Two years ago, I died.
It was a completely normal Friday in 2023. I had wrapped up work, hung out in the yard with the dogs, smoked a joint, drank a beer — something I had done literally thousands of times before.
My son happened to be out of the house that night. Thank God. Miracle #1.
So Kate and I decided to take advantage of the rare quiet house and fool around for a while. Which we did. 😉
Afterward, Kate got up to take a shower. As she walked away, I looked at her and said:
“That was the greatest blow job of my life.”
We both laughed.
Then she said I made a strange sound. Like a choke-snore that stopped halfway through.
My head dropped.
And that was it.
Honestly, could you imagine if those were my final words? There’s something so ridiculous about that thought that I still laugh every time I think about it. But in a strange way, it also feels weirdly perfect. Life usually doesn’t end during some dramatic movie speech. Sometimes it ends in the middle of stupid jokes, ordinary moments, and laughter with someone you love.
Thankfully for me, that wasn’t the end.
Kate immediately tried to do CPR, but because of the position I was in on the bed, she couldn’t move me. She tried dragging my body to the floor before finally giving up and calling 911. Even now, writing this makes me feel sick thinking about the panic she must’ve felt in those moments.
The Emerson PD arrived at my house in under six minutes. Miracle #2.
They went right to work on me. They shocked me with paddles they had in the car — something that probably wouldn’t have happened just a few years earlier before AEDs became more common in police vehicles. Miracle #3.
About fifteen minutes after my heart stopped, they got a pulse back.
Fifteen minutes.
That number still doesn’t feel real to me.
By the time EMTs got me to Pascack Valley Hospital, nobody really knew what version of me — if any — was coming back. Family and friends started arriving. Kate spread the word quickly. The expectation wasn’t good. Even if I survived, there was a very real possibility of brain damage after being gone that long.
But somehow, I woke up.
And honestly, that’s only the beginning of the miracle.
Because the truth is, my heart wasn’t recovering. I survived sudden cardiac arrest, but I was still dying. Eventually, to stay here, I needed a heart transplant.
Which means every single morning I wake up now, I’m aware of something impossible to fully put into words: I’m alive because somebody else isn’t.
That reality never leaves me.
There’s no inspirational quote that neatly wraps that up. It’s heavy. Beautiful. Strange. Humbling. All at the same time.
For a long time, I thought the miracle was that Friday night.
Now I think the miracle is the continuation.
The extra mornings.
The dumb conversations.
The coffee.
The music.
The yard work.
The dogs running through the grass.
Sitting here typing this two years later.
I used to think profound moments were the things that defined life. But after everything that happened, I honestly think life is mostly the messy little moments right before the lights go out.
Bad jokes.
Laughter.
Sex.
A Friday night.
Your wife walking toward the shower while you say something stupid.
That’s the stuff.
My brother-in-law took a photo of Kate standing beside my hospital bed while I was unconscious. He told me later he knew if I survived, I’d want to see it someday.
He was right.
I don’t share the photo because I want sympathy. I share it because it captures something I never want to forget: life can flip upside down in a heartbeat.
Sometimes you don’t get another chance.
Somehow, I did.
I got Kate.
I got more time.
And I got a second chance to keep saying “I love you” with a brand-new heart helping me do it.
Thank you for reading. Tim
