One week and two days as a widow. The days go by slower now. Easter came and went. We were both raised in the Christian tradition and grew up celebrating Easter as a major holiday. As adults we hung on to the secular meaning of the holiday– Easter egg hunts and baskets full of candy. Christmas is the holiday we enjoyed most as a family. I went down to the basement earlier in the week and saw our collections of Christmas decorations in plastic bins where Roy had hurriedly left them. I broke out in tears remembering how tired he was and the two weeks he spent finishing decorating the tree. He loved that job! We had a tradition, shopping for an ornament engraved with the year adding a new one every year since 1972. Last Christmas we almost did not find one in time; we blamed it on my busy schedule of teaching and working my regular job, and his lack of energy due to aging, so we thought. I am now sure his tiredness was a missed symptom of the cancer growing in his body. He would say, “ I am really starting to feel my age, we just cannot keep going at the same pace we did as kids!” I push away the ‘what if thought’… would he have caught the cancer in time had I forced him to go to the doctor when he looked pale and worn?
The doctor has assured us that the cancer has no known markers, and there is no routine screening done in the United States for adenoidal gastric cancer. The cancer presents late in a healthy body because a healthy body contains and deals with it until it cannot, usually by then it has metastasized and push through to other organs…too late to cure. I wrestle with that thought angrily questioning the medical practices of our country. Everything has to do with money, which drives medical research. Insurance companies determine diagnostic testing; if they do not deem a test important enough then a patient’s illness could be missed. The type of cancer my husband died from is prevalent in Asia, and incidents are rising rapidly in the United States. No one knows why. Or perhaps they do?
My husband and I were privileged enough to own a house a few blocks from Lake Washington. The neighborhood is beautiful and we chose our house because we could live in the middle of the city and get lost in the sound of birds, and tall trees. We called it a tree house with large windows and views of trees from every level. I feel lost in the house now. Walking through the living room my mind flashes back to the hospital bed that sat in the middle of the room just over a week ago. I try to find the exact spot where he took his last breath. I have auditory hallucinations “Hey Deb!” I hear his voice shout out but I cannot tell where it is coming from. He was present almost until the end. A few hours before he died he would still ask for water to wet his lips and morphine to ease the restlessness and pain. He would squeeze my hand and try to open his eyes. I sense he is still here, but in a dimension unknown to me just on the other side of a human created space.
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Thank you for giving us a window into this journey, no matter how painful, and allowing us to send you support and love. I wish I could be at the memorial. I will be there in spirit. Love you.
Every day I think about Roy. I often wonder what were the “signs” that something in Roy’s day-to-day behaviour was not “normal” for him. I think most folks who know Roy will have asked the same as you do. Thank you for sharing what was happening in the last night he was alive with us. That too I imagine, seeing him in the livingroom, on the bed, accepting what is so. I too so enjoyed the time with Roy decorating the Christmas Tree, walking down to Blue Water Cafe and enjoying fish & chips with the latest micro-brewed beer, walking Saba with him, our conversations….
Debbie, thank you so much for sharing this. Now only is it beautifully written (You have a gift here), but your words are telling things we seek to know to help us understand. And for me it not only informs and guide me but allows me to help my senior students learn as well. Your writings help remind me of my days many years ago. But not in a sorrowful way. Again thank you for sharing and allowing us to experience lo all of life.
Thanks, Deb. I appreciate the fact that you are sharing this with us. This will really help us all!
You are an artist. You paint a picture that imprints my heart. I weep for so many reasons. For you, for the loss of your Beloved and for myself.