The long goodbye

When I was a kid, I loved September. I loved that change in the air - the cooling temperatures and the aroma of changing leaves. It meant new school clothes and shoes and saving the brown paper bags from the A&P so we could have the fun of wrapping our books and decorating the outside with crayons and markers. As Tom Hanks' character says in "You've Got Mail" - "Don't you love New York in the fall? It makes me wanna buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address." Of course, with school-age grandchildren, I still feel that flutter of excitement with them as the new school year begins. But September has a sad association with it, too. And my heart knows it even before my conscious mind registers it.

It was three years ago today that we started on the final part of Chris' journey towards the end of life. Callie and Catherine had been visiting for the long weekend and their visit cheered Chris. I was able to capture this image that morning - Catherine snuggling with her beloved Abba. But you can see from their faces that even they must have been aware of what was coming.

Shortly after this photo was taken, Chris told me that he couldn't bear the pain anymore and he started to cry. I knew that I needed to call in the cavalry. I made a phone call and within an hour, the house was full of district nurses and the GP.  Chris had already been taking pretty heavy pain meds and was even using a pump to get them into his system throughout the day. His sleep was disturbed and he would wake around 3am every morning and talk to me, his pain meds causing him to hallucinate and discuss things that were in his imagination only. It was obvious that now those med levels needed to be increased, meaning he likely would be confined to bed. As the medical folks kept themselves busy with all the tasks they needed to accomplish, Catherine looked so scared and so sad. At one point, she came over and climbed on my lap and held me so tightly and we cried together. I tried to assure her that it would be okay, but we all knew that this was the beginning of the end.

When Callie and Catherine prepared to leave a little later, having stayed to help comfort me as we prepared for a hospital bed to be set up in our living room in the next few days, realising that Chris and I would never share a bed again, Chris said his goodbyes to them, obviously aware within himself that this would be a final goodbye. I handled it pretty well until I heard his goodbye to Catherine. As they sat there, holding each other as tightly as they could, I heard him say in a quiet voice, "You take good care of your Nana for me, okay?" The words were full of such sadness and sweetness, I thought my heart would break right then and there. The next time I saw Callie and Catherine, and the rest of the family, was the day Chris died when they came to stay with me for a little while so I wouldn't be plunged into utter loneliness. 

As I said, I feel the pain of that September now and in each September that has passed since Chris died. I am sure I will feel it in the Septembers to come. I remember how quickly he seemed to go from "kinda" sick to seriously sick. I knew, when he asked me in July to start staying home during my usual market days that he was fading away. From the 3rd of September until he died on the 30th, our house was often full of the kindest people - the district nurses became trusted friends, the health care assistant who bathed Chris and tended to more non-medical needs was wonderful. I was comforted by their presence, as was Chris. 

It's weird - I remember Chris asking me in June what I thought our time left was. I said to him that I strongly sensed that he would not see October. And, sure enough, he died on the last day of September. I was sure he would last one more day, if just to prove me wrong. 

The song I've linked here has always been a favourite one, a song full of sweetness and longing and sadness. This song has touched my heart since I was a very small child. I wonder if somewhere inside my soul, I knew that September would become a month associated with not just sadness but a month of remembering and trying to find comfort in those memories. 


And yes, for the younger folks out there, that is the same Jerry Orbach who starred in "Dirty Dancing" and "Beauty and the Beast."

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