The Patient died on the morning of December 5, 2014.
Thanks
to magic of hospice, the house was empty of the deceased, as well as all the
hospice gear like O2 concentrator, hospital bed, wheelchair etc. in time for a
late lunch. When we returned, all that was left was a counter full of unused
medicines and a clipboard with a dozen pages detailing his condition and meds
in the final few weeks of his life. And the empty rooms were filled with an air
of mystery and disbelief that this inevitable, unimaginable event had ever
happened. The Patient and I were both ready for this to be over, and yet our
final moments alone together were overtaken by shared surprise.
As C.S. Lewis said, “No ever told me that grief felt so like
fear.”
What’s in my head now is this swirling soup of emotions and
memories - like a beautiful china dish
broken into a thousand glittering pieces. Soon, I’ll begin to re-assemble the
pieces into a mosaic that will reflect the important and good parts of this
wonderful person and leave out the bad parts of the sick old man who recently
died. I’ll leave out the selfish jerk and remember the compassionate man. I’ll
leave out the relief and guilt and remember the joy and comfort. His life was
more than his final few years: the trick is not to remember him
chronologically.
I will return to this blog when I resume saying reasonably
coherent things in my head. The past few weeks have been an exercise in
regaining balance on the tiny limb stretching across the abyss - of relief on
one side, and guilt on the other.
Meanwhile:
May we be filled with loving kindness.
May we be well.
May we be peaceful and at ease.
May we be happy.
May the fearful become fearless,
And those struck by grief find joy.
May the despondent become resolute,
And free of trepidation.
