Unreal Reality

 Oxymoron? Maybe. But for me, May 6, 2005 was an unreal reality. Here's how that day unfolded:

The early hours of that day were eerily quiet. I remember emailing my friend, Betty, telling her all about the events of the previous day and suddenly realizing it was very quiet in our home at 2am. It was never quiet in our home, even at 2am. We had an eighteen month old who literally never slept for more than 45 minutes at one time; she had severe reflux that caused a lot of pain and would abruptly waken her (and us) at all hours of the day and night. It had been nearly 45 minutes and the house was quiet. She was still sleeping! (Albeit, propped up in her crib and looking very uncomfortable.) Todd and I, and more recently my Mom, would take turns holding her through the night. But this night she was in her crib, Todd was in a hospital bed, and I was typing at the computer. All was unusually quiet. 

Of course it wasn't long before I was rocking and holding and trying to soothe our screaming 18 month old daughter as Todd continued to lie in the hospital bed. I "woke up" around 4 or 5 without the screams of our youngest. My Mom was tending to her, so I tended to Todd and gave him the medicines he needed to keep him from being in too much pain. He was suffering from advanced four stage renal cell cancer, that had spread throughout his body and had even begun into his bones. He could no longer get out of bed. Two days before he had had a piece of pizza for dinner, in bed, and since then he wasn't moving much, or talking much anymore. He was in agony. We had many visitors, and some who stayed the night because I was so scared he was going to die when no one was around. 

The previous four months had been a blur, a fog, an unbelievable nightmare when Todd was diagnosed, spent over a month at NIH, endured an eight hour surgery where he suffered a stroke, infections, loss of eye sight in his left eye, hallucinations, and memory loss, and now he had only been told a week ago there was nothing more they could do for him. Here we were the morning of May 6, 2005, with him unable to get out of bed, not eating, and barely talking, being in severe chronic pain, and taking meds every few hours to try to help him find some relief. The hospice nurse kept increasing the dosages and times when we were giving him the narcotics. Soon it was time for the morphine. Now he was unable to swallow, so we were giving him morphine (as well as other medications) with a syringe at the back of his throat beside his tongue. 

After giving him some more morphine around 7 am, I just sat next to him and held his hand. The hospice nurse had told me the day before that she felt like he was trying to "hold on" for me and the kids, and that I needed to tell him it was ok "to go." I didn't want to do this. How could I tell my husband of 17 years that it was ok for him to die? Tears filled my eyes, and I looked at his eyes and began, "I love you so much. I hate seeing you like this." A friend, Karen, had spent the night with us, and she was nearby listening, praying, and encouraging me to keep talking. So...

I repeated how much I loved him and thanked him for loving me. I thanked him for loving our children, and then named each one and the different things he shared with each one, reminding him of how very special he was to each of our children. I also reminded him of how there were so many friends and family who were there and loved him and our family so very much. I told him so many cared for us and would continue to care for us. He was smiling with tears in the corners of his eyes and he kept nodding his head. Then I asked if he saw any angels, (I remembered my grandfather had seen angels right before he had passed away), reminding him that God would never leave him and that to be absent from the body was to be present with the Lord. He nodded and looked up to the corner of our room. Karen and I got chills. We were in the presence of angels! Then I told him that if it was time for him to go, that it would be ok, and that we would be ok. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to say.

Later that morning, I repeated the same speech about loving him, him loving us, how special he was, thanking him for the assurance of knowing he would be with Jesus because of his faithful testimony in trusting Him to be his Savior, and then finally telling him it was ok to go when God called him. While I was telling him how there were so many that would take care of us, I mentioned that Karen's husband, a good friend to both of us, was cutting our grass for us at that very moment and asked if he could hear the mower. As he was shaking his head yes, the mower apparently hit something because it made a loud sound and stopped. He gave me a big smile, and we laughed. Sure, it wasn't the same with Todd mowing, but it was getting done and we were both grateful for that!

At around 3 pm Todd's breathing became labored and raspy. In just a few hours he seemed to begin struggling for every breath. 

The following is from an email I wrote to my friend, Betty, who lived in NM. It's the best way I know to finish the story of May 6, 2005:

My husband, my best friend, my love was dying in front of me, Betty, and there was nothing I could do to help him. 

We kept giving him the morphine and anti-anxiety meds, and called hospice, which told us we could give them every hour now, and added a med to dry up the secretions, which never worked.  I couldn't stay in there any more.  I went out on the deck when he was breathing so noisy and slow.  It was torture to sit and listen and watch.  Kim came out and said it was ok, that I didn't have to go back in.  She said her and Kelly were with their dad around the clock, then they went home for a shower, came back and he was gone.  She always thought that was because he felt he could go and not have them go through that pain of watching him go.  So she said it was fine I wasn't in there, and maybe Todd would recognize that and feel better leaving without me there, knowing I wouldn't have to endure that.  I felt so terribly guilty, but I couldn't make myself to go back in there.  Then Kim came out around 6:30 and gave me that look.  He was gone. She held me tight and we just cried.  I started shaking all over.  I suddenly felt all alone.  I ached all over.  My world crashed in.  I couldn't speak or even breathe.  This continued, and I couldn't even tell the kids, but they knew. Nathan came over and we hugged awhile, then each one came and gave me a hug. Winter said, "Daddy's in heaven now, why are you crying?"  And I told her how much I missed Daddy already. Even though the house was literally filled with friends and family, I felt so lonely. Could he really be gone? Am I really left here alone? Please tell me this is a nightmare and I will wake up soon.

Kelly walked back with me, so I could see him.  That was so hard.  I suddenly felt so angry at him for leaving, and yet I told him it was ok to go, but it just suddenly wasn't ok anymore!  It stinks!  It makes me so angry!  How can this be happening?

Thanks again for the all the encouragement and especially those prayers.  It means so much.  You are right, this is truly unbelievable, but God is good and showing Himself a source of strength and comfort. Everything hurts and nothing makes sense, but God is good. He is able. He will get us through.