For the first time in a long time, I cried reading this. Really cried. I can write the words, but reading them is like reliving them and remembering exactly how I felt just like it was yesterday...
Written Jun 9, 2010 8:34pm
The Bed
We've had this hospital bed, delivered by Home Health Care two weeks ago, sitting in our front room. Every night, I have offered it to Joey to sleep in so he wouldn't have to ascend the stairs to his bedroom. Every night he has wanted to sleep in his own bed. So I have helped him climb the stairs and get into his own bed in his own room with his brothers.
I always thought that once he was in the bed in the front room, that he was there to stay, that it would be the beginning of the end.
Last night, he slept in the bed in the front room.
We've had this hospital bed, delivered by Home Health Care two weeks ago, sitting in our front room. Every night, I have offered it to Joey to sleep in so he wouldn't have to ascend the stairs to his bedroom. Every night he has wanted to sleep in his own bed. So I have helped him climb the stairs and get into his own bed in his own room with his brothers.
I always thought that once he was in the bed in the front room, that he was there to stay, that it would be the beginning of the end.
Last night, he slept in the bed in the front room.
Over the past two days, Joey has rapidly deteriorated, not wanting to eat, finding it difficult to move or even speak. Last night, he was complaining of abdominal pain and was very weak. He didn't want to go upstairs, so I coaxed him into the bed in the front room. I sat with him for hours as he moaned and squirmed, obviously uncomfortable, breathing rapidly. We both finally fell asleep, although we both woke frequently throughout the night.
Rick was off work today, thankfully, because this morning he recognized the need to call for Hospice Care. They arrived swiftly and began caring for Joey. While Hospice Nurse Peggy waited for Hospice Nurse Bob to bring meds for Joey, she assessed that that his breathing was rapid, his pulse was tacky, and his lungs had a "crackling" sound. This all became worse while we were waiting, in a matter of merely an hour.
Joey was given Adavan for anxiety and Oxycodone, which is a narcotic, to make him comfortable and a cannula of oxygen. After talking to Dr. A on the phone, who stated, "It won't be long now," we began the painful process of calling people to come and say good-bye, and tearfully confirmed our preset plans with the mortuary.
I have been staring at Joey, drinking every aspect of him in, from his fuzzy blonde hair to his beautiful long eyelashes. I have let my lips linger longer on his cheeks, and I have stroked his skin, trying to imprint it all on my mind. This is because I know when he leaves this bed, he will be leaving us.
Joey was given Adavan for anxiety and Oxycodone, which is a narcotic, to make him comfortable and a cannula of oxygen. After talking to Dr. A on the phone, who stated, "It won't be long now," we began the painful process of calling people to come and say good-bye, and tearfully confirmed our preset plans with the mortuary.
I have been staring at Joey, drinking every aspect of him in, from his fuzzy blonde hair to his beautiful long eyelashes. I have let my lips linger longer on his cheeks, and I have stroked his skin, trying to imprint it all on my mind. This is because I know when he leaves this bed, he will be leaving us.
Written Jun 10, 2010 6:03am
In the Arms of the Angels
This morning at 4:44 a.m. our beautiful, strong, stubborn little boy gave up his fight against the beast and died in our arms.
He is now in the arms of the angels, and they are having so much fun.
Lucky angels...
This morning at 4:44 a.m. our beautiful, strong, stubborn little boy gave up his fight against the beast and died in our arms.
He is now in the arms of the angels, and they are having so much fun.
Lucky angels...
* * *
I wrote a post last year called "Unhappy Crapiversary" where I remembered the moment of Joey's death. It might be difficult for some to read. A friend, who is a writer, featured it in one of her posts. I remember reading one comment that said I was just "trying to milk it."
That comment made me laugh. Anyone who has lost anyone important knows that you don't "milk" anything about their death. You remember, you deal, you figure out how to move on.
Everyone has her own way of doing this. For me, it has always been looking back. I have always kept journals, ever since I was ten. I have always gone back and read what I wrote, even the most painful things, because it helps me to heal and grow and move on.
And mostly remember...
That comment made me laugh. Anyone who has lost anyone important knows that you don't "milk" anything about their death. You remember, you deal, you figure out how to move on.
Everyone has her own way of doing this. For me, it has always been looking back. I have always kept journals, ever since I was ten. I have always gone back and read what I wrote, even the most painful things, because it helps me to heal and grow and move on.
And mostly remember...
