Dear Friends

Most of you know, but for those who might not, my name is Dwaine.  I don't maintain a nom-de-net to fool the government but so that I do not embarrass my wife, who is, in many ways, a very conventional person.

Friday, just after noon, a young man, a neurologist came into my wife's hospital room.  He had ordered an MRI.  He wanted to talk to me.  The first thing he asked was if I wanted to sit down.  I didn't, but I didn't really want to hear what would come next either.

The results were very clear.  My wife, Vickie, had suffered a massive stroke.  The bleeding and pressure was such that, in his opinion, she was brain dead.  I looked at her, quiet and calm, a machine forcing air into her lungs, the monitor showing her heart beating rhythmically, endlessly.

The face I will remember forever, the one I will seek first when I come into light on the other side of darkness, looked the same.  She seemed to be asleep.  I thought of the words of the Disciples about Lazarus, Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will recover.  For the first time, it dawned on me that, even in their misunderstanding, what they had said was true.  We will all sleep, and, in that sleep, we will recover something we have lost as we entered this world and took our journey through it.

After her trials throughout the past year, she had insisted on seeing an attorney to do some estate planning and to set up up living wills.  Mine was easy.  Don't do anything special to keep me alive especially if I'm not going to be able to take of myself because my wife can't take care of me.  I begged her to make hers more restrictive.  She refused, not that it would have made any difference in this case.

They ran an apnea test to see if she was breathing on her own to confirm the diagnosis.  I stood and watched as they disconnected the ventilator.  As the seconds ticked by, I cannot describe the emptiness and dark despair that seized me.  The only thing I wanted was for the vent to be reconnected, to see the steady rise and fall of her chest start again.  When it was reconnected, though, I knew it was only temporary.  I called the kids and told them what was happening.  Then I waited.

The chaplain came by, a quiet, gentle man who prayed with me.  A little later he brought a young woman by.  She was asking about organ donation.  Vickie had never signed her card, and she had made it clear to me that she was opposed to it.  I told the woman that Vickie had been very squeamish about blood and that the idea of someone else looking through her corneas or living by the beat of her heart disturbed her.  But I said that I would talk it over with the kids.

As the grandchildren began to arrive, I heard a call for a rapid response team to the front entrance.  I knew immediately it was our daughter.  By the time I got down to the lobby, they had her in a wheelchair.  She could not close her hand and was rapidly losing the ability to speak.  She's had hypertension for years and is bad about refilling prescriptions and taking her meds.  Another stroke.

Our intent had been to gather around Vickie that night and let her go.  We decided to wait until the next day as she was not suffering in any way that was discernible.  By Saturday afternoon, more family had gathered.  Calls and messages, most expressing disbelief, came in.  Our daughter was allowed up to her mother's room on a bed with a nurse constantly monitoring her blood pressure.

The only good news was that bleeding had ceased, no surgery was needed to relieve pressure, and there would be benefits from rehab.

Before noon on Saturday, the young woman from donor services again came into the room.  My heart sank.  Don't these people understand how we feel?

She had heard about our daughter's stroke.  "I couldn't stop thinking about it," she said.  "If that had happened anywhere else, your daughter would have died or suffered much greater damage.  You told me your wife was squeamish, and I understand.  She has already saved a life."

So, I thank you all for your prayers and the love that I have sensed even under that shadow.  My wife's passing was peaceful.  Her heart remained indomitable to the end.  She is so beautiful. 

We don't look like that anymore.  In fact to look back is almost shocking, but day by day, you never notice.

Except today.

****

On a practical note, everything is paid up.  She will have a very nice service with all the stuff she picked, and the spot she picked a couple of spaces over from my parents.  It's rural, and small.  The maintenance is mostly voluntary, often by some of my myriad of cousins and shirttail relation.

We don't need anything.  But, if you just can't help yourself, email me, and I will give you information about the cemetery fund.  These boys don't have Paypal; they think indoor plumbing is a passing fad.  If you have my work address, email me there.  If not, email mushroom1066@yahoo.com.  Again, there's no need to do anything, but I'm always happy to hear from you if you just want to email me.
****

I love you all, and I cannot tell you how much it meant knowing that you have been praying for me the last few days.  I would just dissolve then something (Someone) would come over me, and I would be able to go on.  There are still things that have to be done.  My mom used to say that she felt like crawling in a hole and pulling the hole in after her.  That's about how it is.  May God bless you all.