Sadness and relief

I’m sad she’s gone. We had plans for the summer.

Escalante Natinal Park in Utah was at the top of the list.

I was still learning things from and about her.

I also like italics.

I’m relieved she’s gone because I didn’t want to see her suffer or linger.

Yesterday the head of the palliative care department told Susan and I we should tell Aunt M she’d had a stroke and was not going to recover. She said it was “only appropriate we let her know about the hemispatial neglect.”

We did not agree with her, and, as such, did not tell her she was paralyzed, almost completely blind and dying.  Because FCK you, that’s why.

Instead we told her we loved her (I said it so often the sweet roommate commented on it today), we talked about politics, her garden and her friends and family.

We made sure she was comfortable, the windowsills of her corner suite (it was beautiful) were full of flowers, held her hand, suctioned a LOT of phlegm and, in my case, spent several days and nights camped out in the hospital with her.

She died peacefully when I stole away to take a shower this morning.

I spent an hour talking to her before I left, remembering memories we’ve made and told her goodbye and I loved her.

I didn’t say “bee tee dubs, you’re wearing a diaper and your left side is useless and you won’t ever eat grapes from Peru again, sorry.”

I’m sure there’s a clinical reason for suggesting that, but see all after FCK You.

Susan and I are confident we made the right decision on that front.

Unrelated, except it is:

I asked the nurse to close her mouth before Susan arrived and she said “We can’t; the mouth just hangs open. They’ll fix it before the funeral.”

When she left I adjusted the pillow, closed her mouth and brushed her hair. When Susan got there she was happy she looked peaceful.

Guess those childhood visits to the mortuary with grandma paid off.

And so.

She’s at peace and we’re planning a funeral/party.

There will be chocolate cake and red grapes from Peru.

Writing,

JH