Sunday, June 01, 2008

The end

Dearest Huckleberries,

With overwhelming sadness I sit here trying to decide what to tell you about the last week. It was a horrible week and the details are many. Death finally arrived on Sunday, May 25th at around 6AM. We brought our loved one home on Thursday, deciding that dying at home was perhaps the only viable, yet painful thing left to do. Hospice care was in place, as was all the equipment necessary to make the last days as comfortable as possible. Between Thursday night when we arrived home from the hospital to Sunday morning when this part of my life ended, we had a steady stream of people in and out of the house. Doctors, nurses, friends and family all working to making things as easy as possible under the circumstances.

I slept in the room with "love" every night, OK truth is I didn't really sleep but I was there to do all that needed to be done. I was there all night to listen to the labored breathing, and the oxygen machine. I was there all night to do things I never imagined I could do but did, all in the hope that the suffering was lessened by my feeble nursing attempts. I was there all night to wonder why and to fear the inevitable end. I was there standing by the bed as the last breath was taken on Sunday morning. I made each and every phone call to everyone who needed to be informed. I made all the arrangements. I was there each and every moment of the last 7 weeks. I was there until the very end.

The images from this journey creep into my brain every so often filling me with grief and undeniable pain. Somewhere in my head I can still hear the gurgling, the suction machine and the oxygen tank. Somewhere in my head I can still hear that last breath. Somewhere in my head I can still see those gorgeous blue eyes, empty and awaiting death. I am physically exhausted, emotionally numb. I have moments when the sadness makes me want to curl into a fetal position. And moments when I make a list of all the things that need to still be done. This I do while feeling completely detached from the task at hand. I have already started to sort through stuff, deciding what should be thrown away, what should I give away, what should be donated and of course there is that pile of stuff that I can't stand to even look at right now.

I wasn't ready for the "dying" part. I knew it was coming, I was expecting it, but I wasn't ready for it to show up without warning me. It never gave me a sign that it was so close and for this I am angry. Would it had been easier if I had been told it was moments away? Perhaps not. Are we ever really ready to face the inevitable end? Sometimes this journey flashes before me in short snippets. Images of various scenes, the hospital, a nurse, the cafeteria, the blood, and the faces of my family and the worse one, the body being taken away.

I am still mostly silent. I don't feel the need to say much, everything seems so trivial. I speak when I have to, otherwise I prefer not to. Sometimes the silence in my own head is deafening. ( I now understand that phrase... silence being deafening) As yet another saying goes "life does go on" and so we shall. In time. Slowly.

It sucks to be me right now but there are some things I am grateful for, despite my grief. I witnessed many random acts of kindness during this journey. There was a complete stranger who bought me coffee, or the one who held my hand never speaking a word, another who brought us lunch, people we didn't know, who witnessed our pain and tried to make it better. I am grateful for the medical team who were wonderful and compassionate. The hospice team was a true gift. All the people who came to the funeral, family and friends, I am grateful. To all of you, who kept me company via your comments, emails, voice mails and texts. To my comadres, who daily, for this entire time "had my back". To Tony and Daisy, I can never truly put into words what the two of you have meant to me during this. Your love, and support reminded me every day that I would be OK. I know what a sacrifice you made to be here this week from cash, to work, to your personal lives and I am so unbelievably grateful. To the love of my vida, yet again you sat quietly in the background, but trust me, not once did I ever forget you were there. Not once did I ever forget you were ready to do whatever it took to hold me together. I am truly grateful for all of you.

Today, as I have done every day this week, I remind myself that there are wonderful memories to fill some of the void. I remind myself that yes, it will get better and the void will get smaller and I'll be OK, in time. Slowly. Ever so slowly. For now I will go back to making my lists and sorting through stuff and allow myself the time to curl up into a fetal position if time allows, crying when I can't stop the steam of tears. For today I will pretend it's a "normal" day, cuddle my cat (if he lets me) and look forward to the day when life will be almost normal, almost normal in a different way.

Besos, Es

21 comments:

Em said...

I am so sorry for your loss. My thoughts and prayers are with you. Having lost three members of our family in the pas 6 months, I have a pretty good grasp on the feelings of loss, sadness, anger. It is a tough time and I'll be thinking of you.

Amadeo said...

I feel for you. My aunt died on the 24th...unfortunatley her last months dwarfed her death. So rather then much discussion or her...is what has been left in the wake. While I can't sort any of it out...I know I have to watch for it's natural progression.

Anonymous said...

As you already know, I am here for you in spirit and above all you are in my thoughts-we love you so please take good care of yourself.

Anonymous said...

May the souls of the Departed through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen.

fringes said...

Peace be with you and your family.

heather said...

bear is a champion cuddler. i would loan him to you in a heartbeat if i could.

much love.

NoRegrets said...

I kept checking your blog, and while was looking for a new post, kind of hoping that it wouldn't be there since I knew it would be about the end. I'm sorry about everything, except all the support you were given - :-).

I don't think you are ever ready for someone dying. I thought about that a lot when my dad died suddenly, unexpectedly from a heart attack. I thought at first that it's better to be around when someone's dying, so you have time to say 'i love you' and hold the person's hand, and etc. But no matter the age, no matter the time, it is always difficult when the person actually dies. And is gone from your life. And you have to sort through the pieces.

It's amazing to me to think this all started when I was on my vacation. You've been in a time warp and so many things have happened, yet not happened. I'm sorry reality is there and you have to deal with it. As you know, time does heal the wounds. I went through a spate of deaths a while back, and I would get so angry that the whole damn process of recovery would be starting again because I didn't want to heal. But healing is good. And memories are good.

A Journey Well Taken: Life After Loss said...

I am sorry for your loss. Your post sounded so much like my own experience when my husband died. Same type of experience, same numbness, same grief, only now it is four years later. I wish you well.

Unknown said...

Remember also that you are beautiful and strong, that you are loved, wished well and hoped for. Remember that there will be a new normal and that I am here if there is anything at all I can do. You are daily in my thoughts, wishes and prayers.

Tera said...

My condolences Es, and please remember there is no more pain and suffering...always, ALWAYS try to celebrate the life and memories since sunrise more than you grieve the sunset.

((HUGS))

Kofi said...

So sorry to hear. Thoughts of comfort, as always, to you and yours.

Susan said...

You're in my thoughts and, as always, comfort and hugs from my side of the blue.

Anonymous said...

Dear Escolura,

I am so sorry for your loss. Please accept my condolences and my warmest wishes to help you and yours in your healing.

best,
lee

lyre said...

"Death is a gate to endless joy..."
I pray you heal quickly and internalize the relationship into a joyous strength.

LIT said...

It hurts so much to say goodbye to someone we love. Only then do we begin to understand the meaning of:

'Tis better to have loved and lost then never to have loved at all.

And that treasured love lives on in us.

NoRegrets said...

Hopeyou are hanging in there.

heartinsanfrancisco said...

Eslocura, I'm so very sorry for your pain, which is always in direct ratio to the depth of your love.

Right now it is surely hard to be you because you are one who is able to love deeply and that, too, is a gift although it doesn't always feel like it.

Sending warmest thoughts, prayers and love to you and yours.

Susan

Unknown said...

Huggles, Es...and vodka :)

Unknown said...

just checking back in to let you know the huggles and good thoughts are still heading your way...

much love, Es

NoRegrets said...

Visit Susan's post of today to see a list of reasons that Heather and Susan heart you.

contemporary themes said...

I'm am so sorry to hear about your loss. You captured your journey and your emotions perfectly here. My heart goes out to you. We are never ready for death no matter how well we know it's coming. I don't think anything prepares us.

Sending you lots of love.

 
Google Analytics Alternative