May 28, 2009

It's Thursday, May 28, 2009.

4:45am: I woke up after hearing some moaning coming from the living/dining room.  It was Jason, but it didn't sound like he was in pain.  Then, there was a knock at my door.  It was Brenda, the hospice nurse who had been staying overnight.  She asked me if I could come help her shift Jason to one side so she could do something.  I jumped out of bed, ran to the bathroom, and then ran to Jason's bedside.

4:55am: We finished what she said she needed to do, and rolled Jason back on his back.  I noticed something about his eyes, though...something not right.  They were half open, sort of, and all I could see was white...as if his eyes had rolled back.  I also noticed that his breathing had changed, becoming more shallow.  He was reaching for every breath.  I looked at Brenda and asked "Is this happening now?"  She said "Yes, I think so."  I immediately started screaming for Jason's parents to wake up and get to the bedside as quick as possible.  Jason made it very clear that he wanted to go with me on one side and them on the other...and I was determined to make that happen (whether he was aware of it or not).

5:00am: After a couple minutes of screaming, his parents came out of the guest bedroom and ran over to Jason.  I was already crying, and didn't need to say much for them to figure out what was happening.  We each took our positions - I was holding his left hand in mine, and the two of them held his right hand.  I waited a beat for them to say something, but no one spoke. The only sound we heard was his breathing which was becoming more shallow and hollow.  I began to speak - summoning whatever strength I had left in me.  "Jason, it's time to go.  You need to go.  You need to let go.  Don't worry about us.  We're going to be just fine.  You need to release yourself.  Let the pain go away.  Just let go, sweetheart, it's ok to let go."   I just kept saying that over and over again.  Finally, his parents both said something, reassuring him as I had been doing.  We told him how much we loved him, how much we would miss him, but it was time to go.

For five minutes, we stood there caressing his hands, his face, talking to him.  With each passing minute, his breathing got slower and slower.  Each time one of us said "It's ok to let go", more time would pass between breaths...

5:06am: Jason struggled for a breath.  He held it in, and then a long exhale...making a sound like nothing I've ever heard.  It's a sound I will never forget.  And then....silence.  No movement.  No breathing.  Nothing.  At that moment, I let out a cry... and all of a sudden, he took another breath.  But just one, and again, a long exhale.  I held my breath at the same time.  Silence.

Jason was gone.

No one spoke for a minute or so, and then Brenda - who had been using a stethoscope to listen to Jason's heart rhythm looked up at us and said "I'm so sorry."  His parents and I burst into tears...the two of them hugging, and then the three of us.  We broke away...stood there staring at Jason's body - now lying there without his spirit inside.

I broke away to begin making the phone calls that needed to be made.  I called my parents.  Then I called his friends Jerrod, Rob, Mike, and John-Michael.  Meanwhile, Brenda had already called in and reported the death and asked for the funeral home to come and get him.  Luckily, that didn't happen for a couple more hours.  It was enough time for the other four guys and my parents to arrive at the house and pay their respects.  We each took turns sitting by his side, holding his hand....caressing his face.  A few times, I even kissed his forehead...and once, his lips.  He was already so cold.

After 7am, the funeral home arrived to take him away.  They entered the house and asked everyone to leave. They recommend that because seeing what they do can be quite traumatic for grieving families.  I didn't care.  I had to stay there to make sure he was treated right.  I never left his side before, and I wasn't going to start now.  I watched as they lifted his body off the hospital bed and placed him (sheet, clothes, and all) on their gurney.  I watched as they drew an ugly green blanket over his feet, legs, torso, and then finally his face.  While everyone else waited outside, I watched as they wheeled the gurney out the front door and down the front steps.  I ran outside and watched as they took the man of my dreams, the love of my life...and hoisted his body into their van.  I stood there, crying, screaming at times...and watched as they drove away...down the street...away from me...away from everyone who loved him.

It was done.

Jason was gone.

When I first started going to therapy right after Jason was diagnosed, my counselor gave me a book to read called "Final Gifts".  It was written by two hospice nurses, and it detailed the final days of many patients they cared for.  It talked about how the dying will choose when, where, and who they want present when they cross over.  I fully believe that book gave me the strength to know what to do when the time came.  Jason's moaning that morning was his way of saying "Hello!  This is happening, and I need you all here."  I later confirmed that with Brenda...who confided that she really didn't need my help.  She only woke me because she knew we were only minutes away.

The rest of the day was spent making an obscene number of phone calls, writing emails, and setting up the memorial service which was held two days later.  That night, we all went out to dinner...and it felt good to get out of the house for a bit.  While we ate, we shared stories about Jason, reminisced about the things that made us laugh.  In particular, we joked about one of his favorite movies - Drop Dead Gorgeous.  So, when we got back to the house, we decided to pop the movie in and watch.  It felt good to laugh...knowing that he was right there laughing with us.

It's now been on year since that incredibly awful day.  And I can honestly say, it hurts just as much now as it did the day it happened.  May 28th will forever be a day of sadness for me.  Not only is it the day that cancer entered our lives, it is now also the day that Jason left our lives.  Physically left our lives.  Spiritually, he remains very much apart of our lives.  And for that, I'm eternally grateful.