I was very lucky in that way. Dave was sick for a long time but he never lost any of himself. Other than some confusion the last couple of weeks (which could have been from the massive doses of pain meds he was on by then) he was still "in there", meaning that he could still talk to me and for the most part, he understood everything I said to him and vice versa. We had some interesting conversations, too. When we pretty much knew he was approaching the end of his life, we spent most every waking hour together. We talked, we laughed, we hugged (as much as possible...the cancer was ravaging his bones and it made too much contact excrutiatingly painful for him), we touched, we said "I love you" so many times I don't think I could have counted them.
About three weeks before he died, his sister came to visit and he kept saying things to her from their childhood. Just little phrases and then suddenly, during that visit, he started saying in a rather loud voice, "C'mon, ya'll, you have got to let me go. Just let me go. I've need to go." His mother thought he was trying to say that he needed to "go" but finally I said to her that he was talking about us letting him go, not holding onto him any longer. He was ready for his pain to end.
I had known that for a while and I had already told him that I didn't want him suffering anymore and when he was ready, it was okay, that I would miss him so much, but that I would be fine. He had responded to me by repeating over and over "just you and me, together forever." After that conversation, he said that to me often and always with a little smile and if we were holding hands, he would squeeze mine just a little bit and close his eyes.
Those are the memories I will hold onto. I have pushed all of the bad memories of those last few weeks out of my head, except for one. That I was not there with him when he died.
Dave was staying at his mother's home because it was so much larger than ours. Our tiny house was hard to negotiate with his walker. We didn't have a television (our choice) and he couldn't sit up enough to read, so there was little distraction for him there. He had audiobooks on his Ipod but he liked the physical task of reading and he didn't like listening to someone else read so boredom was a problem. His mom had 300 channels, although we still had a hard time finding anything to watch. Plus, her house had been outfitted with a handicapped shower and toilets when his dad was sick, two years prior. It was just so much easier on him being there although he never stopped saying "We've still got a plan, right?". That was his code phrase for asking me when I thought he might come back home to our house. I always told him as soon as it was possible but I think he knew he would never set foot in our little house again.
The night he died I had gone home to sleep. Our house was only 300 steps away, next door. I was a phone call away. I was bone tired that night and I had gone home around 11pm to sleep in our bed because I couldn't get any sleep at his mother's house. And since we lived on a farm and I had chores that needed doing early in the morning, it was just easier for me to sleep at our house at night. His mom and I didn't agree on many things and it was stressful on both of us to be together so much and this way we could both have a break. His mom could be there with him during the night, just the two of them. He was usually asleep, anyway, thanks to his meds.
He died sometime in the early morning hours, most likely of congestive heart failure. We had had no inkling that he was so close to death. The Hopsice nurse had been there that day and had not made any mention that we might want to stay close. Since he had not had a single visit from the Hospice physician since they had stepped in, we had not had any tangible contact with anyone to prepare us for what to expect because I would not have left his side for a single moment if I had even suspected. I had promised him that I would be there with him at that last moment and I will always feel like I broke that promise to him.
Even though I think about that last night quite a bit, I have forgiven myself because I know he has forgiven me. And sometimes, I have to wonder if he did not choose that time to leave his earthly body because I wasn't there. It would be just like him to try to protect me like that, even at the very end. I would have done the same for him.
