The Story of a Caregiver

It’s been a while since I’ve posted. So much has happened good and bad. Mike and I got married in April. We couldn’t have a honeymoon due to his health, but the wedding was lovely. Just his family at a beautiful national park. The next few months were sometimes difficult, but we faced it together. Then one day he just couldn’t get out of bed. He had been up in the morning, had his breakfast, his 9am meds, his 10am meds, lunch, and his 2pm meds. Shortly after, he decided he wanted to lay down. I asked if he wanted to lay in the recliner or on the bed, and he said the bed. When he tried to get out after a long nap, he just didn’t have the strength to stand up. So that’s where he stayed.

For the next week or so he ate his meals and took his meds all on time, watched a little TV, and mostly slept. Then on Tuesday morning at about 3:30 am I woke to the most horrible sound. I’ve heard that sound one other time in my life – when my mom was dying from ovarian cancer. I can’t even describe the breathing, but I knew it was time. I sat holding his hand for a while, I don’t even know how long, just wishing it away. Finally, I called his youngest sibling Fin, the most responsible person in the family in all this. I don’t remember what I said, but they said they’d be over soon. I remember hoping they’d make it in time.

When they all arrived, Mike’s breathing magically eased. I let myself believe for a second that he wasn’t about to die, but I held it inside, knowing how foolish it sounded.

So, we sat by his side, holding his hands, willing him to wake up, and knowing it would never happen again. At some point when the others were out of the room eating lunch, I laid my head on his arm and fell asleep. After I woke up, his step mom told me it was beautiful and she took a picture. She’s so proud, and all I can think is what kind of sick fuck takes a picture of a dying man?

Eventually the death rattle came back, and I thought it was probably a sign of things to come, but he got over it before! His family had been encouraging me to clean up because people were coming over, but I didn’t want to leave his side. Finally, I had to pee, so I took clean clothes to the bathroom, peed, washed my hands, and started to brush my teeth. Suddenly Fin interrupts me and tells me I wanted to come out. He was gone. I sat with him for almost 12 hours, and at 3:15 pm while I was brushing my teeth, he left this mortal coil. He waited for me to leave, even though he knew I wanted to be there. I’m just not sure how I feel about that. Everyone is saying he wanted to spare me seeing him die, like it’s a good thing. It doesn’t make sense.

I still refer to myself as his wife, not his widow. For some reason, “widow” makes it seem too final. Yes, I know death is final. He’s not coming back. No more inappropriate t-shirts, no more puppy fosters, no more drunk propositions, no more silly Taylor Swift songs blasting from his phone. He’s gone.  It’s over.