Page 2 of Love Resurrected
There are supposed to be stages, in death and grieving. Instead, my emotions are spanning the spectrum on a minute by minute basis. Feelings that aren’t even supposed to be part of the grieving process. Incredulity. What step is that? The one where I can’t fucking believe she’s leaving me? We dideverythingright. Yet she’s dying anyway. And when she does, I’ll be alone.
I remove her cold, clammy hand from mine and place it gently on the bed beside her. Lately, I get up only to stretch my legs or relieve myself, or sometimes to look out the windows at the stormy sky above the sea. Its fitting nature would have the same struggle as I. Not sure whether to be calm and bright or dark and turbulent. It all depends on Kat and where she’s at in this fight for death. Because it's no longer a fight for life, that ended a while ago. Now it's just about navigating the pathway to whatever lies beyond. With me on the sidelines, watching. And waiting.
Her breath hitches and a soft cry escapes her.
I rush back to her side and brush the thin hairs from her brow. “I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”
Her eyes open slightly. “Brad?” Her voice is raspy and low.
“Yeah, babe. Hi.” I smile and kiss her on the cheek.
“Tired.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know. You just rest. Okay?”
“Water.”
I get her cup of water from the bedside and hold the straw to her mouth. The pull from her lips is feeble.
She struggles to sit. I help prop her up with pillows behind her and to her sides until she looks relatively prone.
This past week, people have been coming by the house to pay their respects and say goodbye. I hate them all. That they waited until now is unforgivable, now that she’s this shell of the person she used to be. Gone is the vibrancy and vivaciousness; the smile that would encompass her entire face is no longer. The sarcastic, inappropriate, beautiful, loving, pain-in-the-ass who would give up her last everything for someone she loved.
Just gone.
These people parade through to saygoodbyeto thisthinglying on our bed comprised of dying tissue, a weakening heart, failing liver, and confused mind. And for what? So they sleep better at night? Ease their conscience?
What will it change?
Nothing.
It’s for them, not her. They know that.
Assholes.
But I let it start. And I continue to let it happen, because I’m weak. All I can do is react. I’m a pathetic excuse for a caretaker. A pathetic excuse for a man. They’ve provided a distraction I would not have had otherwise, and I’ll take about anything right now to stop me from thinking.
The hospice nurse told me this morning it won’t be long now. So, our core group came by earlier for one last pseudo-hurrah before everything goes to shit. Kat was alert for it, issuing her directives for each of us. The amount of energy she spent doing so was immense. After this, there will be no more visitors. Just me, Kat, and the hospice nurse.
“Promise me you’ll move on,” she’d said to me. In front of everyone. “Find another love.”
“I will, baby. Don’t worry,” I placated.
She looked at Ethan. “He’s lying.”
Ethan nodded. “Totally lying.”
The two shared a look I didn’t quite understand.
“You are all here to bear witness,” she’d said to the group. “Brad said he would find love again. Hold him to it.”
Teary-eyed Remi and Lexie both voiced their agreement.
“We aren’t thinking about that, okay, babe?” I’d said. Because as open and accepting as she’s been about her own death is about how disbelieving and rejecting I’ve been about it.
Katwasdoing better.
For a long time, treatment was working, and she felt good.
