My family gifted me the Willow Tree angel “Courage”
at a time when I needed to be reminded just how much courage it takes to live
one day at a time. My sisters and sister-in-law had just helped me plan
Harold’s funeral, and we stopped at the flower shop so I could order a casket
spray. That’s when my sister-in-law spotted “Courage.” How appropriate, how
timely.
The past few months have been a blur of emotions
as Harold and I navigated the hospital and nursing home cycle. I cheerleaded
Harold through physical therapy with the hope that he would be able to return
home. On good days, I would get my hopes up, and on bad days, I tried to muster
the courage to stay positive.
“I’m never going to go home,” Harold would say. I
argued with him because I wanted it so much. Life had been a struggle for us
both for a long time, but we’d been able to get him up and out the door to
dialysis.
“You only have to get strong enough to get out of
bed and into your chair.” He wasn’t allowed to have his power wheelchair at the
nursing home and he missed the independence.
Harold had me on speed dial. He called me when he
couldn’t find the button to call for help at the nursing home, or when he had
trouble breathing, or if he was confused in the night with dreams interfering
with reality. One night when I drove through a downpour in the middle of the
night, he said, “I don’t want you to have any regrets. You did everything you
could do for me.”
That’s easier said than done. It was easy to have
regrets when the outcome wasn’t what I had hoped it would be.
We held hands and reminisced about the good times
during the bad times. He worried about the dog and me. “I can take care of
myself, and I’ll take care of Lucy,” I assured him. All I needed was the courage
to face life without him.
Despite my assurances, he worried. He told his
cousin that I put on a brave front but when I was alone, I fell apart. How did
he know that?
Harold never made a snap decision in his life, and
his decision for comfort care came only after all the other plans failed. He
kept asking me if I would be OK. I told him that he didn’t need to worry about
me, just make the best decision for him.
After several days of indecision and after he had
a long phone conversation with a doctor he trusted, he said, “Let’s do it.” My
biggest regret is that at that moment, I didn’t ask everyone to leave so that
we could have some time alone. I didn’t realize that once he was pain free, he
would fall asleep until the next evening when he peacefully left this world.
I held his hand and stroked his face as he took
his last breath. This time I was alone with him, and I spent the next twenty
minutes playing “The Rose” on my phone and talking to him.
Everywhere I look, I see reminders of our life together.
I’m not handling this as well as I should. There’s just no time limit or
boundaries for grief. Being widowed once doesn’t make it any easier the second
time.
Most people are lucky to find true and enduring
love once, and I’ve found it twice. Their love has become a part of me, and as
long as I live, they live in my heart, soul, and memories.
Copyright
© December 2024 by L.S. Fisher
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com
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