Current location:	home during the snow storm
Current mood:	contemplative
Current music:	sweet, in my memory
Entry tags:	a sad time

Why I've been away from LJ
My two sisters and I are now all widows.  My Paul, age 63, died 3 years ago, 26.01.2006; Connie's Bob,age 77, died 22.07.2007 and finally, Susan's Richard, age 65, died 23.01.2009.   

Paul's cancer became known Nov., 2005.  Bob had a bad fall several years earlier accelerating Alzheimer's.  Richard's ordeal began last November after 2 years of various health problems cumulatively causing the final one.

Knowing how ill R was and how hard it was for S to drive the 56 highway miles to the hospital (where he'd been transferred 2 weeks previously), on Wednesday, the 21st, Connie and I decided we'll bring Susan to the hospital on Thursday.  And, for some reason, without discussing it, we each packed an overnight bag -- "just in case..."  we said.

At the hospital, it was evident R was very bad. S told us to go home before dark and she'd find a way to stay, sleep in a chair and a son could come out Friday after work for her.  Money is tight for her right now; R's city pension doesn't go far ; we knew she'd neither eat nor rest if we left her. Simultaneously we said "No. We're staying, too." From a list of nearby hotels with special prices for hospital visitors, I booked a room close by.  A short while later her oldest son arrived and the doctors took them off for a chat... the news wasn't good -- more and more pain and failing organs, R was in a coma and on a respirator.  We definitely would not, could not, leave her alone overnight, but we told our nephew where to bring her when he went home (he had to go home as his 2yr old was ill with bronchial pneumonia -- but is fine now). 

After a light dinner, we retired to our room As we unpacked, we began to laugh: Susan pulled out 3 cans of beer; Connie brought out white wine; I, a bottle of red. between us we brought a bag of fresh sweet black cherries, crackers and cheese and chocolate kisses! We sort of partied, laughing at this, crying at that, then a toast to Richard and, at last, to sleep. Waking early, we ate breakfast and went to the hospital; it was 8:00am.

R was barely alive and not conscious when we began our watch: S holding his hand and stroking his forehead and crooning gently the songs important to their life. C & I took turns holding his other hand or patting a knee. We did not need to talk. R did not respond, but just lay there. This went on until 2:50pm when vital signs slowed, almost stopped. A nurse stood watch with us as a doctor removed tubes and tape from several places.  Susan bent forward to kiss him; the rest of us stood at the foot of the bed. Then the miracle: after neither opening his eyes nor moving for 2 days, Richard turned his head to Susan, opened his eyes which were now clear, and gazed at her with such a loving look you wouldn't believe if this was a movie, smiled gently then died.

After a few minutes, Susan said "I imagined I saw a smile." Connie, the nurse and I told her "No, it was not imagination."

A few minutes later, it was time to go home. We left the garage, turning right at the lights onto very busy, always very busy, Huntington Ave for the 8-10 miles to Interstate 95. The avenue is a major thoroughfare, lined with malls, theater, apartments, cross streets every 100 yards or so and traffic lights at every other intersection. It was 3:30 Friday afternoon when rush hour traffic starts. I've never, over many years of driving that road, made more than 2 sets of lights without a red light, rush hour or not. Yet we did not get one red light the whole way to I95!  Simultaneously we said: Richard's watching! 

A wake was held Monday and the funeral, Tuesday. Most who heard this tale of the gaze, the smile and the traffic lights smiled at us; only a few believed. Too bad so many are skeptics -- they could have a lot of help if only they were aware it was there.

And that's the way it was and is.