Last Friday, June 28th, things changed drastically for Dave. He started showing signs that he was progressing and his body was beginning to shut down. Our nurse left that afternoon and an hour later I called her back to the house because his breathing had changed. When she came out of the room, she told me that she didn't know if he would make it until morning. Adrenaline kicked in and thoughts and emotions flooded. She said if it was important for me to be with him when he took his last breath, I should stay at the house until this was over. She stopped all his medication except pain pills and meds for nausea, "This is really happening. I have prepared for this moment for months and yet, I can not believe he is going to die." His mom, sister, and brother all came in that evening instead of on Saturday like they had planned. The house had a quiet, somber, sad feel to it. There were tears and moment spent in his room-each of us at times alone with him and also together. I sat all night by his bed, watching, waiting on the last breath...morning came and he was still with us.
That night turned into a day, then a night, then another day...Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday...each day, expecting it to be his last. The nights I had a nurse here, I went to bed wondering if they would come and get me in the middle of the night, "Hurry, he is close!" But I would wake up to my alarm each morning and hear the same thing, "He is still here, still hanging on." And then the emotions and thoughts come, some disappointment that he is still laying in there suffering. Some relief-I didn't miss it. I have been sleeping in the basement when I was able to and I would hear the footsteps in the kitchen through the night, I would wake up and think they were coming down to get me. The adrenaline would kick in, then my brain would start spinning and I would lay there wide awake unable to sleep.
Thursday morning I woke up and came up to check on how the night went. There were changes. I could see it. It is so strange that as his body weakened, it was still able to get weaker. We had a nurse come at 8:00 to begin her shift. At this point, they are by his side almost the entire time they are here. She did her evaluation on him-she couldn't get a blood pressure reading. His lung sounds were very weak. And she could barely hear his pulse. She said it wouldn't be long. But she didn't know my husband...around 1:00 that afternoon it was time for his meds and he was able to tell us that he was in some pain. We tried so hard to understand him and couldn't. He was frustrated and slapped both of his hands on the bed. I felt so bad, "I am so sorry honey, we will make sure you are comfortable." At that point, we started giving him his pain med every 2 hours. From then on he was asleep.
That nurse finished her shift. She was shocked. She shared that she keeps a journal on every patient she has been with when they passed away...she was sure he would be #386. He wasn't. Our night nurse came on. I just knew I would be woken up during the night. Every step upstairs I was wide awake, adrenaline pumping, waiting for her to tell me to come upstairs. I slept very little. I have thought through a lot of this process, what I would need to do, how I thought I might feel, or what I thought I might think. But that night, I was flooded with lots of things I hadn't thought of before. It was awful. It was happening. My husband was so close to his last breath.
I woke again that morning to my alarm clock. I could hardly believe it. I went upstairs and she was in his room checking on him. She told me he was close. I quickly went and woke up my kids and we all went in and sat by his bed. It was 7:20. I sat and held his hand watching his chest rise and fall, pause. Rise, fall, pause, Rise, fall, pause. Adrenaline pumping again as I waited for the bomb to drop. We called my mom and she turned around to come back home. We sat over an hour. The same signs that it was going to happen any minute. I finally decided I needed to shower. I knew when he passed it would be a whirlwind. I knew if he went that morning, I would be meeting that afternoon with the funeral director. So, I quickly showered and came out and he was still the same. The last two days, I sat by him. Watching his breathing. Wondering if I should leave his side. I wanted to hold his hand when he breathed his last breath. It was hard to walk away and not just sit hour after hour. Minute after minute. The nurse we had on Thursday, came back on Friday and she could hardly believe it. She said she had NEVER seen anyone hang on like this. I know she didn't expect him to make it through her shift. At 2:30, I was in the dining room with my mom and she hollered, "Stephanie, you need to get in here!" I got up and practically ran to his side. His breathing had changed, the moddeling had worsened-you could see it on his face, his toes were dark, it was in his hands, the last breath was approaching. So we all sat. We watched. We waited. I held his hand. I was going to hold his hand in that moment. But he was fighting. He was not letting go. It wasn't quite time for him to go. My sister in law came to the house. I was thankful she could be with us. I did finally get up and walk out of the room, but not for long. Sitting. Waiting on that awful, dreaded, moment. I felt like I had been sitting in that chair forever. I wanted it over for him. I plead with God to come and take him home.
It was about 4:55 and we were all gathered in his room-me, my kids, my mom, and my sister in law, and the nurse. A friend had sent me a song through facebook. It just showed up as a youtube video link with no info. I decided to play it to see what it was and to let it minister to my heart in this hour. So, I hit play on my phone and let the worship fill the air. "Mighty Breath of God"
Blow Mighty Breath of God
Move upon this place.
Blow mighty breath of God
Won't you move in power and grace
Streams of mercy flowing down
Light of heaven all around
And it's falling to the ground
Then his chest stopped moving. I sat holding his hand. Waiting. After about a minute, his chest rose again. Then stopped. I couldn't stop holding his hand. The nurse came over and listened. She heard nothing. The music filled the room.
Blow Mighty Breath of God
Move upon this place.
Blow mighty breath of God
Won't you move in power and grace
Streams of mercy flowing down
Light of heaven all around
And it's falling to the ground
Tears started falling, she handed the stethoscope to my sister in law who is a nurse, she listened and shook her head, nothing. 5:01, he breathed his last breath. The tears poured. Loud crying filled the room as we knew he was welcomed home. "He's done! He's done! He's done!" Those were what each of my tears were crying out.
I had sat by his bed holding his hand for 2 days. I wanted it over for him so bad. In that moment, I couldn't let go. The tears poured. I didn't want that moment to end. I didn't want to get up. I wanted to sit there for as long as I could. I didn't want to move and I knew very soon I would have to. But I wanted to stay there and hold his hand and savor that holy moment. I began playing my song list that I have made through this process, "Songs for the journey". Tears poured. I couldn't stop rubbing his hand. Running my fingers over his fingers. This was my moment with my husband. And as terribly painful as it was, I wanted to remember it. I wanted it engraved on my mind and my heart for the rest of my life. This was my honor. My privilege. This was my husband. And I wanted this moment.
Phone calls were being made for me. I received some and chatted briefly. But I couldn't move from my seat. I couldn't stop holding his hand. We had a wonderful nurse throughout his care and she happened to be on vacation. She had told me to call if we wanted her and she would come. I knew she would want to know so our nurse called her. And she came to be with us. She took over his care, getting him dressed so the funeral home could take him. She hugged me and cried with me. She allowed me to stay in the room while they dressed him and got him ready.
When the funeral home workers walked in my room, I wanted to tell him to leave. After all these months, the past week of WAITING for this awful dreaded moment, I didn't want it to end. I finally got up and left the room. We waited while they came in to get him on their bed. Me and the kids walked out of my son's room, there he was on their bed. He was leaving our home. I didn't want it to happen. But it was. They asked me if I wanted anything from them, I said, "Yes, can I keep him?" My dear friend, and pastor's wife asked me if I wanted to walk out with him. Yes! Yes! My kids said good bye and I followed as they wheeled him out. I walked him into our home the first time, I would walk him out the last. They put him in their vehicle and closed the door. He was gone.
The home was filled with people. Tears. Hugs. I was numb. It was over. "He was done!" Those words kept going through my head. Visitors started showing up. One of our worship pastors brought his guitar and we sat in the living room and sang! We were worshipping...and I am sure so was my husband! The evening was filled with worship and laughter and some tears. I do not think I could have asked for a better way to start this chapter of our lives. It was a sweet, treasured evening.
All along I have asked and prayed that I would get a great story in the end. That he would reach out or smile when he passed. He didn't. He was sleeping and he just stopped breathing. It was so peaceful.
But God gave ME the story. I love worship music. It reaches me and focuses me on the Lord and who he is and what he means to me. And as we welcomed the Mighty Breath of God into that bedroom, my husband breathed his last breath and then saw Jesus! He may have even felt the breath of God on his neck as Jesus hugged him and welcomed him home! No more pain. No more heartache. No more brace for his foot. No more cancer. Forever with His Redeemer.
I was warned that I had no idea what this would be like. And everyone that warned me was right. I have had such sweet fellowship with family and friends. We have laughed. We have cried. We remember him. It was so strange to walk back into the house after they took him out and look and see his fingerprints all over. Things changed immediately. The house felt different. Hard to describe. The hum of the motor on his air mattress for his bed is gone. Light fills the room that has been dark and quiet for so long. Death is overcome in more than one way.
I am a widow. My life is forever changed. I can be fine one minute and the next, the tears are pouring. I can't sit still. (which might benefit my house!) It never registers that I am hungry. (which could really benefit the weight I have gained in this process!) I am struggling with sleep (I started this entry at 4:00am) which will catch up to me eventually. I wish I cried pretty, because the tears are pouring and there a dam that is bursting in my soul. I have no idea when they will pour. They just do.
I am beginning the next chapter in my life. This one is the chapter of Grief and Healing. It is going to be ugly at times. I am going to need my friends and I have no doubt I am not alone. I have treasured the visits, the coffee, the fellowship that I have missed so much over the past few months. I feel like a parched, famined ground, and water is being poured over the cracked soil of my heart and soul. My friends have no idea what their presence is doing in my life.
God had an appointment with Dave. God had a plan for Dave to be here on this earth for 45 years, 6 months, and 6 days. And I was privileged to spend his last 8 years, 2 weeks, and 4 days with him. It was my honor and privilege to love him, serve, him, and hold his hand while God took the other and welcomed him home.
Weeping may stay for the nights, but rejoicing comes in the morning...Ps 30:5
My heart breaks for you and tears flooded my eyes as I read your words, feeling the grip of pain that you feel. Over the next days, months, and years I pray that you will continue to feel God's breath on your cheek as He holds you close.
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