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8. The Last Hours

Updated: May 4, 2020

The worst of times.

Written Thursday, August 29, 2019 / Day 17 / Afternoon #1


Grief, I'm finding centers around a point in time. At least for me it does. That point for me was the end.


I use the fortunate word loosely because it wasn't fortunate at all (at least in my current state of thinking) but fortunate that we did see it coming.


It is hard for me to imagine the sudden deaths that occur - accidents, unexpected health issues or other tragedies. In my case there was an order to it - in that order I have a weird peace although I am profoundly devastated in my current state.


We were contending although seemingly knowing that the trajectory was down.


One element God added to these final hours was my wife's closest girl friend of her youth - the person she had spent so much time with and had that lifelong connection to - she was able to be with us for those final hours.


That's something I only partially had a hand in - she had wanted to come a week earlier and I held her off - to wait. Then when we were in the hospital again - something told me to tell her to come.


They arrived on Sunday afternoon. My wife spent two hours with her while her friend's husband took me out to eat. Those were uncomfortable moments for me - being away from her. But those two hours with her dear friend gave me joy - and continues to be a gift to me even though I was not a part of the conversation.


As far as conversations went, she wasn't conversational at all. I think her coping had taking that away from her. I understood. That meant the time with her friend was even that more special - I knew it cost her a lot of energy to be engaged for that long.


When they left on Sunday around 6 - my wife was restless. Trying to be settled. That was a constant theme. They gave her what they gave her - always trying to deal with the immediate issue. I tried to rest but could not as long as she was in distress. Passing out at times for 15 minutes or so until she called the nurse for something or another.


These were painful moments.


In grief we seem to be drawn back to those moments. They hold us for some reason. I believe it because we want to hold on to the person any way we can - and even if it is a painful moment - it is a moment with them.


I was rubbing her legs because she loved that and I thought it would counteract the current discomfort.


I cry right now as I'm wiring these words.


I remember while I was rubbing her to drink in those moments - as awful as they were - because she was still with me and even if I could not speak to her conversationally - I was sending my love through the only way I could reach her. It gave me a strange comfort - and today it still does as well.


It was 2:45 at night when the nurses efforts along with the on call floor doctor began to get to me.


I called the Palliative on call doctor to have them weight in on the situation.

In my call - my frustration took over and I asked the doctor, "Is this it? Or are we on the way to it?".


The answer was that this was it. I asked whether I should call my son and the doctor said I should. So I made three calls - to my son, my wife's friend and to my wife's brother. He was out of town and not able to be with us as he was with their 94 year old mother who could not travel.


By the time they all got there - looking back - it was another 6 hours that we stood watch.

I rubbed her legs, hugged her - I know she knew there was no question that I loved her. I just didn't want her to go - but her breathing was so labored - I prayed that God would hear our prayers for her peace to come. Each breath was like a knife in my heart.


No wonder it is so broken.


And then at 10 minutes to 10 am she paused in her breathing - took two small breaths which were her last.


Now she was at peace. Her spirit was now with God. As Jesus, during His ministry when faced with death would say, "They are just sleeping". And so was my dear sweet Joann - sleeping at last.


It was a staggering, overwhelming, catastrophic, gut wrenching, overpowering moment.


Her journey had ended.


Mine however would continue.


I am drawn back to this moment because for me it settles some things and makes some statements. Many of which I do not want to accept.


When my grief sessions come - this moment continues to be at the core of them. She is settled - she is not in pain. She is awaiting the resurrection. God taught her about that through the Bible. It is finished.


But then for me - I am alone. She is no longer here to be my partner. I love her so much I cannot comprehend going on in any credible way without her. I miss her presence so much. She is not here but I am.


It hurts.


It just hurts.


And in my grief - those final hours will be the foundation for my future. A future I do not want nor care about right now.


A future that will come.


In its own way and in its own time.

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