Two Years Ago Today….

January 20, 2016. That was the beginning. Or maybe it was the middle, but it was the beginning of knowing.

Nick had been hospitalized for a short time in November, and then for three weeks in December. When he came home in December, just before Christmas, he was listless. I thought he would perk up. So did the wonderful visiting nurses. But he had no interest in anything. Getting him to eat, to eat anything, was a daily struggle. He seemed to be shrinking before my eyes.

We went to see our family doctor on January 20. We were in the exam room, him telling the doctor that he was “fine”, and me saying that every day was more of a struggle, a struggle to get him to eat, to get him to talk, to get him to do anything except sleep.

And Dr. Pete turned to him and asked “So, you’re done?”

“Yes,” Nick said.

Then the world turned upside down.

I didn’t immediately understand the question or the answer. After all, just a few weeks before, Nick had been judged “not sick enough” to go to rehab, or to a nursing home. But suddenly, instead of talking about getting stronger, we were talking about hospice care, and not fighting anymore, and Nick’s new mantra, “no more doctors, no more hospitals.”

I followed the doctor out of the examination room. He knew I was confused. He explained that Nick just couldn’t fight anymore. Acute ulcerative colitis is not usually considered fatal, but Nick had been fighting it for several years, and he was done fighting. I sat alone in the doctor’s private office, lights off, and cried. And then I steeled myself for what I knew I was going to have to do. When we walked into the doctor’s office that day, I expected a pep talk that would turn Nick’s attitude around. I did not expect to walk out starting to plan for death and a funeral.

I know how lucky we really were. We had 45 wonderful years together. But that 27 days from hospice to death was probably the most intimate time. Nick remained at least partially coherent until the last few days. We had time to talk: to talk about the past, to talk about the future. We planned every single detail of his wake, Funeral Mass, and even the meal afterwards. Together, we chose the urn, the flowers, the hymns, the readings, the altar servers, the readers, the pall bearers. For 45 years, we did everything together, up until the very end.

It’s never easy to lose someone you love. And it is tremendously hard to watch someone you love die. We spent almost every moment of the 27 days together. Those 27 days, as hard as they were, were a wonderful gift from God.

But still, January 20 is one of those dates that will probably always make me cry.