if he can bring us some lunch tomorrow so we don’t have to keep spending money at the cafeteria.

Later that day, the neurologist delivers her grim prognosis to Sandi and her sister Cindy. She (the neurologist) is concerned. There is some kind of brain damage, but she is giving him the benefit of the doubt and making her final assessment on Monday. This will give him time to have more of the medication/sedation he has been given for that last 5 days leave his system. So, he is not brain dead but there is some trauma. Libby and I were away when the neurologist came and have our own questions. “Is this normal to have brain damage as the result of a heart attack?” “What are the chances of there being brain damage but it being remediated through therapy?” Of course, we know these are probably premature questions. We still remain hopeful.

We follow this sequence in Scripture: The First Adam received life, the Last Adam is a life-giving Spirit. Physical life comes first, then spiritual—a firm base shaped from the earth, a final completion coming out of heaven. The First Man was made out of earth, and people since then are earthy; the Second Man was made out of heaven, and people now can be heavenly. In the same way that we’ve worked from our earthy origins, let’s embrace our heavenly ends.

Saturday, January ^30th, 2010

Around noon, Libby and I are in the waiting room monitoring email, keeping family and friends updated, etc. More visitors have been coming in, and it is obvious from their conversations and tears that one of their relatives is close to death. The room is full of immense sadness. I stand and, for the 57th time, turn and take in the view behind us. Outside of the waiting room window is the reverse side of the EMERGENCY sign. Above that is the Rocky Mountains stretching as far as the eye can see. There is something comforting about that sight. We know He is watching over us and Herb but do not understand His plans.

Dan arrives with subs. He sits with us as some of us begin to eat. Just a couple of minutes into eating, the doctor enters the waiting room and asks to see us. Sandi, Cindy, Libby, and I follow him to a surgical waiting room that is empty. The doctor sits across from us and asks “What is your understanding of the current situation?” We explain all that we know about the possible brain damage and the concern that Herb isn’t waking up. The doctor nods thoughtfully. Then, he delivers the news. Herb’s brain stem is fully functional which is what controls reflexes. The top part of his brain – “the part which makes us human” – has 2% activity. Herb is not brain dead but he’s not far from it.

It feels as if the air has been sucked out of the room. I know the direction this conversation is headed. It feels so surreal. How can this be happening? This is the kind of talk you hear on a bad Lifetime family movie. You never think you’ll hear it. Oh Jesus no. Reality descends with an unbearable weight.

As he talks, Sandi begins to audibly sob. I glance over at Libby and, for the first time since we arrived into town, I see tears streaming down her face. One of the reasons I love Libby is she is the eternal optimist. Neither of us expected this turn of events. But, her heart has been shattered now. My heart goes along with it. The doctor asks if Herb has a will. He doesn’t. He says that we need to decide if he want to place him in long term care or pull support. After some discussion and buckets of tears, Sandi, Cindy, and Libby unanimously agree that Herb would not want to live this way. I remain silent. I am family, but blood has to make this decision. The doctor gives us his sincere condolences and leaves. Sandi sobs “Damn you, Herb” and collapses into Cindy’s shoulder. Libby is standing there crying and appears lost…like a child at the mall orphaned by the crowds. I hug her, and we cry together.  A true test of a marriage is your ability to withstand disaster together.  This is a enormously sad time but one that is strengthening us.

That night, Libby and I go out to dinner. She had previously made plans with her best friend Michelle. We had considered canceling in light of this news but decide that after days in a hospital, we need to get out and have some laughs. So we went off to Old Chicago and had a fun night. Yet, the journey ahead lingered in our thoughts and conversation.

I need to emphasize, friends, that our natural, earthy lives don’t in themselves lead us by their very nature into the kingdom of God. Their very “nature” is to die, so how could they “naturally” end up in the Life kingdom?

Sunday, January 31st, 2010

That morning, Cindy tells me that she and Sandi have been talking about the dream I had (I told them about it the morning after I had it) and believe that it means I need to be in the room with Herb when support is pulled. I humbly agree to do this.

Libby’s sister Megan finally arrives to town after a 4 day ordeal on the road involving an accident near St. Louis. She has traveled from South Carolina. She picks up her brother Tye (the oldest sibling of the family; he had just started a new job and needed to stay home until it became evident that there was a need for him here) from the Denver airport and they arrive at the hospital early that afternoon. Joey, the youngest brother and sibling, is at the hospital also. The doctor has the same talk with us again for their benefit. When Megan asks him if all hope really is lost…if there really is no chance for recovery, the doctor responds “You have to understand that your dad essentially died on Monday when he had the heart attack”. It is a sobering statement.

We certainly don’t blame the medical staff. These men and women have been awesome. The doctor explains that sometimes heart attack victims are lucky and sometimes they aren’t. Herb got the best care possible at work until the paramedics arrived. The only better scenario, he says, would have been to have the heart attack in the hospital. They had been telling us Herb wouldn’t die, and they weren’t lying. You have to keep hope alive for families until there is no reason to. Even the doctors were hopeful until the EEG results came in.

As we are leaving Herb’s room that evening, a doctor stops and asks Libby if she is Herb’s daughter. Libby introduces herself and we discover that this doctor is the neurologist. The neurologist gives her condolences and explains more of what she had found in her testing and asks for questions. I am amazed to see her eyes are moist. Throughout this whole experience, we have been amazed by the simultaneous professionalism and humanity exhibited by the different medical professionals we’ve dealt with.

That night, the family gets away to Outback for dinner. I’m amazed at their capacity to laugh and have fun even during times like this. It’s a good night and a much needed break as we steel ourselves for tomorrow.

But let me tell you something wonderful, a mystery I’ll probably never fully understand. We’re not all going to die—but we are all going to be changed. You hear a blast to end all blasts from a trumpet, and in the time that you look up and blink your eyes—it’s over.

Monday, February 1st, 2010

Last minute visitors are coming by in the morning to pay their respects to Herb. At about 10am, Sandi, the kids, family friend Bri, and I go into Herb’s room. The door is shut, and I stand back and let the family say their goodbyes. After a few minutes, Libby moves to one side of Herb that is less crowded and I join her. The grief in the room is so intense that it doesn’t seem real. Libby is holding Herb’s hand and says quietly “Love you, dad. See you at the big game” (Herb was a HUGE lifelong Nebraska Cornhuskers fan). My heart breaks. My turn. “Goodbye, Herb. I will take care of Libby”. My throat seizes. Grief is raging around us like a hurricane. After a moment, I place my hand on his forehead and say “Father, we release Herb into the charge of your angels”. My throat seizes again, and I can’t speak anymore.

We adjourn outside of the room, all of us crying and hugging each other. The family retreats to the waiting room, and I stay behind. The nurses close the curtains as they remove all of Herb’s wires and tubes except his central ventilator tube. After a couple of minutes, they let me come back in. I watch as they remove the final tube that has helped sustain him these last seven days. Herb gasps a little and makes a face of displeasure as the tube comes out. I take his hand and begin to pray for him. I pray for several minutes and then just stand in silence holding his hand. It is a very quiet and peaceful time that lasts almost an hour. I spend some of it talking to him and some of it just staring out at the Rocky Mountains. It is 60 minutes that I wish I didn’t have to experience but am simultaneously grateful that I did.

Eventually, some of the family members begin to trickle in. They are amazed at how much better Herb looks now without all of the tubes in. The doctors have advised us that he could finally pass on 2 hours after support is pulled or a matter of days. It’s just a waiting game now.

At about 11:30am Herb finally leaves ICU and gets a private room on the 5th floor. By now, his niece Stacy has arrived. In addition to this being a painful moment for her, Stacy is also a funeral director and has come to help out in that regard. One of the nurses tells us that some patients will hang on if others are in the room. They prefer to die alone. Because Herb was such a private man, we believe this may be the case. So, the family camps out in a small waiting room/kitchen nearby. For roughly the next 12 hours, we hold vigil here…different ones of us taking turns to occasionally go in and sit with Herb. By now, his breathing is sounding awful. It’s a gurgling, rattling, phlegmy sound that I wish I could forget.

About midnight, Tye and Stacy decide they’re going to stay in Herb’s room all night. We all head to our hotels and crash.

On signal from that trumpet from heaven, the dead will be up and out of their graves, beyond the reach of death, never to die again.

Tuesday, February 2nd, 2010

As soon as we awake, we make calls and find out that Herb is still being stubborn and hanging on. We are all wishing he would move on. Libby and I go to the hospital and relieve Tye and Stacy. It is decided that Herb should go on to hospice care. About 2pm, the paramedics show up to transport Herb. The nurse has warned us that he may not survive the trip, and Tye assures her that would be fine with the family. Tye agrees to ride in the ambulance.

Libby and I head to Pathways Hospice in Loveland. We stop for a quick lunch on the way. By the time we arrive at the Hospice, Herb is situated in his new room. Eventually, the whole family arrives. Once again, we are amazed at the professionalism and kindness of the staff here. What a difficult and noble profession this is. We are truly humbled by them. They explain to us how the final stages of death will go (I’ve already read this info in their literature), what to expect, etc. When Tye asks the nurse how much longer she believes Herb has, she tells us that she doesn’t expect him to make it through the night. We hope she is right. Sandi has requested to stay with Herb tonight. Several days earlier, Sandi had told us that while she and Herb were separated, it didn’t mean she had stopped loving him. Never was that more evident than now.

We head to our new home (friends of the Warrens who are out of town) in Fort Collins exhausted.  Even though death looms heavy in our minds, Tye, Megan, Libby, and I stay up talking and laughing until about 11:30 before going to bed.

At the same moment and in the same way, we’ll all be changed. In the resurrection scheme of things, this has to happen: everything perishable taken off the shelves and replaced by the imperishable, this mortal replaced by the immortal.

Wednesday, February 3rd, 2010

The call comes at 1:33am. Libby and I, of course, know what the ring means. Libby takes the call and informs me that “he’s gone”. We get out of bed, get dressed, and head out to pickup Sandi. I watch the streetlights zipping by us amazed at the finality of that phone call. Even though it was an expected call and it was our wish to see Herb go quickly without more suffering, there is an extra punch of sadness that comes with the very end. We have done enough crying up until this moment but the grief is palpable. We drive in silence, grateful for each other and grateful that this journey is finally over.

Then the saying will come true:

Death swallowed by triumphant Life!
Who got the last word, oh, Death?
Oh, Death, who’s afraid of you now?
1 Corinthians 15:35-55, The Message

Conclusion

The next few days are very busy. There is the 2 hour funeral visit, cleaning done at Herb’s house as well as going through boxes and boxes of family memories in the basement. Lots of treasures are found including a dead mouse. The night of his death, all of the family (including cousins Stacy and Scott) gathers at “home base” to write Herb’s obituary. It is a night full of lots of laughs and red wine. The entire process takes close to 5 hours. I haven’t been in the Warren family a long time, but I really love their capacity to laugh even during tough times like this. In that way, they are a lot like the Chinns.

After the funeral and subsequent party, Libby and I were driving to Colorado Springs Saturday night to stay with some of my family before making the journey home the next day. It was dark but I still found myself looking in the direction of the Rocky Mountains and thinking about the last two weeks. I thought about that Labrador that we’d seen run down in traffic almost two weeks prior. It made me think of Herb. Herb was blind-sided by a heart attack. No one saw it coming. Like the dog’s owner, here was Herb’s family rushing to his side but it was already too late. We didn’t even have time to say goodbye. At least not in the manner that we’d preferred. I am almost 38, and this is the closest I’d been to death. Over the past two weeks, I thought a lot about it. Why did this happen? Why would God allow it to happen? What does it all mean? Does it mean anything? I still don’t understand death. Probably never will. What I do know is that through this experience, my love for my wife deepened. It was also a lesson that, as the previous Scripture says, death does not have the last word. It also made me smile when I realized that, in death, Herb brought his family closer together than they ever have been.

We had a wonderful funeral that was very well attended. None of the family wanted to get up and speak, so we wrote down little memories of Herb for the pastor to read. I will close with mine as well as the poem that was chosen by the family to be read at the funeral. It’s an appropriate poem for many reasons, one of which is that Herb was an extremely hard worker. In fact, at least half of the attendees of his funeral were co-workers, managers, etc. who told story after story about his work ethic. RIP, Herb.  And just so you know, I am now a Cornhuskers fan.

I didn’t know Herb for very long. One of the longest conversations I ever had with him was to ask for his blessing in marrying his daughter. It was only the 2nd time I’d been around him. We sat on his deck, and he gave me a Keystone Light. I had never drank one. After the first sip, I decided I never would again. But, I politely finished it. The conversation lasted maybe two minutes. He said that Libby talked about me all the time, and he knew she loved me. That was good enough for him. I told him I would be good to her. After a pause, he asked “So what kind of music do you like?” I rattled off a couple of artists I admired and then said “I pretty much like anything but country music”. I wouldn’t find out until later how close I’d come to being shot.

Three and a half years later, I found myself standing next to his bed as he was dying and promising to take care of his daughter. It was a promise that started that day on the deck and a promise I will keep until I see him again. I will always regret that I didn’t know him better. But, I will always be grateful to him for the daughter that he raised and for the family that I am a part of. – Paul Chinn, 2/6/2010

God saw he was getting tired
and a cure was not to be.
So, He put His arms around him and
whispered “come with me”
With tearful eyes we watched him suffer
and saw him fade away.
Although we couldn’t bear to lose him
we could not bid him stay.
A golden heart stopped beating,
hard working hands laid to rest.
God broke our hearts to prove to us,
He only takes the best.
- Author unknown

Herb and Libby

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