Todd and Leah

My thirty-seven-year-old nephew Todd gave us a huge scare last month when he was rushed to the hospital with chest pains. His condition was dire for several weeks and my sister was truly afraid she might lose him. (See previous post for the more story.) Each time the surgeons gave their pre-game rundown of the strategy — removing blood clots, inserting filters, etc. — they made sure Todd knew the seriousness of his condition, how fragile his system was and how much of a chance there was that he might not make it out of surgery alive. No one was sure if he would tolerate the blood thinners, and a brain bleed was a real possibility.

The surgeries and blood thinners were successes and a week into his stay, he was out of the woods, “Unstably stable” as one doctor put it. Friends asked if they could visit. Todd was weak and uncomfortable, but tried to rally for the folks who came and stood at the foot of the bed asking how he was feeling. “Fine,” he’d always say. I wondered if that’s a Southern thing or a family trait, always answering “fine” even when you’re actually on death’s doorstep. At least, that’s how we learned to behave in my family.

But when one of Heather’s good friends came to check on him and asked him how he was feeling, this time he answered differently. “I’m at a high risk of dying. And I’m okay with that. I’ll get to see my wife….” He meant to continue, but the friend abruptly changed the subject, cutting him off from this upsetting line of thinking. But I wanted to hear what else he had to say on the matter.

Todd recovered from his acute cardiovascular emergency and is back home being waited on hand and foot by his mother and a bevy of caretakers, but he still faces an unknown future living with his progressive and life-threatening autoimmune disorder. He’s had years to wonder what the coming years will bring, and the fact that he is looking forward to being with his wife in the next go-round brings me consolation.

If you know Todd, you know that his story is not the story of Todd Green. It’s the Todd and Leah story. Leah was and always will be the main event. In Todd’s initial heart examination last month, the cardiologist informed him that his heart showed signs of previous damage to the muscle, a pre-existing cardiomyopathy which he believed was due to Takotsubo Syndrome. Broken Heart Syndrome. I didn’t even know that was an actual physical diagnosis, thought it was only a romantic idea. But, yes. That’s right, of course it is. I wouldn’t be surprised if what’s left of Todd’s heart looks like a bright red cartoon heart with a lightning bolt splitting it in half down the middle. Because that’s what happened to his heart in 2014 when Leah died. 

They met in the cafeteria of Daviess County High in February of 2002. Todd, a freshman, was sitting at a table with some girls, trying to figure out his math grade. A cute redhead at the neighboring table, a sophomore, overheard and offered to help. Three weeks later, on February 13^th (he remembers the exact date), Todd asked her to be his girlfriend. She had to get permission from her parents to date someone and when they finally agreed, she picked Todd up for their first date, the high school play. Leah’s parents were strict Southern Baptists, not happy about their daughter dating, so they insisted that Leah’s little sister come along. But Todd didn’t care, this girl was 100 percent his type. Everything he was looking for, she had. He was a sucker for glasses. And red hair. 

All four years of high school, they were inseparable. They went to all the school dances and three proms, her junior prom, her senior prom and Todd’s senior prom. They talked on the phone every single night that they were apart. They were part of a high school ministry, went to church together, played video games together. Leah was into disaster movies like Day after Tomorrow. Her all-time favorite movie was Twister, which she saw time and time again. They dined at their favorite restaurant, Red Lobster. She loved the color purple.

Leah adored Todd. She appreciated everything about him and thought he was hilarious. As Todd said, “She said I was kinda funny.” Leah was the perfect girl for him, kind and innocent, friendly and talkative, easy-going and loyal — just like Todd.  

Leah graduated high school. Then Todd did. Todd got his own apartment while Leah continued to live with her parents. She was at his apartment at midnight on their 5-year anniversary. “It’s kind of a funny story,” Todd told me. “She was in the bedroom laying in the bed playing on the phone. I tell her that I’m going to sleep, and then pretty soon, I tried to tap her with my elbow to get her attention, to get her to look at something. She said she was trying to sleep and then got mad. So I said, ‘please,’ and she said, ‘fine,’ and turned over and I had the ring. Proposed to her in the bed and she started crying and what even made it better, the same night, I bought her a purple Nintendo system.” Sealed the deal. “We got married in 2014.”

I asked Todd why it took so many years for them to get married.  “Before she came down with cancer, she was wanting to finish college before we actually got married and moved in together. She started out wanting to do nursing but changed her major to teaching. She got diagnosed with the cancer in 2011. I remember the day she got diagnosed. I was out playing a game called Giocaching. It was pretty cool game, where you have to use your GPS to find stuff on the internet, played all over the world. She went to the doctor because her chest was hurting and they discovered and diagnosed her with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.” 

Everyone was devastated to learn that 25-year-old Leah had cancer. She took all the advice and treatments the doctors suggested, chemo, radiation, steroids, and suffered all the typical side effects of these. Then came the months-long visits to the Mayo Clinic where Todd would stay in the in-house hotel to be near her. By this time, Todd’s disability was in full swing. He was not in great shape himself. The weakening of his muscles and declining balance due his autoimmune syndrome were causing one fall after another. But nothing would stop him from being with his beloved. 

She went into remission and then discovered that the cancer was back. She fought and fought some more, always sure that she would beat it. The soundtrack of her life was Kati Perry’s song, Roar. She played it on repeat. Her always-positive attitude and unwavering strength were amazing to me and to all who knew her. Her faith in God’s love carried her.

When the doctors gave Leah the worst news, she made a decision. “The reason we went ahead and got married is because she wanted to do it before she passed,” Todd told me. “They told her she had around two years to live. So, we just did it. It was a really nice wedding.”

Words can’t describe this wedding. The bride, Leah, was decked out in full wedding regalia, beaded white dress covered in lace, veil, a bouquet of white Lilies and purple Orchids. It didn’t matter to her that her face was swollen from the steroids or that she needed an oxygen tank. It was her big day at last. The groom was beaming in his black tux and new haircut. Both families and lots of friends gathered at Third Baptist Church to witness this union. When the wedding march played, we all turned in our seats to watch Todd and Leah come down the aisle together. She held him steady with an arm around his waist to keep him from falling and he wheeled her oxygen tank behind him. There was not a dry eye in the house. 

The reception was held at the nice new National Guard Armory building and featured a Todd and Leah extravaganza, a BBQ mutton dinner and every kind of soda available – Coke, Dr. Pepper, Mountain Dew, Orange Crush, Grape Crush. Good mixers for the vodka and tequila we had to sneak in and hide from the Baptists under the tablecloth of Family of the Groom’s table. Leah got to have her first dance with her husband, her Father/Daughter dance, the throwing of the bouquet, a night of celebrating her love with her friends and family, her fairy tale wedding. 

Nine months later, on January 14, 2015 Leah lost her fight to Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. The years of chemo and radiation had damaged her lungs beyond repair. Todd told me, “The whole time she was in the hospital, I was right beside her holding her hand, until the day she died. The second she died. Holding her hand.”

“I can’t even imagine how you did that, how you felt,” I told Todd.

“I was beside myself, I didn’t know what to think,” Todd said. 

“She was the love of your life and you hers. You guys were together for thirteen years. You needed about seventy five more.”

“I’ve thought about it, if she was still alive, we already would have celebrated our 21^st anniversary.” Todd keeps the wedding rings in a special box, always close by. “I was actually her very first boyfriend and person she loved.”

“You and Leah shared a belief in God, in the promise of eternal life, so you know you guys have forever together after this life. You’ll be free from these earthly bodies, and…who knows? Will you both be young again? Or just spirits? I don’t know…”

Todd has a little plot waiting for him under an old shady Oak tree out at Memorial Gardens, right beside his wife.

“I just can’t wait to see her again, however long that takes.”