My friend's husband died this morning at 3 o’clock. She texted me early. He was not expected to die just now. Her daughter visited with me yesterday and said he was dying, but it would be 2 to 3 weeks away. Hospice had been there and educated them.
A few weeks is the norm for the actual dying process. Disease or malfunction or whatever reason results in metabolism slowing down. Functions start to decline, the kidneys, digestive enzymes and nervous system all slow down.
Animals know about this. They sense they are dying. They have a little time left, but they know they need to find a safe place, a quiet place, where they can be at peace, not be disturbed, where they can rest at ease.
It is us humans that don't want to let our loved ones go. We rush them to doctors, emergency rooms and specialist facilities. Our loved ones go along with it. They don’t want to die, at first, then their bodies take over. They can fight only so long.
They want to please us, to stay with us, but they can’t. Their bodies tell them it is time to be at peace.
When we love someone, it is our responsibility to let them go. We have to say it is OK for them to go. We have to give permission. They will be safe. We will be OK without them. “All shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.”
That is the depths of our love, our decision to let go.
They took my neighbor for a boat ride last week. He was able to walk down to the dock with help. He started having a lot of chest pain a few days ago and hospice put him on Morphine. Something failed, probably his heart.
This was a very loved man. My friend found him on a dating site after a heartbreaking divorce left her with two children, a job in a strange city and totally alone.
He entered their life and the children loved him. He doted on them, and my friend found love again.
His death was felt vividly by all of us in this close community. My friend with the two dogs wanted to tell me about her husband, about when he died and the celebration of life gatherings. It gave her the chance to tell me about her plans for when she died. She had no one to tell her story to.
There are not a lot of people who want to talk about these subjects, let alone hear about them. I write about my grief.
It certainly brought to mind the dying of my wife and how the dying process occurred over a period of weeks.
She would open her mouth like a little bird when I would offer her food, even though she wasn’t hungry.
She would thank everyone, the caretakers, for whatever they did for her.
She didn’t want to bathe, and we would trick her into the shower, until she became too weak to be there by herself.
She didn’t want to get dressed and sometimes we would leave her in her PJs.
She didn’t recognize her dog or her tortoise, and she didn’t recognize the rejection felt by her dog.
She declined day-by-day, until she couldn’t get out of bed by herself.
Her final decline when she couldn’t or wouldn’t take fluids, and had to be turned to keep her skin from hurting.
How we had one final shared happy moment, in getting her on her potty chair.
How she peacefully just stopped breathing.
How the mortuary honored her military service by draping her with her flag on her last journey out of our home.
How that journey to the morgue was accompanied by my heart, which had been ripped out at the time of her death.
I didn't tell my friend any of this. She already knew. She had been there herself a few years ago.
My friend is exhausted. She has been trying to take care of her husband for months. He has tried to help. Instead of peeing in his diaper, he was trying to hit the urinal with shaky hands and peeing all over.
All shall not be well for us left behind. A hole has been ripped in our heart. All the pain of our loss rushes to the hole and overcomes us.
We can’t ease my neighbor friend’s pain, as we know it will hit her. What we all can do in our tight neighborhood is be there for her, get her out of the house and visit her if she wants, listen to her, not tell her what to do or what she should have done.
We will share our love as those of us who have lost our loved ones relive the pain of the losing of ours. We will grieve in honor of her husband, and in honor of our wives and husbands who are no longer with us.
Let me know how you are doing. I care.
Contemplation: All shared journeys are not fun ones.
Sincerely,
Lynn Brooke
© 2023 Our New Chances
Photo Credit: © 2023 Rachel Gareau
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