Part 2 – Pain and Guilt
When I returned to the rehab hospital the next morning, my husband was distraught. He claimed no one would tell him where he was, and they wouldn’t give him a phone to call me. Anguish colored his voice. “I told them you would never leave me. I worried you might have got into an accident.” He wanted to call hospitals and police to find me. His cell phone lay in the top drawer of the nightstand next to him. Maybe he was too weak to reach for it. Maybe he forgot.
Fingers of guilt squeezed my heart, making it difficult to breathe. I should have foregone my shower and rushed back after feeding the dogs. Tears welled as I held him close in a gentle embrace. “I’m soooooo sorry, honey. I had gone home to take care of the girls. I thought you knew where you were yesterday.”
Last night, he seemed to understand and had agreed to go to the hospital. But…I should have realized he would not remember. How could I be so stupid to think he would?
Once he settled down and fell asleep, I sat in the chair next to him. My heart hurt to see how frail he was as he lay in bed, still wearing his sandals. He refused to remove them, like a cowboy and his boots. I guess he was going to die with his flipflops on. Or maybe he thought he could leave as long as he had them on. Less vulnerable?
I tried to read. I tried to write. I couldn’t focus on anything but the dreadful truth that I was losing my soulmate, the love of my life.
In the beginning, we were friends, then it turned into more. Throughout our marriage, we were each other’s world. He remained my best friend, as well as husband and lover. Unlike so many couples, we enjoyed spending time together. We didn’t need other people
He was a kind and caring man who loved me deeply. Whenever we went out, we always held hands. To this day, when I pass couples walking with hands clasped, especially older couples, I feel sad and think “They still have each other. Why don’t we? Why was he taken from me?”
We loved cruising, watching movies, and eating at casino buffets–with a little bit of gambling ($10 maximum each). When I taught dancing, we went boot scootin’ every weekend with our friends and students. When we met, he didn’t know how to dance but chose to learn because he was interested in me. Later, he liked to say, “I married the teacher.”
He always supported my endeavors with patience and pride, never begrudging the amount of time I spent writing. You have heard of golf widows? Well, he was an author widower during the intense period prior to publishing my first novel. Little did we know my book would be published less than three months before he died.
It’s a strange sensation intellectually knowing I was losing him but emotionally insisting, “No, no, no”.
But I couldn’t continue to deny the reality of what was destined to pass.
His gaunt face against the white pillow, his body tended to by medical staff, his inability to help himself, all chipped away at my self-protecting wall of denial. My soulmate deteriorated before me as his body began shutting down.
What am I going to do without him? How will I cope? Guilt over my selfish thoughts pushed to the forefront.
Guilt at my impatience with him at times during his illness (though I was careful to hide it).
Guilt that I didn’t say I love you more often.
Guilt that I didn’t hold his hand longer or more frequently as he lay in his “Pa Kettle” recliner.
Guilt that I didn’t laugh more at his jokes.
Guilt that I didn’t give the “just because” cards near the end…afraid it would make him sad…but it was another way of showing my love for him.
Guilt that I didn’t show more appreciation for what he did inside and outside the house.
Early in our relationship, we vowed to be careful not to take each other for granted. I didn’t realize how much I had until he was gone. Did I thank him for growing roses for me because I said I liked them? Did I thank him for maintaining the yard and the house? Was I too wrapped up in my job?
As I sat by his bedside, the brave façade I fought to maintain shattered. I leaned forward in the chair and wept. The dam had ruptured. I hoped he couldn’t sense my breakdown as he slept.
When I left at the end of his first full day in the facility, I printed a note in big letters and taped it to the wardrobe cabinet doors so he would not be distressed when he awoke.
But that was not to be.
The next morning when I entered his room, guilt again ravaged me. He had not seen the note and was agitated, not knowing where he was or why.
His body, more fragile than when I had left last night, wrung my heart.
He whispered that he wanted to sit up and face me. I got a nurse to help. After gently moving his legs over the edge of the bed, we sat knee to knee. He touched my hands, then I placed them on his forearms to help him balance and held a pillow behind his back.
He said he was so sorry (as he had said frequently over the last few weeks). I reiterated that he had no reason to be, that it wasn’t his fault, that he would have done the same for me. I don’t remember if this was the time I told him what a wonderful husband he was. One of us said what a great life we had together…I don’t remember who.
We both leaned inward and touched foreheads…a tender moment of intimacy burned into my memory. Then fatigue overcame him, and I held him close until a nurse returned to help him lay down again. I wish we had kissed.
He beckoned me closer and breathed his words, now incoherent, in my ear. I think he said, “I love you”, but I don’t know. That causes me pain to this day.
Shortly thereafter, Richard from Hospice entered the room with a new hire, followed by a facility nurse. They tended to my husband and took his vitals. His blood pressure and oxygen level in his blood were low.
The new hire took me outside the room and said it was up to his heart now. My mind rebelled at what she was telling me. Intellectually I knew, but denial ruled.
Late in the evening, my sleeping soulmate’s eyelids were half-closed and his lips slightly parted when I bid him good night. He had not awoken since the morning. I went home to feed the dogs and get much-needed rest.
At 11:39 p.m., the dreaded call came. Richard, our main hospice contact said, “I’m sorry. He passed 15-20 minutes ago.”
I slumped against the breakfast bar and choked out, “No. He can’t be. I-I thought we still had time.” A piece of me died, and emptiness rushed in. My throat tightened, and I could no longer speak.
Richard continued in a gentle tone, “He went peacefully. He never woke up after you left…”
I croaked a response and hung up.
When I recovered a modicum of control to speak, I called my husband’s long-time friend, who had moved out here when we did. He picked me up, and we drove to the hospital. A fist rhythmically clenched my lungs the whole way.
I remembered seeing my beloved husband’s face in sleep and replayed our intimate moments this morning.
He’d known he would leave me today.
The center of my world lay as he had mere hours ago, the sheet tucked beneath his chin. His eyes remained half-lidded and his lips slightly parted.
But he was gone. Tears blurred my vision. He would never again smile at me or hug me or hold my hand.
I kissed his forehead and caressed his head. “I love you.”
As I packed up his belongings, I saw his sandals had been removed, driving the reality home.
The love of my life was gone forever. Now, a new chapter must begin for me…alone.
Glory Wade, Author 