I received the news early Monday afternoon on April 9, 2018. My coworkers overheard my disbelief and panic as I spoke with the policeman. They offered up prayers and help as I ran out the door. In a blur, I drove home, calling Mike on the way with the devastating information I had learned.  In a daze, I tried to keep my wits about me. Once home, I frantically packed clothes and threw essentials into a bag. Two hours after leaving work, the St. Luke’s trauma team called with the terrifying update, “Matt had suffered a massive brain hemorrhage and he was not anticipated to make it!” 

When the doctor learned that we lived four hours away, she advised me to wait for my husband to return home and discouraged me from making the trip by myself. She was worried for my safety. Mike and I discussed our options. It would take almost an hour for him to get home and even more, time to pack and make arrangements for someone to take care of the house and our cat.  We were petrified that Matt might pass before we could get there and we did not want him to die alone. Quickly, we decided that I should leave right away and Mike would follow as soon as possible.

 Once on the road, how grateful I was that my car was equipped with a Bluetooth hands-free phone system. I called my family, starting with Ryan and Megan. It was gut-wrenching to hear their anguish and horror—to sense the moment they realized their world had tilted off axis and that their happy lives were indelibly changed. What should they do? Should they come right away or wait until I reached the hospital and learned more? It was beyond comprehension for either of them to sit idly by while their brother could be dying. We discussed the logistics of air flights and the timing of pick-ups. It was critical that our family quickly congregate to be there for Matt.

 There was a steady flow of tears as I made more calls to family and friends. With each contact, the same outcry and disbelief followed. And with each call, the same, unanswerable question was asked of me: What can we do to help? Each phone call was emotionally draining. 

Mike and the kids stayed in constant communication, working out the necessary arrangements to unite our family. We needed each other like never before. I prayed to God and pleaded that I would get there before it was too late. 

Mike left home two hours behind me. Megan and her boyfriend, Ben, had quickly found a flight out of Raleigh, North Carolina, and were in the air already. Mike was able to swing by Newark, New Jersey, and pick them up on his way. Ryan and his wife, Corinne, were booked on a red-eye flight from Burbank, California that was scheduled to arrive before dawn the next morning. I was touched that both Ben and Corinne, my children’s significant others, chose to step away from their busy schedules to be there with us, and for Matt.

 Finally, I arrived at St. Luke’s Hospital in Easton, Pennsylvania, and rushed in. Had I made it in time? I wondered. “I’m here to see my son Matthew Watkins who’s in Intensive Care (ICU).” After several tense minutes, I almost fainted when the front desk claimed that there was no patient there by that name!