April 7

I try to see my time with Randy as a gift rather than a loss.

On this day a year ago Randy died. The day felt surreal - moving both really quickly and really slowly. When I got up in the morning I found the home health aide sitting in the arm chair, which she had pulled up to the side of the bed. For some reason the daughters and I had been sitting in a desk chair - because it had wheels? This is an example of how much I was unable to think - I think the daughters were deferring to me but I was in shock and not thinking at all. And really beyond asking questions.

When the second shift health aide came in I asked her about the bladder/catheter issue. She pressed on his bladder and Randy reacted so I got on the phone to call the hospice people and said he needs a catheter. A nurse called me back and said she had two stops to make and asked when I wanted her to come - and I said, Whatever works best for you. Seriously? I didn’t want to be any trouble?? She told me she was on her way and said to be sure he had his morphine before she got there. So I gave him his regular dose and waited. Now I think, why didn’t you give him a double dose or a triple dose? Why was I still following the rules, doing what I was told? She had clearly indicated that it would be painful, and extra morphine wouldn’t kill him, and even if he did die, wouldn’t that be better? He was dying already and at least he wouldn’t be in pain.

While we waited for the nurse Randy started trying to get out of bed - which is what patients do when they need to pee, and that’s why they need a catheter, dammit. When the nurse arrived and inserted the catheter he jerked in pain and Hayley and I each held one of his hands. He nearly filled the catheter bag, and I felt terrible for not advocating for him when the first nurse said she didn’t think he needed to be catheterized. But what would I have said? Please catheterize him anyway? I was blindly following orders at that point, worried that I would do something wrong. And now I wonder if the nurse thought he didn’t need a catheter because he would die before it was really needed. If that’s what she had thought I wish she had told me.

The first nurse left and a second one arrived - one who had said he didn’t need a catheter. I angrily asked her if she had been told that he had nearly filled the urine bag and she said yes. Then she said, I guess no one has told you so I’m going to tell you. And then she told me that his skin would change color and that there can be up to two minutes between breaths. What she didn’t say was that he could die any minute now and I should say anything I had to say to him and watch him closely. And I nodded my head and wondered why she was mad. I didn’t say, wait - when his skin changes color what will that mean? Because, you know, shock.

So the daughters and I sat with him, Hayley in the arm chair right next to him. At one point she asked me if I wanted to sit there, but she seemed so distraught that I told her no. I didn’t feel distraught - I didn’t feel much of anything. What I thought was that all daughters would leave by 5:00 and then I could sit with him and talk to him - just the two of us.

Then his skin started to darken. I noticed it, wondered about it, knew the nurse had mentioned it, but I somehow didn’t know what it meant. (!) I somehow held it in my mind that he wouldn’t die TODAY, he wouldn’t die RIGHT NOW.

And then he sighed and I stood on one side of the bed - still not dislodging Hayley from the chair - and I told him how much I loved him, that I fell in love with him that first night at the reunion. And then he stopped breathing.

I try to console myself that my voice was the last thing he heard but I regret so much that I wasn’t talking to him that whole week. He was just sitting in silence, maybe in pain and I wasn’t really there for him. He deserved so much better.

I have a meditation on forgiveness. It’s not Randy’s forgiveness I need - he would have forgiven my anything. I need to forgive myself, both for things I did do and for things I didn’t, for the blame I heap on myself - which only hurts me when what I need is kindness..

For the ways I have hurt myself through action or inaction, out of fear, pain and confusion, I now extend a full and heartfelt forgiveness. I forgive myself, I forgive myself.