Part 294:→Husband Journey: Somebody That I Used to Know
Well, dear friends we’ve been on some journey.
A journey of years with surprises and twists and convolutions and paradoxes and disbelief. And let’s not forget the sprinkling of Covid for good luck, just to kick things up a notch.
I left you before Christmas and continued to slog on into a world of darkened, short days, hoping for Spring, and while we’re at it, hoping for miracles, for, after all, ’tis the season.
Hope.
Miracles.
Them’s fighting words. Strong stuff. Magical stuff, control stuff.
So, let’s move into January and all that hoopla of a new year. More hope. More television-watching marathons into the darkness of winter. More anxiety about Facetime calls with somebody that I used to know: Strangers are hard to deal with, they make you feel like you have to work to make a connection. The light-hearted banter that you forget soon after and are glad to walk away from.
A phone meeting around January 17th was scheduled.
A phone call from the nursing home the afternoon of January 16th; “your husband isn’t swallowing. He didn’t eat breakfast or lunch.” [and I think, here we go]. I say that we will talk the following day at the meeting. “please give me an update tomorrow.”
January 17th. I am called by the social worker. The dietician is there, the nurse. “he didn’t eat or drink today.”
I think the people at the end of the line, no pun intended, were shocked to hear me ask, “how much time is left, how long can a person go on like this?” I ask for a call from Robert’s attending doctor. It was a Wednesday. The social worker tells me to call him on Friday if I don’t get a call.
I don’t wait. I call in on Thursday morning. Robert is the same. I tell the nurse I was waiting for a call. He gets defensive. “We had the meeting yesterday, he says.” I remind him that I was supposed to get a call from the doctor. The doctor happens to be walking past the nurses’ station.
Your husband had a urinary tract infection. He was on Cipro for five days. Then I think he said he was put on Keflex for seven days (but I could have misheard). But what I didn’t mishear was that there was an issue that no one had told me about. The infection. The medication.
After this my hand grabbed my phone and punched in the numbers for the funeral home. I needed to call, “I need to know what to do,” I said. Everything was planned and paid for but I felt a feeling of urgency.
I also left a message for our family physician of about forty years. I got a call back at about 5:20 PM. I said, “I found out earlier that Robert had a UTI. He was on Cipro, maybe even Keflex. Couldn’t these drugs’ side effects have caused the eating issue?”
I know first hand about such drugs, they can really rough you up, the possible side effects can be a bitch.
My doctor says, “of course!” and, “you should speak to the administration.” The call was ended.
It was 5:30 PM.
All of a sudden I felt this lightening, a kind of excitement, if you will, a high, a validation. I was, well, maybe you’d call it happy. I remember dusk, the sky darkening, the television was on, mute.
I walked to the dining room table. I sat. I was reading something.
The phone rang from the nursing home at 5:45 PM. There was a familiar voice, a heavy Russian accent that I remembered when Robert was admitted and I was called when he arrived from transport from the hospital.
And she said, “My condolences. Your husband passed at 5:30.”
And I said, “WHAT?” in disbelief because a moment ago I was happy and hopeful like I had solved a great riddle and that everything was going to be OK. But in truth I had solved a great riddle and everything was going to be OK.
Russian accent gives me about an hour to process what she had told me and then calls back. Theoretically I was in shock. Theoretically the nursing home was supposed to call the funeral home. I ended up doing everything. The funeral home was surprised to hear from me so soon, just a few hours earlier. “I just felt it,” I said.
I called our physician back, it was just minutes ago that our call ended. “The home just called me, Robert just died.” The doctor was driving home and he yelled, “WHAT?”
OK, so now two people who’ve been along for this ride are in shock.
And my feeling of elation was at the exact time of Robert’s passing.
It’s done. It’s over.
It’s final.
It’s the finality that is the hardest to accept. I remember Robert but I can’t make sense of the person who was bed- bound for thirty-eight months, who, in the end went silent. Who, in the end was another person I was trying to connect with. Truth to tell, Robert left a long time ago.
The person in the bed was just somebody that I used to know.
Gotye
📌That series starts here:
Part 1: And The Band Played On … a mother’s life, a daughter’s journey
(becomes the husband journey)
The previous post is here
The next post is here
Yesterday I was watching Ron Howard’s interview because of the book that he and his brother, Clint, had written they titled ‘The Boys’. I grew up in that world, but not like him. Unlike him, I skirted around Hollywood with a dad who’d done enough bits and pieces to know that he didn’t want his children involved in the scene, but Dad was also a harsh man and not the best of communicators, even though he led Toastmasters meetings.
Why I’m telling you this here is because I’ve always been fascinated by Ron, not only because we share a birthday (though not the same year, but close enough 🙂), yet also because of how he’d been a child performer with some fantastically progressive upbringing for the day and age that he and I, and you, grew up in. And he met and married his sweetheart for life quite early on.
Ron’s interview chat was mostly about relationships because Ron, himself, has always been a teamplayer and exceptional communicator. This is what one needs for any relationship to flourish. And this was passed onto him and his brother through parents who, in his mind may have been a bit strict, but brought their sons up unaffected by the crazy world they were acting in.
And this lovely art of communicating with love and respect carried into marriage, which I’ve always believed to be a business on top of the shared love, whether it’s great or small.
Ron was fortunate to have found a partner early on who worked, not against, but alongside him with such mutual respect. Neither have ever held each other back. Rather, they’ve bonded even closer together over the years instead of tearing at or picking each other apart, which is also how together they’ve been able to have accomplished wonderful things, including the birthing and raising of their four children. His eldest daughter, Bryce, is also a director and as lovely as both her father and mother. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree there.
I think that you and I have always been searching for a mutual love, respect and fellowship. And both you and I have had heartbreaks, as well as being often disappointed in our pursuits. I’ve followed your journery in part (as much as virtual reality has let me) for several years now. And, early on, I’d admired not only your talents but your poignant honesty. How you’d managed to be loyal to those who frankly hadn’t deserved your loyalty. But that’s you, your lovely soul shining through. And you are so talented in your own right.
You, Susan, are a warrior who’s unafraid of the occasional tear, and a saint with some tarnish who sometimes screams her bloody heart to those with an ear to hear. Simply said, you’re a real mensch. And I celebrate YOU, lovely you, today…xoxo
Jeanette M. Detert
Hugs today.
Cassidy Taylor
I’m so sorry too, beautifully and eloquently penned. Your story is important. It reminds me of my own father’s passing. We did and didn’t expect it so soon. We didn’t get to see him before or during his passing, only after, leaving much unsaid and undone and a lot of thoughts to be processed and without him the world is a colder more daunting space, yet the peace in his face tells me something different. There is hope after pain and loss and grief is our way of finding our way to the light again. 🤗
Stephen Prendergast
I’m so sorry that you had to find out the way you did. May you remember the Robert who made you happy rather than the stranger you struggled to connect with the past months. I wish you the strength and peace you will need at this time and always.
Kathy Dillon Fenfert
Sending you hugs ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Suzanne Muller
I’m so sorry Susan. May Robert’s memory be a blessing. Hopefully now you will be able to start a new journey with only positive thoughts and healthy outcomes.
Meryl Sacks
😢
Heather Blues
Oh gosh Sue..I’m in awe of you and your strength..I know you have family and friends for support during the low days..but every word you write or picture you post amazes me..fills me with emotion and recognition of the beauty of your soul! Much love to you always ❤️
Renate Decker-Creasey
Susan. There really are no words. It is the finality that hits most. I really do not know what is worse, having gone on hhis journey with my husband and loosing him almost five years ago, or loosing my daughter last autumn dying three days after admitting herself into a hospital.
Peggy Carlaw
Oh gosh, Sue, I am so sorry for the loss of the Robert you used to know and the Robert who recently left. May you have loving memories of them both as you begin to heal. It’s been a long haul with taking care of your Mom and then Robert. Time to take care of Sue.
Sharon Marie Miller
Heartbreaking …
Now take care of Yourself.
Catherine Muller
No words when something like this happens and there is indeed cause for concern regarding his medical care. Such a drawn out exit for Robert and a very long goodbye for you, my friend. I think of you so often these days and hoping peace is finding a place in your life. ❤
Diane Adler Monheit
Sending love and hugs Sue! Time to take care of yourself now.❤️
Janeen Worrall
I have no words that feel right to say, except I’m sorry that this journey has been so heavy with challenges and hope you can find some time to relearn how to breathe, find some moments of peace to step away from the endless shifts, and to find a way to nourish yourself as you continue to step forward at whatever pace is right for you. My deepest love and strength to you.
Sue Weber
Sending you so much love, Sue ❤❤❤
Barbara Schettini-Burton
Susan this is so touching and beautiful. Now he is watching over you with love from abovexx
Sue Weber
Sending you so much love, Sue ❤❤❤
Sue, I’m angry for you that the nursing home wasn’t in communication with you as it should have been. And their doctor too. That’s unforgivable. And you’re right about the finality of it all. Even if they’re not “there”, they’re still there so it seems as if there’s hope and miracles, as you point out. I’m so sorry for what you’ve gone through, the months and months of ups and downs and fighting the red tape and other nonsense. It’s physically draining on top of the emotional loss. I hope Evan and the rest of your family and friends, plus your amazing writing, helps you through these unreal days and going forward too.
My condolences Sue. No words. Perhaps when you are feeling up to it, a phone call one day.
Such a sad ending, yet you are both free
Dearest Susan,
As a person who enjoys words, it seems ironic that there are so few of them adequate enough for grief and suffering.
The prolonged agony you and Robert suffered in his decline was so hard to watch and know. In all that medicine can do, there is still so very much that it can not. And not knowing what was going on with Robert or how to help him had to be maddening for all of you. I’m just so sorry for the pain you all experienced.
I am happy for the years of joy you celebrated with your precious husband. I would have liked to have known Robert when he was younger. I would have enjoyed him, I know. I see how you fell in love with his intellect, his work ethic, his creativity and his passion for life. I’m certain you were a bright, shiny jewel to him and he felt how much you loved him.
I don’t understand all I wish I could about life’s suffering. I don’t know why some have to bear the burden of illness and brokenness so harshly in their final days. All I know is where I continue to place my hope. I have to believe that God has a better place for us than the shattered remnants of a life once well lived, in the end.
I pray you will find some peace in recalling the more joyous days with Robert, as I know there were so many. I send you hugs because you need a warm embrace in this time of sorrow. I send you love that only a friend who respects the sting of suffering can. I send you light because you deserve a brighter tomorrow.
May you live on in the hope of more Susan. More love, more sunshine, more memories, more health, more laughter, more friendships, more celebrations and certainly more life.
Love you dear friend.
Cheri
I am so sorry for your loss, and all the complicating factors that made it worse. A few years ago I watched a beloved relative succumb to Alzheimers, and it was like slow torture seeing a strong, cogent, articulate person slip away memory by precious memory. One medic told me exactly what you’d been told, that she had stopped eating and drinking, and added that in advanced stages, we forget how to swallow. Our brains begin to forget even autonomous functions. The next day she was gone, and that sense of disbelief, and with that horrible, shocking, sudden finality, you realise that everything you shared with that person is now past tense. I am thinking of you, of you both.
Oh, dear Susan,
So sorry to see what you are going through. What a journey it’s been for you, with your mom, with Robert, and your own health…may the love and comfort of friends continue to see you through these difficult times.
Love,
245 3-H
Let this be the beginning of a new stage in your life. Love you. Dani
Dear dear Susan,
Your love and devotion was surely felt by Robert! May his memory be a blessing and a balm for your bruised heart. You have been through so much these last few years. May you feel comforted in knowing you managed to stay focused through the storm.
Love,
Ruth
You knew his soul so well
You supported, guided, nurtured, improved…
And his body was left, and you archived the rest
He knew you would preserve his soul.