On Letting Go

As I've been reading your comments, and emails, there has been one comment repeated over and over. Even though we know the story, as we read it this time around, we keep hoping for a different ending. Strangely enough, I feel the same way. I have been dreading posting today, because it will mean that Joe's story is over, yet again. It was so hard to let him go the first time, and each year at the anniversary, it's been equally as difficult. I don't want to let him go, I really don't. I want to write a different ending. But I can't. So here is the real ending:

Thursday

At around 6am the doctors woke me up and told me that my talk with Joe, and my arms around him had worked wonders. His oxygen levels had gone way up, and he was in better condition than he had been the night before. I went into the waiting room to share the good news with all the sleepless people who had gathered. Melanie left to call people with the good news. My step-father questioned if my mother really needed to fly home after all. I left the hospital for the first time in almost 24 hours to walk next door for coffee. I felt myself breathing for the first time in days.

But within a few hours, his oxygen levels went back down. The doctors had to perform the same procedure that they did in the middle of the night; turn him back over, this time onto his back.

When I was allowed to go back in the room to see Joe after they flipped him, I was shocked all over again by what I saw. I had become accustomed to the huge amount of fluid in him, the 40 pounds that he had gained in the past few days no longer phased me.

What was new was the discoloration in his arms and legs. They had turned blue. When I touched them, they were ice cold. Even through my gloved hands, they were too cold to touch. His eyes, which were closed, had blood continuously pouring out of them. I asked permission to wipe them dry, and it become a never ending struggle to keep the blood away. His ears no longer looked like ears. They were completely crusted over and curled up.

I asked the nurse about his arms and legs. She explained that when your body's blood levels get very low, the blow circulates around the organs that need it most. Therefore it stops circulating through the limbs. I asked if he would lose his limbs, and she told me that was a possibility.

I didn't leave Joe's side all day. I kept rubbing his arms in legs in a vain attempt to warm them up. I also never stopped talking to him. I never stopped telling him to fight. I never stopped talking about our future, and our childrens' futures. I also kept singing him a song that he would always sing to Jacob. But every time I would sing it, my voice would break, and the tears would start up. I just couldn't believe what was happening before my eyes. I couldn't believe what was happening to my future.

My sister and the nurse insisted that I lie down, but I refused to leave the room. They set me up on a chair in the corner of the room. While I was sitting there, I heard my sister remark on how cold Joe was. The nurse decided to take his temperature. This was a disaster. Joe's tongue had become so enlarged, she couldn't get the thermometer under it. When she finally was able to get it in, it registered 92 degrees fahrenheit. This shocked me enough to get back up, and continue talking to him.

At around 3:30, my mother finally arrived. I was never in my life so relieved to see her. And so it was, for the next two hours my mother, sister and I stood by Joe and told him various stories, most of them funny.

At around 5 pm my sister went to eat some salad. She was also pregnant, and had not been eating or sleeping nearly enough. My mother insisted that I lay back down on the chair in the corner of the room.

I lay down, closed my eyes, and listened to my mother's familiar voice as she talked to Joe. She told him that my sister was eating salad, and that I was finally resting. I think that was Joe's signal. He had waited for my mother to get there, he had waited for me to relax just a bit, and now it was time for him to go.

I heard the heart monitor making a strange sound. I sat right up and asked the nurse what was going on. My mother told me to lie back down, but the nurse told her no, that not only should I not lie down, but that someone should get my sister. I stood up and rushed to the bed. The nurse looked in my eyes and said, "This is it. He's going."

The room was suddenly filled with all of the doctors who had been treating him, along with numerous residents. I didn't notice any of them as I began letting go.

I had taken off my gloves when I lay down, but now I instinctively ran my hands through his hair. I suddenly realized what I had done and looked at the nurse. She told me not to worry, to touch him all I wanted. And so my hands never left his body. Finally we were skin to skin. For the last time, I was touching my husband.

I told Joe that is was ok, he had tried so hard to fight, but now it was time to let go, and rest. I promised him that I would talk to the boys about him every day, that they would know him through me. I promised him that I would be strong, and would make him proud. I told him how proud I was of him, and how much I loved him.

Then I panicked. I changed my mind. I wasn't ready to let go. I looked up at the nurse and said, "I've changed my mind. He can't go! Can I tell him to fight again?"

She looked at me with tears in her eyes. "You can tell him whatever you want. But he's going."

My sister has told me since that at that point she wanted to scream at all the doctors to do something, to save him. But as she looked around she could see that they were all crying too. She knew that there was nothing left for them to do.

I went back to telling Joe to go. I promised him we would be ok. I promised him he would never be forgotten. I let him go.

And then he was gone. The heart monitor showed that his heart was no longer beating. The doctor gently announced that he was gone. I insisted that he was lying, because Joe's stomach was still rising and falling. He then unplugged a machine, and his body lay still.

The doctors told me that they would give me privacy, and that I could stay with Joe for as long as I wanted. I remember standing there with my mother, sobbing. I kept asking her how I was supposed to leave him. How can you walk away from the love of your life? How can you say goodbye?

But he was already gone. The body that remained wasn't Joe. It didn't even resemble Joe anymore.

I had let him go.

I am still letting him go.

It's just so hard.

-b

(To everyone who took the time to read this entire story, I thank you for letting me keep my promise to Joe. He will not be forgotten.)

Wednesday

I woke up early, and called the hospital. Joe's nurse from ICU got on the phone and informed me that Joe had a really bad night. His heart had stopped (twice?) and his oxygen levels were far too low. She told me that I should get to the hospital as soon as possible.

Mel picked me up to take me to the hospital, and I remember that being the worst car ride of my life. (No offense, Mel.) I was crying the whole way, and Mel wasn't sure of the best route to get to the hospital. (I live in a suburb not too far out of Boston, and the hospital was right near Fenway Park. Kind of a confusing place to get to.) She took what may have been the longest route possible, but I couldn't focus enough to give her better directions.

I ran into the hospital, and took the elevator up to Joe's floor. Before the nurse would let me in, she prepped me by saying that Joe looked far worse than he had the night before. But that he could likely hear me, so to try staying positive when speaking to him.

You could not imagine more machines hooked up to one person. He had tubes coming out of every spot possible. He had also blown up to be even larger than he had been the night before, and his ears were folded over from all of the fluid. He was no longer Joe.

The only positive thing was that the doctors had determined it safe to not wear a mask if you had already had the chicken pox. I still had to wear gloves, which was annoying, because I just wanted to touch Joe, skin to skin. But at least my mouth was uncovered.

Wednesday was a long day. My sister arrived at around noon with Joe's parents. They provided the comic relief for the day. Not because they were trying to be funny, but because the questions they asked were so asinine. Joe's dad, when sitting down with the resident in charge for a family meeting, asked the following questions:

Where did you go to undergrad? (who the fuck cares! But he was pleased by the answer, University of Virginia.)
Will the chicken pox leave scars? (that's the least of our worries.)
and, my favorite:
Let me ask you something, have you tried penicillin? (Eureka! That's it! We can save him! Get the penicillin!)

His parents had Joe in their 50's, so they were pretty old at this point, and really couldn't grasp how serious the situation was. Neither of them could remember if they had the chicken pox as children, and in order to visit Joe they would need blood tests confirming that they had. Neither of them wanted to take the blood test. A nurse actually said to them, "This may be your last chance to see your son alive." I ran from the room crying, and the nurse later apologized to me.

Joe's parents eventually got tested, and were then allowed to visit him. That was terribly sad, especially when Joe's mom kept asking why he wasn't answering her. They really, truly, did not get what was happening. And I really couldn't blame them for that.

There were many meetings throughout the day with various specialists. The social worker from ICU would sit with my sister and me at all of these meetings, and would ask questions that I couldn't think of at the time.

I gave permission for them to try every thing they asked permission for. Every time we would meet with a new specialist my sister would ask him (it was always a man) if he thought Joe would make it. Only one doctor said he had seen people in worse condition make it back. Only one.

Meanwhile, my mother was still in Europe, but was going to be home the following day. I hadn't spoken to her since Joe had gone into the hospital, and finally, late in the day, she was patched through to a hospital phone.

As soon as I heard her voice, I lost it completely.

me: Mom, I don't think he's going to make it!
mom: He's going to be fine, I'm sure of it.
me: But what if he's not?
mom: Then I'll quit my job and stay home with the boys, and you'll go back to work.
me: ok. Please come home.

(Of course, after Joe died, my mom said she really didn't think he would die, and the thought of staying home with my kids was too depressing, so I'd better find day care, but that's a story for a different day :O) )

That night my sister and I playfully tortured Joe. First we watched American Idol in his room, and told him everything that was going on. At one point the nurse asked us if Joe was a fan of the show, and we had to tell her that he hated it. She gave us quite the look.

To make up for it, we watched the Red Sox game after Idol. We were trying to do play by play announcements, but kept screwing up. We imagined that Joe was saying to himself, "Will they please shut the fuck up!" This made us do it more of course.

Finally my sister said she had to get back to my house. Jrowe and Mark were watching Jacob, and she needed to relieve them. I didn't want her to go, but I understood.

The night nurse encouraged me to get some rest too. They set me up in a little room off of the ICU waiting room. There was a cot with a pillow and blanket.

I was awakened twice. The first time was at about midnight. Two doctors were knocking on my door. They were going to try some procedure, and they needed me to sign permission for them to do so. It took me a while to fall back asleep because I was so anxious, but finally I did.

Until the 2 am knocking started. The same two doctors were back, and they looked really upset. I sat straight up and asked them what was wrong. Dr. J told me that Joe's oxygen levels were horribly low, and the only thing they could think of to make the levels improve was to turn him over. But he had so many IV's in him, turning him over was very risky. If he lost any of the IV's.... so they wanted me to say my goodbyes to him, just in case.

I couldn't believe it. I begged them to save Joe. I told them that I was only 29 years old, that we had a baby at home, that I was pregnant. I told them that they were not allowed to let him die. They told me that they would try everything they could, but just in case, they wanted me to have a few minutes alone with Joe.

Before I went into Joe's room, the nurse asked me if I wanted her to call the hospital's rabbi. I said yes. She asked me if I wanted her to call anyone else. I said Mel.

I then went in to see Joe. I told him that I loved him more than anything, and that I needed him here with me. I told him that he needed to fight with everything he had in him. That he could not leave us. I reminded him that he wanted to teach Jacob how to hit a baseball, how to ride a bike, how to do so many things. He needed to fight. He couldn't leave.

The doctors came in and told me that it was time. I went into the waiting room and sobbed. I called Kristen on the phone, and told her that Joe was about to die.

The rabbi found me, sitting by myself in the dark, sobbing. He tried to console me, but it wasn't doing any good. Mel arrived and put her hand on my back. My brother, his wife, and my step-father arrived. No one spoke. We just waited.

Finally the doctors came in and said the procedure was successful. I was allowed to see Joe again.

I went in to find him now lying on his stomach. I wrapped my arms around him and told him I was so proud of him. I pulled a chair up next to him, put my head on his back, draped my arm around his side, and fell fast asleep.

-b

Tuesday continued

I made a request in the post below, for BCA (Brett) to comment about Tuesday. Brett was Joe's best friend, and he actually got to see Joe on Tuesday before he was put in a coma. He was kind enough to email me a post that went along with Tuesday. Thank you Brett. Your words mean a lot to me. Here it is:

I generally prefer to not think/talk about these sorts of things in life, mostly, I find it better to manage them internally…that's just me. For you B, I will make an attempt.

Though I have been reading for the past few days, and in some gross way, eagerly waiting to see how you'd capture the next day and the next, it is odd how much it's like a movie you've seen six, seven, eight times when it gets to that part where even though you know what comes next, you keep hoping there's a different turn to the story. Whatever human emotion/quality, I don't know what to call it, how can it- the thought of something different even happen, when you know the facts to be what they are. Bizarre…

For me, Tuesday was the first time I knew about any of this at all happened to Joe, and I say this, not meaning I should have been told sooner, but to show just how odd it was to have spoken with my friend Joe so recently and now to be getting a call at work from B saying you need to come today, right now, because he may not make it. Make “what”, what the hell is going on, I thought. I didn't even know what had happened, though I think I assumed it was one of his "standard" hospital trips for the GI condition he had. I immediately left work and headed to the hospital. I remember B, though clearly being shaken and nervous, seemed to be composed enough to talk with me when I arrived, but to say you also seemed distracted would be understated. Yes, I remember having to glove my hands and put a mask on, all that precautionary stuff you mentioned. He was as you described. I had to look close, deep and long to recognize it was even him. I remember being the kind of surprised/shocked when I saw him that only truly skilled people can hide, because the rest of us can only act and talk normal, while our faces tell the truth of it all. I hoped he hadn’t seen the look on my face, I remember thinking that. The nurse gave me notice that I’d need to leave the room about 3 or so minutes after I entered the room, who knows why. He wasn’t able to talk, though it was absolutely clear he knew who I was and why I was there…you don’t need words for some things in life, you only have to look into someone’s eyes to exchange a message. Then I tried to talk a bit and keep it light. For anyone who has never had the experience to talk “with” someone who can talk, but is not able to talk, it can be a draining process. Fundamentally these are the things we all take for granted, talking, walking, hearing, etc. - basic human activity type things. I’ve had some family experience with it though so I don’t feel like I miss a beat and I tried to do that here also so it was less apparent to Joe hopefully. I told him he’d beat this thing and not to worry, just get some rest. Every other time he was in the hospital he had it tough but always came out OK, this would be the same. I had just recently gone to a Sox game and I think I was listening to that day’s game on the radio during the ride into town to see him, so I told him what I thought of the Sox lineup and pitching staff, and how this-guy was doing well for early in the season and that-guy wasn’t carrying his weight. (He loved the Sox, more precisely the Park they played in. Five months later they won the World Series. It pissed me off he didn’t get to see that.) That was the extent of it, the nurse asked me to leave again, so I told him I’d come back to see him and I left. To be fair, I feel like I remember coming back that week and they wouldn’t let me in to see him, but I don’t know for sure, after that visit I’m a bit fuzzy, until I got the phone call.

Tuesday

As soon as I woke up, I called Joe's cell phone. It went straight to voicemail. Each time I called it went straight to voicemail. It wasn't until I eventually made it to ICU, that I realized cell phones weren't allowed in the unit. I was no longer able to talk to Joe. Or more accurately, Joe was no longer able to talk to me.

My sister drove up from NYC first thing in the morning. My mother had flown to Europe for work the same weekend that Joe was hospitalized. We began trying to contact her through her work to tell her to come home.

I called the hospital and asked for permission to come visit. The Dr. told me that it still wasn't safe, but hopefully by the afternoon I could come in.

I got a phone call around noon. My sister and I had just sat down for lunch. It was the Dr. She told me that Joe was having a lot of difficulty breathing, due to the chicken pox in his throat. They decided that the best option for him was to put him in a medicated coma, so that he could be comfortable. Then, in a few days, when things were better, they would take him out of it.

I asked questions about the procedure, and kept making her reassure me that he would come out of it. She said she couldn't 100% guarantee it, but he was just too uncomfortable the way he was. There was really no alternative.

She then told me that she was going to put Joe on the phone with me, so I could speak to him prior to the procedure.

Regret number three is not jumping into the car, and driving to that hospital before they began the procedure, but I just wasn't thinking clearly, and there's no way they would have let me into ICU without clearance.

They put Joe on the phone with me for what would ultimately be our last conversation.

"Hello?" he said weakly.
"Hi babe," I responded, trying hard not to cry.
"Did they tell you what they're gonna do?" he asked me.
"Yes. How do you feel about it?"
"I'm scared," he said, choking up.
"Don't be scared. The Dr. told me this is just to make you more comfortable. You'll be awake on Friday, and this will all be over."
"I've got to go," he said.
"I love you!" I yelled.
"I love you," he whispered.

Finally, in the late afternoon, I was given permission to visit Joe. Nothing could have prepared me properly for the world of ICU. I'm not sure if any of you have ever been in ICU. First you have to ring a bell to get in. Then when you get inside to the unit, there are curtained off areas with beds in them.

But there are also mini rooms in the ICU, for those that are contagious. You need to go through one set of glass doors to a scrub room. There you need to put on a mask, gloves and gown. Then you're allowed to go through the second glass door to the patient.

That is the room Joe was in. But he was no longer Joe.

He was connected to numerous IV's, and was blown up like a balloon. The nurse, greeted me by saying, "We were wondering when you would get here." I felt like screaming at her, but instead focused my attention on my husband, who was a shell of the man I left on Saturday night.

Unless you saw Joe, I cannot accurately describe what he looked like. The best way to describe it, is that he was filled with about 20 pounds of fluid. He had gone from 160 pounds to 180 pounds in 72 hours, and at least 10 of them were in his face.

The nurse told me that although he couldn't respond, he could hear me. I spoke awkwardly to him for about an hour, and then we were told that we needed to go. I told Joe that I would be back in the morning, squeezed his hand through my gloved hand, kissed his cheek through my mask, and walked out of the room.

-b
edited to add: I really appreciate all of the comments you have been leaving. If you have been reading, please at least just say hi. This story is so close to my heart, I just want to know who I'm sharing it with. Also, BCA, I know that you saw Joe on this day. Could you please share your version of the day with everyone?

Monday

I was awakened by my friend Kristen calling me at 5:30 am. Joe usually watched Jacob while I was at work, and I was supposed to have conferences with all the parents in my class on Monday, so I scrambled to find back up child care. Kristen had said she could do it, but was calling to say that her own daughter was too sick to make the trip.

I decided that I had to call in sick to school and stay home with Jacob. I called Joe on his cell phone at about 8:00, and actually tried to make him feel guilty that I had to call in sick. He sounded so distant, and it was pissing me off.

I went on a walk with Mel (who was home on maternity leave) and our kids, and I remember complaining about how depressed Joe sounded. I thought that he could at least try to sound upbeat when speaking to me.

I took Jacob to music class with Mel and her girls, but felt anxious through the whole thing.

I went home, called Joe, and told him I was coming to see him. He told me not to come in. When I asked him why, he told me that his rash had spread, and he didn't want me to see him looking the way he was. I told him that I didn't care how he looked, I just wanted to see him. He firmly told me not to come in.

I called him again about an hour later. I asked him for an update. He told me the doctors still didn't know what was wrong with him, but that he was really sick. Again I pleaded with him to let me visit, and again he told me not to come.

I called my friend Nikki, crying. I told her that I just wanted to know what was going on. She suggested that I call Joe's physician.

I called his primary care physician, and the receptionist picked up.

R: Hello, Dr. O's office
me: Hi, my name is b, and
R: Hold on one minute, the Dr. wants to talk to you

This exchange was my first inkling that something was really wrong. The Dr. got on the phone, and quickly informed me that Joe was really sick. I asked what exactly was wrong with him, and he told me that they were still unsure, but people from the Center for Disease Control were trying to determine that.

I asked if Joe could die from whatever it was, and the Dr.'s words sent chills through my spine. "He could. If I were you I would come in as soon as possible."
I told the Dr. that Joe was telling me not to come in.
"How is your marriage?" he asked.
"Our marriage is great!" I responded.
"He probably is worried about you seeing him in the state he's in. But I would come in."

I hung up the phone and called Nikki back, crying hysterically. I told her that the news wasn't good, that he could die. I think she, like most people I spoke to at that time, thought I was exaggerating. How could he die from this unknown illness?

I packed a bag to bring to Joe. I put fresh clothes, magazines, and pictures in it. I was so naive, thinking he'd be changing clothes, or reading.

I called him one more time to tell him that I was coming in. He said that he was glad, that he wanted to see me.

Right before I left the house the phone rang. It was Joe, asking me if Jacob's friends had the chicken pox recently.

"Is that what you have?" I asked.
"Yes," he answered.
"Oh thank god!" I said.

I felt almost giddy as Mel got in my car.

"It's just the chicken pox!" I told her excitedly.

We got to the hospital, took the elevator up to Joe's floor, and walked out of the elevator. I saw a large group of doctors huddled together, talking. I told Mel that I was sure they were discussing Joe.

Here's my second regret. I should have just walked to Joe's room. Instead I walked over to the doctors, and told them my name. They looked at me with such pity. They told me that they were moving Joe to ICU because he was so uncomfortable. He needed a full time nurse, and he could only get that in ICU.

I told them I was going to see him, and they informed me that I couldn't. They knew that he had the chicken pox, but they couldn't rule out other things as well. Since I was 7 months pregnant, they couldn't risk the baby catching something.

I begged them to let me go in for just a minute. The answer was no. I asked if I could just stand in his doorway. No. I couldn't believe it. Joe was so close, yet so far. I went to the waiting room where Melanie was. I started crying, as I told her the doctors wouldn't let me see Joe.

We left feeling defeated. Joe called me soon after I got home.

"What happened?" he asked.
"They wouldn't let me see you. I came, but they wouldn't;t let me go in." "I'm so sorry, Joe. I'm so sorry."
"I need sleep," he said.
"I love you," I told him.
click

-b

Sunday

I awoke to the phone ringing at 5:40 am. My neighbor was calling to say that Jacob had awakened, and she didn't have any formula to give him. (He was only 10 months at the time, so he wasn't yet drinking milk.) I walked across the street and brought my baby home.

It was a rainy day, and I was exhausted from the previous day, so when Jacob fell back asleep, I took the opportunity to sleep as well.

We woke up around 9, and I started calling Joe's cell phone. There was no answer for hours. Finally, around noon, he called me. He had just been given a room. For almost 24 hours he had been lying next to the nurse's station. He was beyond exhausted, and told me that he just wanted to sleep. I told him that I wanted to visit him, but he said not to bother, just to let him sleep.

My school had just been completely rebuilt, and the dedication ceremony was that day. I was on the committee that planned the day, so I decided that I may as well go to the ceremony with Jacob.

After the ceremony I took Jacob shopping. Joe called me while we were at the mall. He said that the doctors were still unsure what was wrong with him, and when he would be coming home.

When I got home I put Jacob down for a nap. I called Joe and asked for an update.

"I'm really sick," he said.
"What's wrong with you?" I asked.
"They don't know," he answered.
I sunk down into his chair, and began to cry.
"This is so hard. I need you here."
"You can do it. Try to stay strong. I've gotta go," he replied.

I don't have many regrets in life. But one of my biggest by far is not going to visit Joe that day, three years ago. I just had no idea how bad it was about to get.

I can't even believe it was three years ago. This whole retelling makes me realize how much it feels like yesterday. It's that clear. I even remember what I was wearing, what Jacob was wearing, what I fed him that day, the way my stomach lurched when Joe said that he was really sick, the smell of his leather chair, the sound of worry in his voice, the helplessness that I felt.

And the statement I made, "This is so hard. I need you here." It rings true now more than ever. I can't believe he never got to come home. He knew I needed him here, and he didn't come home.

Thanks for reading.

-b

Saturday

I got up with Jacob at about 6am, as was my usual weekend routine. I fed and played with him for about an hour, and then we both went back to bed.

I awoke an hour later to the sound of Joe throwing up in the bathroom. While this make me anxious, it wasn't unheard of in our house. Joe has an intestinal disease that acted up from time to time. We both assumed that his feeling sick was due to this disease.

In fact when Jacob woke up about an hour later, I told Joe that it was his turn to get up. He got Jacob up, went down and made coffee, and was soon back in our bed complaining that his stomach hurt, and that the bump in his ear was driving him crazy.

I took Jacob for a walk with my neighbor, and actually complained about the fact that Joe was complaining. I attributed it to him being a guy, that he was acting like he was in such pain. (no offense guys, but you're not the best at dealing with being sick.)

I then took Jacob to his music class, and brought him home for a nap. I was supposed to meet my friend for lunch, and I asked Joe if I should cancel or go. He told me to go, but asked that I try to be back before Jacob woke up from his nap. The restaurant was 30 minutes away, but I thought that due to music class, Jacob would sleep for 2 hours. So I went.

As we finished our meal I heard my cell phone ring. (I discovered later that it had rung numerous times during our meal, but it was too noisy to hear the ring.) Upon hearing Joe's voice I knew something was really wrong. He could barely speak, but asked me if I was almost home. I told him I was on my way, and got in my car.

I called my neighbor and asked if she could go get Jacob from my house. She agreed, and so I called home to tell Joe my plan. He heard me and hung up without saying a word. My neighbor later told me that she found him lying on the ground. He could barely lift his head up.

I told Joe that we were going to the ER. He went to take a shower. I'll never forget the horrors of that shower. He brought Jacob's plastic stepstool into the tub, so he could sit, but even so he was sobbing while the water splashed him. (Joe wasn't one to cry at all.)

I helped him get dressed and we got in the car. Joe brought a pillow with him, and was squeezing it in pain the entire ride, while crying. At one point I asked him if I should pull over and call an ambulance, but he told me to keep driving.

I dropped him at the door to the ER and went to park the car. By the time I got inside the ER, he was already on a stretcher with a morphine drip in his arm.

It was a busy day in the ER, and Joe was never given a curtained off area. Instead his stretcher lay next to the nurse's station in the middle of the room. The noisiest spot he could possibly be. At times the morphine drip would work enough to allow Joe to speak calmly, but most of the time he was in so much pain he was either screaming or crying. The nurses told me repeatedly to quiet him down, and that he needed to be patient. I think of those nurses often, and wonder if they ever found out that the patient they considered impatient was actually dying in front of their eyes.

Throughout the day we spoke to numerous doctors, and retold the same story to each of them. A rash had begun spreading all over his body, and I asked at least 3 of these doctors if the rash could be chicken pox. All of them quickly said no.

Joe had a cat scan, which showed that his intestines were totally clear, but that his liver looked inflamed. This puzzled all of us, because we assumed that his pain was due to his intestinal disease.

It was at this time (about 7pm) that Joe began feeling like he had to pee constantly. I would take him into the bathroom, helping him stand, and pushing his IV. But each time he was unable to pee at all, and instead would have horrible pain. I thought that maybe he had kidney stones, but the doctors couldn't see any evidence of them. They decided to give Joe a catheter, so he would be out of that pain at least.

I sat by Joe's side until midnight, at which point he insisted I go home. "You've got our baby in you to care for. You need your sleep," he said.

I kissed him, told him I loved him, and left, still unsure of what was wrong with him.

That was the last time I got to see him conscious.

-b

Joe's Story

Tonight marks the three year anniversary of Joe's decline. Those of you who were readers last year, may remember that I wrote Joe's story out day by day. The purpose was for Joe's story never to be forgotten. I have decided to re post Joe's story, and hope that you will read it and comment on it. If you are a new reader, I would love for you to let me know that you are here. If you are an "old" reader, I would love for you to let me know that you are here. And if I know you personally, I would love your input on Joe's story. What was going through your mind each day that the story took place? Were you in my house during any of this time? How did you find out that he was sick? Who told you he died? I know that it was three years ago, but I would really love your participation in this one. So please, indulge me.
Love,
b

Three Years Ago Tonight*

Joe went out after work and had dinner at a local bar, along with two beers, and smoked a cigar. He then came home, watched TV with me, and went up to bed with me. I enjoyed his company in bed as much as a 7 month pregnant woman could.

Then he started complaining about a bump in his ear. I was annoyed, because he was often finding things wrong with himself. I mean he often felt sick in one way or another, so I was annoyed that he was feeling fine, but fretting over this bump in his ear. He even had me use a flashlight to examine said bump.

I pronounced it a zit, rolled over and went to sleep.

Little did we know that this was our last night together. That he had eaten his last meal, drank his last beers, smoked his last cigars, and had his final sexual act. If only we had known....

-b

*While the date this actually took place was April 30th, 2004, it was a Friday night. Because Joe's illness was so brief, I associate the days of the week more than the actual dates. My intention is to retell what happened each day up until his death.

Mother's Day

Mother's Day has not traditionally been a good day here. My first Mother's Day as a mother was the day of Joe's funeral. My second Mother's Day as a mother was spent at the cemetery for Joe's unveiling (a ceremony where the tombstone is unveiled for the first time). My third Mother's Day as a mother was spent cleaning out the basement that was flooding due to extraordinarily heavy downpours.

My fourth Mother's Day as a mother is promising to be much better than my past ones. My mother has offered to (gasp!) take my sons for the weekend. T and I will be traveling to Kennebunkport, Maine to relax and dine out. We will be staying here. I am very much looking forward to spending my nights here, and am particularly looking forward to breakfast.

I figure I am due a good Mother's Day, right?

-b

What a difference the sun makes

The boys and I had a wonderful
weekend together
courtesy of
the sun
I actually felt like a good mom
for the first time
in a while
enjoy the pictures below

-b

This picture was taken through my dining room window screen. This is the first year I've been able to leave the boys in the yard without me present. The yard is fenced in, and the boys know not to leave. I keep the windows open so that I can hear them at all times. AT one point it got a little too quiet for my likings. I went to the window to peak, and they were whispering to each other, and aiming the hose at the neighbor who was hanging her laundry. Luckily, the water hasn't been turned back on yet for the season!
Jacob blowing bubbles. Am I the only mother out there who despises bubbles? Is there any activity messier than bubbles? But it's still cute to watch them get the first few bubbles out.

Josh was insistent that Brooklyn needed Poland Springs water. I, of course, let him feed it to her.Spring has sprung in our backyard!

This One's For The Believers

For whatever reason, the boys have been talking about Joe a lot recently. His death comes up at least once a day.

Tonight, as I was stuggling to get the boys ready for bed, Jacob pointed to Joe's Red Sox hat hanging on the wall in the playroom.

"Is that my daddy's hat?" he asked.
"It is," I replied.
"Can I wear it?"
"No. It's a special hat. But you can wear one of his shirts."
"Mommy, I miss daddy. Why can't he come back?"
"Because he died."

At this point Joshua, who had been listening to this exchange, ran from the playroom into his bedroom corner, looked up at the ceiling, and began yelling, "Daddy, come back! Daddy, come back now! Daddy, we miss you!"

This went on for a few minutes, until I finally asked him why he was yelling at the ceiling.
He pointed with his finger at the corner and said, "Because daddy is right there."

"You can see him?"
"uh huh."
"What's he doing?"
"He's looking sad."
"He misses us mommy."

Told you it was for the believers.....

-b

Sinking

It's that time of year again. If you've been reading for a while, or you know me personally, you know that this is the time of year that hits me hardest. This is the lead up to the anniversary of Joe's hospitalization, and subsequent death. Last year at this time I was a disaster. This year? Not much better.

I thought that having T around might make things different, and they did a bit. But now he's gone away for the next week, and I'm a bit sick, and all of the unfinished businesses with grad school, and preschool, and regular school are taking their toll on me. I was actually kind of looking forward to T going away, so I could have freedom to be depressed. But now I just want him back.

To top it all off, we were supposed to go to NYC this week. I still haven't seen baby Sophia yet. But I'm too sick to go, and so I'm stuck here alone and depressed.

I hate this time of year.

I'm sinking. Again.

-b

A Mom's Worst Nightmare

Is there anything worse
than sending
your child
your blood
your life

to school

a place where they
are assumed to be safe
where they are learning
to become the person
they are meant to be

and then hearing on the news
that there was a shooting
and your child
your blood
your life

is dead?

I don't think there is
anything worse

My heart is breaking
for all the mothers
who received that news
yesterday

-b

Frustrated

I'm feeling super frustrated tonight. First of all, I got my financial aid package for preschool for next year. I will have both boys enrolled instead of just Jacob. They gave me almost nothing. It will cost me $29,000 for the year to send them to school! That's with the aid! I cannot afford that. Can anyone afford that? No wonder I feel so out of place when I'm around all the other moms at his school.

I also got a letter in the mail from grad school stating that I need to take 4 more classes to graduate! 4 more classes! But I have the credits I need. Clearly this is a computer screw up, so I emailed my advisor, who is also the head of the department, and has advised me through my last two years. The email bounced back saying she is on maternity leave this semester. So now I have to wait until Monday (Or Tuesday, b/c Monday is a holiday in MA), and try to figure out how to clear this up.

I'm frustrated!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-b

Anger Issues

Josh has anger issues
around Joe's death
Who can blame him?

He keeps killing his doll
telling his doll
that she's bad
and he wants her dead

This happens every time
Joe's name
comes up

This can't be a good thing
thoughts?

-b

I'm it!

I'm it!

Pentha tagged me with a meme of trios.

Three things that scare me:

1. T leaving me
2. Something bad happening to my boys
3. Something happening to me, leaving my boys without a mom

Three people who make me laugh:

1. My kids
2. T
3. Patrick

Three things I love:

1. Watching reality tv while browsing the computer
2. Snuggling with my boys
3. Great sex

Three things I hate:

1. Driving in the snow
2. Losing my internet connection
3. The way my body looks

Three things I don't understand:

1. How does one die from the chicken pox?
2. War
3. Debi T.

Three things on my desk:

1. My television
2. VCR
3. DVD player

Three things I'm doing right now:

1. Watching The Real World
2. Missing T
3. Throwing the dog a toy over and over and over

Three things I want to do before I die:

1. Hold my grandchildren
2. Publish some of my writings
3. Find a new happily ever after

Three things I can do:

1. Bake cookies quite well
2. Make people laugh
3. Teach

Three things I can't do:

1. Sing
2. drive a standard
3. Dance

Three things I think you should listen to:

1. Bruce Springsteen's The Rising
2. Your children
3. The still, small voice

Three things you should never listen to:

1. George W. Bush
2. Advice from frenemies
3. Your inner voice that tells you that you can't do something

Three things I'd like to learn:

1. How to have patience
2. How to enjoy life to the fullest
3. How to stop replaying Joe's death

Three favorite foods:

1. Eggplant Parm
2. Pizza from Staten Island
3. Chocolate cake

Three shows I watched as a kid:

1. The Brady Bunch
2. The Twilight Zone (80's edition)
3. Facts of Life

Three things I regret:

1. Not staying with Joe the whole time he was in the hospital
2. The night in Virginia when I was 14
3. Getting a dog (just at this moment)

Three people I tag:
Mel (so she can update her damn blog)
Jenn
Nat

How I know That T will be an Amazing Father

The day before Easter T went out and bought everything we'd need to dye Easter eggs. Unfortunately, when it came to the eggs themselves, he picked out brown ones. The boys couldn't have cared less, as this was the first time they'd ever dyed eggs, and they didn't know what they should look like.

The had a great time dunking, and re dunking the eggs into the various color dyes, and exclaiming how beautiful they were. Meanwhile, T kept muttering, "Why did I buy brown eggs?"

Saturday night T and I went out on a date. On the way home T pulled into the grocery store and told me to wait in the car. He was back in a flash with a mischievous look, and a bag full of white eggs. Yep, you guessed it, we were going to dye new eggs.

And so it was, at midnight, Easter eve (is that a term?) T and I were sitting at the dining room table dying eggs. All because T wanted them to wake up to bright colorful eggs that they would think they dyed.

That's T.

-b

first batch

2nd batch

egg hunting

Brooklyn, a year later

We brought her home a year ago, yesterday.
This was her today.

-b

Breakfast In Bed

My boys
(all 3 of them)
surprised me this morning
with a delicious
(but slightly cold)
breakfast in bed
I am so lucky

-b

Yours, Mine, Ours, & His?

T spent the day at home today while I was at work. he decided to use his day off to clean/organize the kitchen. When I got home I was pleased to see the results of his labor. The kitchen was rearranged in ways that made sense, the clutter was gone, the counters shined.

"You know what I noticed as I was cleaning?" T asked me while we sipping our after work cappuccinos.

"What?" I innocently replied.

"Joe is everywhere."

"Hmm?"

"Joe is everywhere."

"What do you mean? Give me examples."

T then pointed out at least 15 places in my kitchen that represented Joe. He was in a photograph with his arm around me, on the refrigerator. He was the giant ash tray from Cuba sitting on the window sill. He was the empty beer cans that were sitting in the cabinet over the stove. (Yes, Joe's empties.) He was the trinkets on the other windowsill. He was the cigar boxes that are being used to hold matches. I could go on, but you get the point.

T told me that he's fine having Joe around, he understands that he was/is a big part of my life, and the father of the the boys. But having him everywhere is a bit weird.

I finished drinking my cappuccino, loaded up a basket of laundry, to bring down to the basement. Before I headed to the stairs I loaded up a bit of Joe. I won't pack up all of Joe. T wouldn't want me to, nor would I feel comfortable doing so. But I want T to feel like my home is his home. And three's a crowd. So the picture, the ash tray, and the humidification unit are now resting downstairs in the basement. It's time for Joe to find a new place in our home.

-b