I didn’t do that – Let him go
I could see it in his face. He hurt in every joint. To go to the bathroom was an exercise in torture. Outside was too bright, too cold. He could walk sort of, but he didn’t want us to help.
He was tired but he couldn’t sleep. Even the blankets were too heavy and he always liked a lot of covers. To be able to snuggle down in the bed warm and surrounded, supported by the cocoon of his bed was something that he had depended upon his entire life. Until now.
The hunger he felt was confusing. He wanted wurst, but it burned his tongue. Ice cream went down. It was nice not to worry about putting on weight if only he could have. All you could eat was just another thing that wasn’t worth the money. A salad was like poison. How a salad would be so…
He told us to let him go. When we asked him what he meant we were afraid to really ask what he meant. We didn’t know that he hurt. We didn’t know that the pain was no longer eased by the fancy drugs. He covered up the accidents, you know the ones. Embarrassed that he was like a baby, but not at the beginning of his life, no longer all possibility and joy, helpless.
He went to the hospital and they sent him home. We asked him if he wanted a home health aide, without realizing that we were stripping him of the last moment of dignity.
We didn’t know about hospice. Well, we did but he would have had to go someplace else. Even though he would have had some of his stuff he didn’t want to go away.
He didn’t talk much anymore. The pastor came and prayed with him. We held his hand when he let us. Keepsakes were just stuff as the memories were fading.
We encouraged him to eat, to watch our home movies, to engage, to go for a ride. He said he was tired. He told us he wanted to go home. We told him he was home. He only shook his head.
He went to the hospital, too weak to walk. Nobody knew him and as far as we knew he wasn’t embarrassed as his body continued to fail. They sent him home and we encouraged it. We knew he was dying but we wouldn’t let him go.
We can’t ease his passing, there was still hope. We can’t stop the drugs that might stop the disease, yet are only making him sicker and sicker, weaker and weaker.
He fell. We found him later on the floor. He was curled up like a newborn, gone.
Now, years later, now, we see the signs, see the cry for peace. For – release and home surrounded with love. But, we, I didn’t do that.
