It’s been four months and twenty two days since my wife died.
That final day, I made a conscious decision to not go to the hospital.
I had been by her side everyday for last 9 months witnessing her suffering, her pain and her steady decline.
Her final 2 months had been horrific for her, for Zack and for me. When we could no longer control the pain with massive doses of liquid morphine every hour, she begged me to help her. That’s when I took her to the hospice unit to die.
I spent every day with her in the hospice unit. By the 4th day, she was no longer conscious and there were no signs that she was in pain.
I told Zack he should not come back to see her. She did not want him to see her this way. She didn’t want any of us to see her this way and she said to me, “I’m so sorry that you have to be the one to see me that way. I wish it wasn’t so. I love you.”
It was hard for Zack not to come. I urged him to stay away. I told him what his mother had said and how clearly she expressed her wishes. Despite his misgivings, he stayed away. He came to visit me each night at home instead.
After a week, my visits shortened. My wife had been unconscious and unaware for several days. She had no reaction to me talking, to the nurses pushing the meds or to anything around her.
I was convinced that she was no longer in pain and didn’t know where she was. Her only movement happened if the nurses repositioned her. She was visibly shrinking. Her breathing had become more labored.
I stopped harassing her nurses and doctors to give her increasing doses of meds. I no longer begged them to give her the fatal overdose that they wouldn’t do.
I knew all I could do was wait.
——
I counted the seconds between her gasps for air, hoping it would end. I googled “signs of death” and tried to determine how close she was to the end.
I went home every night hoping she would die. I would toss and turn all night waiting for the phone call. I’d check my cell phone over and over to see if I had missed the call.
But for 8 days, she was still in that awful place with her body clinging to life.
On the 8th day, I made the conscious decision that I was not going to visit her the next day.
I knew she was getting worse. I knew she was unaware of anything around her. I had heard stories of people who had done round the clock vigils on “death watch” and it was only when they left the room, that their loved one passed.
I didn’t go that morning. I didn’t want to prolong her life with my presence. I didn’t want to watch her body failing. I didn’t want the image of her dying seared into my brain.
That afternoon, I was talking to my mom and said, “But what if, deep inside, she is aware and knows she is alone, dying in that horrible place? What if she is lonely and afraid? I have to go see her. I can’t bear the thought of it. I won’t leave her all alone.”
And so I went.
It was awful – so awful that I will not describe it here in case Zack someday stumbles across this post.
Just like every other day for the previous month, I knew the end was near. But this time, it was clearly different. My wife wasn’t there. Her mind was gone. Her body was just fighting for its final moments.
I knew it. The nurses knew it. It wasn’t going to long. Perhaps hours or days, but not weeks.
I kissed my wife. I told her I loved her. I told her she would always be my one true love and that I’d do it all again. I told her that I would be OK. I told her that Zack would be OK. I told her our pets would be OK. I told her it was time for her to let go. I told her that Zack and I needed her to let go.
And then I left.
Four hours later, I got the call. My wife was dead.
The best part of me died with her.
162 days later I still can’t believe she’s gone.
My life has completely changed. I gave away everything we owned. I sold our cars and house. I left my son. I gave away our cats. And I began living in the Bizarro World of full time nomadic camping/vehicle dwelling.
You’d think it wouldn’t be hard for me to believe my wife is gone.
Other than the hole inside of me and dull ache that is constantly present, sometimes I still can’t believe it.