Sunset

If you look closely you can see her laying there looking out the French Doors at the setting sun. 

 She’d be talking to me, occupying our days with a conversation about our lives mostly.  Our children always.  She’d wait for the setting sun, always amazed at the sheer simple beauty of this ordinary thing.  She could make all things interesting to me by a turn of a phrase, an emphasis on something I’d always failed to notice.  

Now I sit and look at the bed, the sun has set and darkness prevails, and realize I’m alone.  I’m so alone my heart physically aches.  

When you "Close your eyes, remember the good times."

In a rerun of an NCIS episode, Gibbs tells a teammate who is experiencing difficulties with the memory of a lost loved one, to simply close his eyes and only remember the good times.  When I close my eyes all I see is the love of my life Monica asking for help.  "Help Me" she struggles to mouth in the days before her death.  I've deleted all of the television shows I've had recorded for Monica and me to watch because, well, they were for us to watch together.
I went shopping for the first time yesterday at Publix and was halfway through the store before I realized I had placed too many items in my cart.  It looked like I was cooking for a family of six.  As I replaced the items on the shelves I had to yet revisit them again and removed the double items because I'm no longer cooking for two.  In fact, I don't think I'll ever cook again.  I visited the frozen food aisle and stocked up a few of what we used to call "TV dinners" and of course some coffee.
I lost Monica less than two weeks ago to a combination one-two punch of Rheumatoid Arthritis and Lupus that she had struggled with for many years.  These two diseases have no cure but the treatment for these diseases, to help slow their destructive progress, was the reason she lost her life.  The unfortunate side effect of these medications is the destruction of her own immune system leaving her wide open for infections to run rampant.
In a couple of days, we would have celebrated our 46th wedding anniversary.  46 years is a lifetime; a life where we shared everything, every day, rarely ever apart.  I can no longer tell where my "person" begins and her "person" ends.  I don't think as Jim but rather a blend of two people.  The transition to the solitary life is one my soul is fighting with.  One of the etymologies of the word widower is "lonely, solitary" a defining moment in the life of both.  I don't think "lonely" even comes close to the feelings I am experiencing.  Every defining moment in my life has been with and in concert with Monica.  I've accomplished nothing.  The team, the partnership, the marriage of Jim and Monica accomplished everything.
I honestly don't know where to go from here.  My kids all have their own ideas but the truth is I need to remove myself from them so they can get on with establishing their own team.  I need to get on with making sure that I travel to the NorthWest, the last trip Monica and I were planning to take together. After that, it might be time to fold up my tent and look for a VA home to move to and let life play out for the rest of my family.

The Elder Process

Nobody wants to talk about old people, except other old people.  And who wants to listen to old people but other old people.  The process of becoming an old person, how it happens to you, is supposed to be a gradual, slow transformation -- but no, it’s not.  It can happen in a day or an instant.  Maybe a week, I don’t know I’m 70.
Monica went into the hospital a few weeks ago, the fourth hospitalization in two months time. She’s been plagued with Rheumatoid Arthritis and Lupus much of her adult life and it has suddenly taken over her life.  The past few years have been bout after bout of hospitalizations, often from an infection from a Rheumatoid joint that became so inflamed and painful, sores erupted and became infected. And Monica is a youngster, almost 7 years my junior.

I've generally enjoyed good health.  In recent months I've found my strength weakening quickly.  Things I used to be able to do and then continue on for the rest of the day doing more jobs and errands, now totally wipe me out.  One doctor I see suggested it's the stress of becoming a full-time caregiver to the person I've shared a lifetime with, is more than likely my kryptonite. There have been these small lapses of memory; not the kind you experience as a younger person, every day lost keys, or forget why you went to the living room, but more extensive and scary than ever before. 

My balance is off as well.  I find myself holding on to railings, on the support railings in the hallways of stores and hospitals to keep my balance.  My primary care physician calls it "teetering" or "tippiling"    and generally just accepted as another sign of advancing age.
I'm sitting next to Monica as I type this waiting to see if she'll come around and talk to me for a while.  She's been sleeping way too much and I understand from the visiting doctors who parade in and out of here daily, that it's her body fighting the infection and it has taken a toll on her strength.  I may know that somewhere inside my brain but I know Monica and she's a strong woman. 

Much stronger than this so I keep waiting for some conversation.  I was feeding her lunch earlier, called "full liquid" and in order to feed her, I have to keep waking her which just aggravates her and I can see it in her eyes and I hate myself for having to do it.

She's been in five hospital rooms this time around:  The ER, Medical ICU, a 4th-floor room considered to be a regular hospital care room, then two rooms on the 7th floor, the floor for cardiac patients, because of roof construction.  They're adding another floor and we're right underneath all the construction, but she hears very little.  Softly snoring, an IV dripping one of several antibiotics, pain meds, a host of liquids she should be ingesting regularly but can't seem to stay with it long enough to work up any type of appetite, I'm in prayer by her side hoping for a miracle.

I spend 8 to 10 hours a day in here and as most of us know the waiting can be almost as painful and uncomfortable as the patient experiences.  And the worst part is that I know if roles were reversed she'd be here 24 hours a day.  Camped out, change of clothes, toothbrush, wash rag, and soap all lined up in the bathroom.  She's so much stronger than I am and always has been.🙏