Here I am, still up at 6:12 a.m. If I was just awakening to a new day, my "today," then I'd feel happy to do it. However, having stayed up all night and all night Tuesday night brings me to thinking I might be having a slump or regression. There have been a few more moments of tears, but then, I'm not rested. WHAT is it that keeps me awake when I know I am tired enough to sleep? WHY do I hesitate to put my body to bed when I know if I only would, sleep would quickly come? So much more is accomplished during the daylight hours, even when those hours are dim from cloud cover.
I need to allow God to take the concerns of my future into His hands every moment. Knowing that and desiring it don't seem to prevent my thinking and over-thinking about what to do. Jack doesn't know what's happening, he can't be offended by my thoughts or possible plans, yet, I have the sensation I need to consider his feelings. There's nothing that he wouldn't want me to do if it would please me.
*(For those who might be reading this blog, the next narrative might be disturbing as I describe Jack's death and disposition of his body. Please, be forewarned that it could be upsetting to some.)
Two more days and it will have been 5 months ago that he took that last breath with his feet still on the floor. He had refused to put his feet onto the bed and under the covers right up to the last moment, even though he was cold. I had wrapped blankets around his legs instead. A few hours before he died, Jack said he was "going somewhere" and for a short time, he was afraid from the look on his face, an expression I had never seen on his face. It was as if he was looking into a blackness I couldn't see, an unknown he could see coming. He became agitated, wouldn't take any medication, and thrashed about for a short time--getting on his knees, then sitting, then moving to face whatever he seemed to see or not see, but sense. I tried to help him feel comforted, but it didn't seem to help much until I called the nurse. She suggested making a paste of his meds and rubbing it inside his cheek. After doing that, the idea of music came to mind. If only I had thought of it sooner. For awhile, I sat on the bed holding him, singing his favorite hymn while having him in my arms, then humming another favorite. By then he was relaxed and so pale with cool hands, I knew he was leaving me. I had been denying it before then, not wanting him to leave. Making him comfortable wasn't easy with his feet on the floor, so I piled several pillows to let him comfortably recline against the bed and it's rail, covering him for warmth. Quickly, I started a favorite CD, then sat with him for awhile longer. Finally, I could see the end was very near, so decided to step into the kitchen to call our daughter. Within two minutes, while on the phone with her, I watched him take his last breath and he was gone with some of his most favorite music playing in the room.
Our daughter and I cried aloud that piercing, wrenching sobbing cry of emotional wounds rawly gaping beyond our ken. If hearing is the last to go, I'm sure he heard our cries. That saddens me, for I wanted him to have peace in those last moments. Those few minutes of fierce primal grief expressed the loss of a life never again to be on this earth. How God must have felt when His Son died, even knowing He certainly would be raised again, makes me know He understood our pain.
I called Joan, our hospice nurse, and she arrived about 40 minutes later. While awaiting her arrival, I first made sure Jack was covered with blankets to make him feel as warm as he could for as long as he might be able to feel it. Then I called the most important family members. Next, I chose clothes Jack liked for his body to be covered the way he would have preferred before he was taken. He was a man of dignity, and that needed to be reflected by covering him appropriately. His one unknown last act of dignity was that his body did not release its waste which is so common at death. As we were able to finally place Jack's legs upon the bed, I was surprised his body was still quite warm. Not his arms and legs, but his core--his torso and cheeks, and it made me feel as though he'd been with me, alone, during that span of time until Joan came. As we clothed him with his favorite North Harbor T-shirt and navy cargo slacks along with black socks, then covered him with a sheet and quilt, it felt satisfying to be doing those things for him, not having left it to a funeral director to handle. The experience was so intimate, so fulfilling, so RIGHT. We could stroke his head, his hands, talk to him and about him with his being there with us. I could easily have let him lie there for the night if the arrangements hadn't had a need for special care.
It was a couple of hours before the funeral attendants were able come to remove Jack's body. Joan and the two young men were nicely understanding of my crazy wit under the circumstances. My way of handling tension and stress. At first, when they arrived, I didn't want to have anything else to do with Jack's body. By then, I had accepted it was just a shell. Yet, when they started to leave, I could not resist the need to say one more goodbye--a touch, a kiss on the forehead. Then, he was gone forever from my side. The rest of the night I gathered his things from the living room to make ready to dispose of them. I was tidying and put things in order. It was a work to make some control over a situation for which there is no control.
Everything that happened after that night is wrapped in fog, and the following couple of weeks a blur of numbness. Everyone except one granddaughter left in a week, one other granddaughter lives nearby. In a way, though it was wonderful to have their love and support, them leaving gave some relief from the need to talk and interact, in other ways it made the loss even greater. After the one granddaughter who lives at home returned to school, there was an emptiness so complete it's beyond my ability to describe.
After most of 45 years together, nearly 43 years of marriage of mostly constant companionship, there was nothing. There was existence, nothing more, on some other plane, no matter how kind others were, and how well I interacted with them, nothing mattered. That crater within was so completely void of anything that my very thoughts were sucked into it never to be found or repeated. Since then, I have existed in a void that is ever, but miserly, growing smaller and life is starting to happen again.
Yes, we had the Memorial Service in Tennessee, but even though I went through some of the motions, I really wasn't ready to be involved. More time, waiting longer, maybe until this year's spring, would have been better, but others may have needed a faster closure, yet I now believe I still wasn't ready for it.
There is so much of Jack here still! I'm not ready to close the door on our life together--never completely will be, even though I'm lonely enough to begin considering at least a friendship with another man. There is something right about having the other gender's perspective in life. I've been reminded that I am "still" young. That's funny to me, after all, I am a great-grandmother, admittedly younger than normal, but generationally so. Many men in my age bracket, seem to want beautiful young-looking, trim, healthy women when they are aged, considerably overweight and unhealthy themselves! What a double-standard! Jack would have freely admitted this as his opinion of most men was realistic. Now I am praying to God for leadership, wisdom and discernment as I start to consider a possible future that might include another man. It's still better to give major decisions enough time, so my 3 months waiting period, long ago turned into a year for making any major changes to my life.
Today--one more day of "one day at a time...."
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