Two Years

It is now two years since Mary died.  My life has been sort of a 'sustain the status quo' as my primary mode.  In the last several months, I have made major decisions and they are being done. I retired from full time work (effective Feb 1, actually April 15), I bought a studio apartment in San Francisco with a view of the bay, I will be selling the house Mary and I created in 2000 and spent the next decade 'finishing', I'll downsize to a townhouse here in Los Gatos, and Shawna, Mary's 17.5 year old dog, died last week.  

And in the middle of all that activity and forward motion, I have fallen into an emotional abyss these past couple of weeks as the anniversary of Mary's death approached.  


Mary last spoke on Easter Sunday two years ago.  That year, Easter was on the 4th.  By Monday morning, the 5th, she was unconscious and her vital functions were virtually gone--kidneys, bowel et al. But, her heart and lungs were still working--weak--but working.  


I hope you never, ever have to watch a loved one continue "living" when they are clearly not conscious and there is no hope for recovery.  The hospital staff removed all the instruments so the lights, beeping and alarms were gone during the last days.  They call it Comfort Care--provide comfort to the patient. This is, I now know, the last stage of Palliative Care.   


Mary's condition told us that she was going to die. Her collection bag was empty because no fluids were being removed by her liver and kidneys because they were in failure.  Her body simply continued to retain the fluid being delivered by her IV. There was far more impact on me when I realized all the activity with the doctors and nurses suddenly stops because she is in comfort care.  They stopped taking measurements of temperature and blood pressure and all the daily things they routinely do in a hospital. The room was quiet, very quiet. Few visits by any of the hospital staff.  The irregular rythm of nurses, interns, specialists and doctors appearing in the room suddenly stopped.  


Mary had great nurses when her status changed to palliative care and then to comfort care.  They were very patient with us, for the entire family had arrived by April 1st, the Thursday before Easter.  Tim and Charlize. Lara, Scott, Madelyn and Emma.  Daniel.  Chris, Casey, Danny and Sarah. Erika. Reenie. They all made it to the hospital so they could say good bye to Mary.  And Mary said good bye to each of them for she had moments of lucid conversation up to and through Easter Sunday.  They stayed as long as they could and by the 8th, only Reenie and I remained. 


In the late afternoon of the 8th, Reenie and I were both in the room, concentrating on our computers as we had talked through so much already.  Reenie suddenly stood from her position at the foot of the bed. I was sitting next to Mary and as I wondered why Reenie had stood, I realized the soft whisper of Mary's breathing was no longer rhythmic.  


There is nothing in life's experience like the death of a loved one.  Be it sudden and accidental or be it long and drawn out as cancer often does, the hole created in your emotional being is large and painful.  And the anniversary of the death resonates loudly in your emotional being. So much so, even two years later, you are in wonder at the massive impact it has on you.  


If you are interested, you can click on this link which will take you to my blog from April of 2010.  


And clicking on this link will take you to my blog for April of 2011. 


Let me close this entry as I did last year. 

Mary, my love

Let your itchy feet carry you 

to new and wonderful places,

Let your spirit hold 

and keep our love,

All Ways and 

Always,

Pat