Death becomes no one

      A week ago, my husband, Todd, became an orphan, just like me. His 82-year-old goofy singing former music teacher of a dad passed away 19 minutes before we got to the nursing home to see him one last time. In fact, Todd got the call he had passed just as I was checking in at the front desk. I gasped.

     “We didn’t get here in time,” I said to my husband as he ended the call on his cellphone.

      Fortunately, my husband had visited his dad several times throughout the day and had been there just an hour earlier. Although taken aback by the phone call, it was not unexpected.

        “I knew it wouldn’t be long,” he said. He watched his father’s health deteriorate over the past week and especially throughout his last day. He and my son had visited my father-in-law first thing that morning, but I had not seen him for 2 weeks, July 3, the anniversary of our daughter’s death. Two days later, I tested positive for COVID for the third time in 6 months. I was in quarantine for the next 10 days and when my father-in-law was placed on hospice, it became my last chance to see him before he passed. I had no idea it would happen so quickly.

        My husband is one of those people who can’t stand to see someone suffer, even if it means letting someone go. With Megan, he was as shocked as I was, blindsided near the end of our pregnancy. But we had both agreed to let her go peacefully, without medical intervention or extraordinary measures. The doctors didn’t expect her to survive the birth, so the fact that she survived past that was a small miracle. But every day we wondered if it would be her last. 

        The first night we spent with her, she stopped breathing eight times. Eight times. And every time we called the nurse, sobbing uncontrollably, she would come in with her stethoscope and say softly “I think she’s gone” crying herself as she spoke. Then Megan’s tiny under-developed lungs would take a big breath bringing color back to her blue cheeks, jump-starting our hearts as if we had stuck our fingers in an open electrical outlet. It was unbearable.

        My father-in-law, however, had been facing medical issues for the past few months, in and out of the hospital and nursing home, with no clear answers as to why. It was beyond frustrating, and being the oldest of his siblings, most of the responsibility rested with my husband. Even though my husband’s eyes were red and a little swelled with tears after that phone call, his was a sense of relief.

        “He’s with mom and Bryce now and he’s out of pain,” he said, his eyes glossy with tears. “It’s OK.”

        I, on the other hand, was a mess of tears and began to sob as the thought of the recent death of my mother came flooding back to me. It was all too familiar, eerily so. They had just put him on hospice the day before he passed. We were told that when my mom was placed on hospice, she was months away from dying but died shortly after hospice began. Like my father-in-law, I didn’t get the chance to see my mom before she became unconscious either. I even had COVID just days before my mom died, unable to see her due to quarantine as well. It’s an overwhelming sense of sadness, grief, and regret. Although there was nothing I could do either time, doubts began to filter through my mind – if I would have gotten there sooner, if I would’ve stayed longer the night before, if I had just spent more time with them. Even my son said, “I should’ve spent more time with grandpa.”         

        You can only prepare yourself so much while waiting for death to come and steal your loved ones. When the moment arrives, you are still not prepared. Those who can face it with courage and dignity are a rare breed and I for one, am not one of them. I am an ugly crier if there ever was one. I felt terrible — I could not console my husband. Once again, he had to console me.

        For those who are counting, this was the fourth loss in less than 6 months for our families beginning with the death of my mom on Feb. 7, my sister’s mother-in-law on April 4, my father on April 10, and now my father-in-law on July 16. The total of losses jumps up to six if you count the death of our 13-year-old family dog and the loss of my job of 18 years. They say God never gives you more than you can handle, but either that is horse puckey or God has more faith in me than I do.

        Not that this compares to what some people have gone through, but for me, it’s been too much. I can honestly say I’ve had enough, my faith is waning. Losing my mother has taken the worst toll on me, one that I couldn’t even imagine. Before her death, just the idea was overwhelming, the mere thought of not having her here, unable to call her or see her whenever I needed her.  To be honest, I refused to believe it would ever happen. I had hoped I would die first so I wouldn’t have to feel this pain — this wrenching, soul-stabbing, irrepressible pain that chokes me every time I think of it.

          For those who are not orphans yet, I can’t say enough how important it is to spend as much time as you can with your parents while they are here. Listen to the stories you’ve heard a hundred times, ask them questions, have them tell you about their parents, record them, record their voices, write it down – whatever you must do, just do it. You won’t regret it and you won’t ever have to say, “I wish I would have.” Because believe me, those words hurt, like daggers, a thousand tiny daggers stabbing your heart, taking over your fondest memories.   

         And there is no preparing for this when it happens. One day, you’re young and maybe newly married or with little kids and your parents are there with you babysitting, coming to birthday parties, still hosting Christmas, Easter, or maybe a 4th of July bash. Then they are gone in a flash. As I see my son cry over the loss of all his grandparents, three in just six months, I can’t imagine what it’s like for him. I’m supposed to be the grown-up and I’m the one crying myself to sleep — again — for what feels like the umpteenth time this year. But my father-in-law was ready and I have no doubt he is at peace now and overjoyed that he is together in heaven with my mother-in-law, Gloria, and other family members who have passed on, including my daughter, Megan, and my husband’s little brother, Bryce, who died just before he turned 2.    

         Before my mom passed away, my husband would tell me, quite often I might add, “your mom is not going to be here forever, you better spend as much time with her as you can.” I choked with tears nearly every time he said it. But I was able to give that advice back to him for the last few months. You won’t regret it, I told him and added he would never regret spending that extra time with his dad, time that my husband didn’t think he had to spare. It’s a small, tiny, piece of comfort and consolation we can hold on to that no one can take away. 

        Neither of our families will ever be the same, all these losses leaving huge voids that can never be filled. There is something terribly unnerving when you lose your parents and become orphaned – that connection to your very existence is gone. All you can do is live one day at a time, sometimes no more than one step at a time, for those who still need you on this earth until we see them all again.

        Rest in peace everyone.