I shared this on Facebook as we approached the 2-year anniversary of losing Wayne.
I was organizing the linen closet today and found a bag hidden in the back. I knew exactly what was in it. And I knew I needed to look at the contents.
These items represent the last few hours of Wayne’s life.
It’s the blur of stuff I saw on the bathroom counter just feet from where I found him.
It’s what my brain used in mere seconds to figure out exactly how he died. When I spoke to the 911 operator moments later, I matter-of-factly said, “He’s gone. It was a heart attack.”
Wayne regularly suffered from heartburn and would take Tums or Phazyme when it flared up. And if it was really bad he would drive up to the gas station and get a Coke because the carbonation would help settle everything.
I’m sure that morning he assumed that’s what was going on…just a little heartburn and indigestion from the previous night’s heavy meal at Salernos, our favorite Italian restaurant.
Yes, it probably seems weird that I’ve kept these things stashed away in the back of a closet. But they bring me an odd kind of comfort; a peace of knowing that even if I’d been home, I probably would’ve missed the warning signs. Wayne certainly did.
And I don’t think he was scared or worried something dire was happening otherwise he would gone to the ER. We even texted an hour before he died and he didn’t mention anything.
As much as I had guilt for not being home and questioned why God had me working THAT day, of all days. I was also grateful.
I know He protected me and the boys from a more traumatic experience.
We were all where we were supposed to be.
Even Wayne. 
