My Darling Ben,
We couldn’t get you comfortable at home. You didn’t have many lucid moments past Sunday morning when the hospice nurse increased your morphine for the fourth day in a row. You started sleeping more.
But what we were doing at home wasn’t enough. It all moved so fast. Your sweet face was so swollen from that horrible bastard of a disease. Relentless fucker. Hadn’t it done enough? No. It was going to make the end miserable, too, by finally showing what it was fully capable of.
A week prior you were meeting your best friend in New Jersey and today you can’t speak to me. And despite a constant increase in pain meds, you’re still experiencing discomfort. We get you through Sunday. We stumble hard through Sunday night. Monday morning we made the decision to move you to the hospice facility.
It was the right thing to do.
Your dad carried you down the stairs and gently placed you on the stretcher. We covered you up to your chin as the EMT’s buckled you in. I went outside with you to the ambulance. The sun was incredibly bright, and your body responded with the appropriate reflex of a wince. A boy walked by on his way to his buddy’s house, curious as to what was happening just a few houses down from his. We locked eyes for a moment and I thought to myself that he probably didn’t even know another boy – my boy – lived in this neighborhood, too. I felt weird about that for a minute and then climbed into the back of the ambulance.
“Talk to him, honey. He can hear you,” the EMT encouraged me as she scribbled on a clipboard. My hands placed on either side of your face, my lips touching your forehead as I whispered and wondered… “can you? Can you hear me?” So I told you a story of how I was pretty sure you would get the job at Rainbow Bridge, greeting all the pets as they arrived. I imagined you responding to me with “You mean I have to get a job in the afterlife? I can’t just “chill out” for a while? And I’ll be pissed if this place doesn’t have WiFi.”
We were at the hospice facility for less than 12 hours. And even though I know what “unresponsive” and “hospice facility” and all those other terrible words mean, I still thought we would somehow come home with you. I know that sounds unreasonable. And, as it turned out, it was totally unreasonable. We left there around midnight. Without you.
I watched you die. In those final moments my eyes were glued to your neck, following your weakening pulse as it slowed… stalled… jumped…. You gasped hard. I think I screamed. I understood immediately and with great clarity the reasoning behind having a DNR because as I was witnessing this, all I could hear was my soul screaming “SOMEBODY PLEASE DO SOMETHING! PLEASE HELP HIM!” I pushed the nurse’s button and they rushed in to be by our side as you died, their hands on my shoulders, knowing what was coming next.
One more labored, gritty breath and then you were gone. Maddy was, thankfully, out of the room when you died. I kinda think you planned it that way… you knew that she needed mercy on this. I know she thinks she failed you because she wasn’t there. If you could do something to alleviate her grief over that, I’d appreciate it.
Also, while we’re asking for favors, know I’m listening for you at every turn and missing you desperately. Your once quiet presence has turned into an excruciatingly loud void. How can you be everywhere and, yet, nowhere? It is absolutely confounding.
This sucks, Ben. I miss you, my darling, and I love you so very much.