How did we get here so quickly? This question keeps running through my mind tonight. It's only been a few
weeks ago that I brought her home from the University of Washington Hospital with the prognosis that she might have six months remaining. We were planning that she could make it through Christmas so the children and their families wouldn't remember this time with sadness instead of joy.
I got all the family together on Monday evening after returning from the dialysis clinic. It had taken a major effort to get her dressed, in the car and then into the dialysis chair with a Hoyer lift that morning. When she was all snuggled under her blankets and ready to hook up they told us that her blood pressure was so low that it was too dangerous to dialyze. I had been hoping that if we could filter off the morphine in her system that she would be able to be rid of the lethargy that had set in from a weekend of no treatment. It had worked the Monday before, and she had been functioning almost normally that week with regular dialysis sessions.
It became obvious that this was the moment we had been dreading, that she would be unable to make it to more sessions and would be starting the process of truly dying.
I let the children know that if they wanted to spend some time with their mom while she could still respond to them that they should visit now or as soon as possible, because the rapid progress of the tumor and her meds were going to put her in a mental mist quite soon. So we spent the evening visiting around her. We told stories and laughed with her. But everyone could see what was taking place with her attention, so there were also lots of tears and tissues passed around. Our bishop dropped by accidentally to deliver a package I had requested earlier in the week. It was so good to have everyone around us with lots of hugging and supportive words.
But how did we get here so quickly?
Today, Tuesday, each of the daughters came by to visit. They too could see how Sandy was sliding deeper into herself and wanting to sleep. We had our first visit with the hospice social worker. Later the hospice nurse came by to dress the wounds and met the girls. When she left I asked one of the girls to stick around while I did some errands in town.
It was while crossing the trestle into Everett that I realized a personal significance of my question about the speed we were approaching Sandy's demise. I even mentioned it to a lady at the drive up teller window at the bank who has been a friend and serving us for years. "Sandy came to me just before Christmas over forty four years ago, and it looks like she will be leaving me in a similar time."
I'm not sure why the timing seems so significant, but it reminded me of how people still today refer to the fact that Mark Twain was born on the arrival of Halley's Comet and died on it's return. The timing seems to give the event special meaning and remembrance. Like the person was so special that a special event should accompany them in life.
Sandy and I were certainly brought together in a special way, so why shouldn't her trip Home be marked by a special event like Christmas season? Whether or not she leaves this life later or sooner, I will always remember how truly "special" she was not only to me, but to all the lives she touched with kindness and love.
Well, I'm finally growing weary, and might be able to find some more sleep in the next few hours before I need to move her again. So I finish this entry for my friends to know the sadness and hope I feel now, even if we have gotten here so quickly.
Keep your loved ones close and let them know you truly care. Time is nothing we can control. Goodnight.
