Letting some of it go…

I sat next to your hospital bed for 26 hours.  I watched you die.  Slowly.  They said there was nothing to do but make you comfortable.  I couldn’t believe the phone call that morning.  You only had a few days left.  The day before the dialysis center called and said you had an infection in your belly and they had to take you to the hospital.  Just an infection.  24 hours later you are dying?  Every day we get a little closer to death, it can come in an instant, unexpected, out of nowhere.  But not you.  Anyone but you.

I walked into the hospital room.  You were resting comfortably.  Mom was there.  I thought I can be strong and get through this.  Put on a good face, you won’t know that a part of me was dying with you.  But I couldn’t.  I saw you with the tubes in your nose, the needle in your arm, the weight you had lost in the last couple months and I broke.  I washed my face, took a few deep breaths and walked over to you.  I took your hand and positioned myself for the long haul.  All those hospital bracelets.  The red allergy one, we have the same allergy.  Me, you, Grampa and brother.  My family.  It’s not the same if you go away.  The purple one… DNR.  It felt like I was kicked in the stomach.  The air was knocked out of my lungs.  DNR, I have never seen a worse combination of letters in my life.  I understood that it was for the best.  I can be rational even in the worst moments, but not you.  Anyone but you.

At some point, you were no longer comfortable.  You writhed in pain.  You flailed.  You tried to rip the oxygen mask off your face.  You wanted to sit up.  I don’t think you understood that we were there.  The doctors told you before you were too far gone that the end was near.  Did it scare you when we all were with you?  Did it make you feel better to know you were surrounded by the people that loved you the most in the whole fucking world?  Was it easier for you to leave us knowing we were all there for you?  We had to hold your hands, we had to keep you from ripping at your IV.  They said if you didn’t have the oxygen you would die faster.  Grampa got there.  He cried.  He cried for hours.  I never wanted to see him cry again.  He knew what was happening before we told him, he’s not stupid.  Mom explained it to him.  Told him what the doctors said and the decisions that she had to make, DNR.  You said hi and you waved during your more lucid moments.  Most of the time you just seemed angry.  Not you, anyone but you.

The few hours when it was just me and you and R in the room were the hardest but I’m so thankful for them.  You wanted out of that bed.  Out of the confines of a hospital bed.  They gave you morphine every hour.  They didn’t understand why it didn’t work.  They didn’t understand why or how you fought it so hard.  Don’t they realize that you are a mountain man?  That you are stronger than anyone else in the world?  I held your hands, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, you fought and you relaxed.  You have been my strength for a decade, I was finally able to be your strength.  I wasn’t fast enough to stop you from ripping out the IV.  You didn’t need it.  It wasn’t doing anything.  And when you moved upstairs you wouldn’t  need it anyways.  No extraordinary means.  You fought against me, then you would collapse against me.  I held you up with all the strength I could muster.  You rested your forehead on mine and took small naps.  Your shoulder against mine.  You yelled at me and cursed me, but you said my name.  You knew who I was.  Even if only for those few minutes, you knew I was there.  You knew it was me.  You got angry at me for keeping you there.  For not letting you go home.  Do you understand now why I couldn’t let you leave?  I fixed your hair.  It was a mess, your ponytail was all knotted.  I took it out of it’s twist and smoothed your hair back.  It was slick with sweat and I retied it with my hair thing.  You died with that still in your hair.  You left me.  We didn’t plan this.  We talked about what would happen when Grampa died.  NOT YOU. Anyone but you.

At some point in the middle of the night, I sat at the end of your bed.  Mom was on one side and Grampa was on the other.  You sat up all of a sudden with a burst of energy and reached out in front of you.  The look on your face will stay with me for the rest of my life.  It was that instant… that look… it was death.  It was frightening and shook me to the bone.  It was that instant that I accepted what was coming.  You rested, I rested, we rested.  The doctors came.  You were going to move upstairs, where you were going to die.  Not you, anyone but you.

Your organs started to shut down.  Your kidneys went a few years ago.  Your lungs were starting to fill.  You stomach was filled with cancer.  You didn’t tell us.  You didn’t tell me.  Your whole body was being eaten by cancer.  How?  Why didn’t I make you go to the hospital the first time I noticed you looked ill – 3 years ago?  They rushed your move upstairs.  They said we had a few days… we only had a few hours left.  We won’t mention when “useless” showed up.  Let’s not remember that part of the day.  He was awful to you, I’m sorry he felt the need to be there.  Thank something he wasn’t there when you left us.  You were feisty in the last few hours.  Not you, anyone but you.

Then the calm came.  You got quiet.  You seemed to be relaxed.  I’m sorry.  I love you, but I wanted you to go.  I didn’t want you in pain anymore.  I wanted you to go and be with Grandma.  I would give anything to have you back here, but not the way you were in the end.  The ladies upstairs cleaned up a little bit.  They wanted to make you as comfortable as possible.  I made tea.  I came back to your room.  They said it looked like you were going to go… so soon?  We just got here!  Where did the days go?  We got Grampa to your side, he held your hand.  Mom held your other hand.  Brother stood next to Grampa, R on the other side.  I stood next to Mom and stroked your hair and put my hand on your chest.  The ladies stood back.  We watched you die.  I will never forget the sound of your last breath or the last beat of your heart.  Did you know we were there?  Did you watch us?  Did you see the love that poured over you as you went?  She said you “expired”.  The room filled with tears and sobs.  Why you?  Why?  Good byes were said.  The ladies gave me your hospital bracelets.   I covered you with the sheets, you were cold.  So cold.  Not the man I grew up with.  Where did he go?  Why isn’t he here?

We went back to the farm… I curled up in your bed and cried until I slept.  I didn’t want to eat, I didn’t want to move, I didn’t want to live.  The next few days passed by.  I cleaned up your room and your office.  I threw myself into mundane tasks so I wouldn’t think.  Mom planned the funeral.  Did you hear the eulogies we all gave?  I made people cry.  I’m sorry.  I took the cross out of the casket.  You weren’t religious why did they put that in there?  Fucking stupid thing.  So many people showed up.  I hope you know you touched their lives.  I didn’t want to leave you in that funeral home by yourself.  I didn’t want you to go to the crematorium… I didn’t want you come home as 5 pounds of ashes.  How does a man that is larger than life… fit into what’s sitting on the shelf in the living room?

54 days later and I’m still not sure how to go about the days.  I talked to you the first few days but it’s been hard ever since.  I cry all the time.  I see your name on the mail, someone calls the house and asks for you, I sit upstairs in your room… I cry. You don’t answer the phone anymore when I dial the number that is second nature.  My heart breaks a little more everyday.  They say it gets easier.  I don’t believe it.

I really don’t mean it when I say anyone but you.  You were my Uncle, my favorite Uncle.  The person who never judged me.  Who loved me for me.  You were the closest thing to a parent I have ever had.  My life has been ripped apart.  I’m not sure I will ever be whole again…

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