Officiating Life
It was 10:30 at night, Oct. 20. I had just laid down in bed and was still fully awake. My wife, Jean, had finished up in her bathroom and had come bedside. Right at that time I noticed that we might have left a light on in the hallway leading to our bedroom, which is on our second floor. I mentioned that and Jean said she would go and check on it.
I heard her walking down the stairway, so I figured she saw a light still on down on the first floor. I heard her moving on the first floor. Then I heard her starting to come back up the 13 stairs.
Then I heard two thuds like I have never heard before. I heard Jean moaning. I jumped up, got to the top of the stairs. In a crumbled heap at the bottom of the stairs lay Jean and I could see a pool of blood already forming next to her. I ran down and there was blood drenching her nightgown, the floor and her face. I noticed a bad gash on her right forearm and obviously she sustained an injury to the back of her head. We rushed to the hospital ER, which is 10 minutes from our house.
At the ER they did scans and found serious internal damage. Fractured and displaced C2 and T3 vertebrae. Two broken ribs and clavicle. Broken finger on her left hand and she had sustained a hematoma, bleeding on the brain. From that ER they rushed her to a neurosurgery ICU at a major hospital in Milwaukee. That was early on that Monday morning and began a full week of monitoring. They had her on a breathing machine and others. Her system was not responding well. Throughout that entire week not a single word was able to be shared between us nor with our daughter, Julie, who was on hand every day.
Finally, on the following Sunday, Amanda, one of the ICU team came to me and said she felt we should have a conversation about “quality of life” for Jean. Whoa! When I heard that, I retreated a bit and told her I wanted to have my daughter at my side for such a conversation. Julie quickly drove up from Chicago and the three of us met. Amanda laid out the options, without making any recommendation. The last one was called the “comfort path.” This was offered because of the medical team’s belief that even with very successful surgery, Jean would spend the rest of her life on a breathing-support mechanism and living in a rehab-center. Amanda asked for our thoughts, our recommendation.
Julie and I heard Amanda out and then excused ourselves. And this is where officiating comes into play. I, like you, have officiating as part of my DNA. When presented with a situation, my instinct is to act and act now, to make a decision based on what’s in front of me. I needed my daughter there to slow me down. She is a highly respected attorney and her evaluation process is always so full of context.
Together we spent private time working our way through our tears and those options that had been presented to us. My instinctive reaction was to not condemn Jean to a life I knew she would not want. Julie tempered our conversation with her unique skill set. Then, together, we instructed the medical team to stop life-sustaining measures. Jean’s “comfort path” lasted less than 12 hours.
Jean and I were married for 56 years. When I started Referee she was a high school foreign-language teacher, with a minor in English. For the first three years, we lived off her salary. I always liked to say: “Without Jean, there would be no Referee magazine.” Importantly, she served as the “final editor” of every issue of this magazine, right up to the time that she took the “comfort path.” Sure did love that girl.
Referee Magazine Publisher, Barry Mano’s latest Publisher’s Memo. Found in the March, 2025 issue of Referee. For more information or to subscribe to Referee magazine, visit www.referee.com.
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