Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Entry 1      7:04 a.m.

Jenny is still with us. Fully non-responsive, her breath so shallow as to be almost non-existent, her heart as strong as her will, pumping on. 

I slept yesterday, waking in the afternoon, awake through dinner and then sound asleep from about 830 on.  I took a half Xanax just before 2:00 p.m., and it made all the difference.  I am glad I did not miss her passing. The nurse, who arrived just when the Xanax was kicking in was thrilled I fell asleep, knowing how long I'd been awake.

We have, per the RN's instruction, increased the morphine dosage. It has kept Jenny very comfortable. I haven't left her side, except briefly, for fear of my leaving her alone and her slipping away from me.  I cry often.

And the garbage we, as a family do and will continue to wade through is indescribable. Murray is one of the worst offenders.  

















Entry 2    5:48 p.m.

Jenny is resting. The hospice nurse came today and, after examining Jenny, said it could be tonight or up to 6 days from now. Why wouldn't it be 6 days from now? I mean, in all seriousness, this woman is strong, her heart is strong.

I've had a fun time being mischievous today, both with el pinché and Heather. I may expound on that later. But today, Heather shared with me that she drove all the way here yesterday and parked up the block to send positive energy to Jenny.  I thought that was sweet, so I told her I saw all the texts and pictures she shared with Jenny about her own affair.  I was oblique at first, but we got down to brass tacks. I suspect she won't be parking up the street anymore. 



    

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Life, A Cascading Series of Disappointment

Image
Jenny has cancer.  Terminal cancer.  We learned that in late July. Jenny had  dropped 25 lbs. in the spring without trying.  She had been having vague stomach complaints since October.  As a balm for her concerns, her doctor agreed to do a CT scan for her, but told her they would find nothing.  Jenny wanted to rule out pancreatic cancer, which had recently killed her dad-in the spring of 2019.  Her mother had been sick with lymphoma since February 2020.  The day of the scan, the doctor told Jenny they would get results back in a few days. When Jenny's phone rang that same afternoon, I was in the living room with Abby, where I was torturing her by playing the Rapping Duke on Youtube. Jenny shouted from the room, "Geoff, get in here, the doctor's on the phone." "You have a four cm. mass on your pancreas,"  he said. Jenny made a sound like someone had punched her in the stomach.  "There is a spot on your liver. You have a necrotic lymph nod...
Read more

It Breaks My Heart

Image
  It is just there. I mean, there is no below the surface. There are no good days. There isn't a day I don't wish I didn't have less cowardice to just be done. Or less worry for my girls, lest they follow after me. I am not bereft. I am neither morose nor sullen. It isn't that I can't find some modicum of pleasure. I am sitting in a candle lit bathroom with music I have collected and curated since my teens playing in the background. This is a small dream for a small life. I stopped being alive a very long time ago, with some.punctuated moments-like traveling across the country with Abby-of unmitigated joy bordering on perfection. But, it slips away. I have ambled into a castle's keep, the walls of which I only fortify to my own detriment. And yet, as I have done since loss became real back when Corey drowned, I pull back. Without love, without that risk, you can't be hurt, can you?  Whether it's disappointment, betrayal, or death, I wasn't built as r...
Read more

If I Could Be Who You Wanted, If I Could Be Who You Wanted. . . All The Time

Image
Entry 1 Sunday mornings are as hard as Kris Kristofferson warned they could be. I'm listening to Anna Scouten cover John Hartford's Tall Buildings . It's a sad song about giving up childhood dreams and succumbing to the drudgery of typical American life. I remember when I was excited about that prospect, when I realized I could actually do such a thing. I have missing years. Not Somewhere in Oregon, 2014ish . like Jesus, more like a low-rent Lazarus, some denizen of the original skid road . A particularly apt description, given my Seattle origins, my preteen retreat into drugs and the attendant abandonment of same nearly 10 years later at the ripe old age of 20.  These Sunday mornings are all the more brutal with the advent of spring and daylight savings time. In the darkness of winter mornings, it takes my brain longer to wander into memories and suppositions about what was, what is, and what could have been. In the cold light of early spring, pain shines like a beacon. I...
Read more