Another year

1000030280.jpg

Last week began year three of widowhood. Weirdly, it was not the day that The Husband died that was the difficult one this year. Rather, it was five days prior. That day, his doctor sat me down and said that he'd deteriorated and she was not sure he'd recover. Ever.

She wanted me to make a decision. A decision I did have to make, ultimately. But not that day because although The Husband could not speak (he had a tracheostemy), that did not mean that he was not lucid and that he didn't understand what was happening to, and around him. He could still communicate. He had agency. Some, at least. I was not going to rob him of what little dignity he had left. It was not for me to decide whether he should live or die. That decision was his to make.

It's a conversation I have difficulty reliving.

He wanted to come home.

That might - might - have been possible if he was again sedated and given another round of hectic intravenous drugs. He - and I knew - that he might never wake up again. He did tell me that even in his sedated state, he knew when I was there. We'd been through that twice before.

When we took his wedding ring off, before the sedative took effect, I promised to wear it and to be there every day. I did. I was.

He rallied over night. It was short-lived. The day after that, the machines - yes, over the 37 days that he was in ICU, I learned their language - told me that everything was deteriorating. The drugs were not working and the machines were keeping his body alive.

I was confronted with making the decision I had refused to take five days earlier. It was a fait accompli because we had - many times - discussed that neither of us was to prolong the inevitable for the other.

1000030129.jpg

This is one of the last photographs of us together - at a wedding. Taken just a few weeks before he went into hospital.

1000030281.jpg

Every year when the aloes flower, from the moment the buds emerge, I am reminded of The Husband's last weeks. One of the things I'd do, is take photographs of their progress and show them to him. I took these a couple of days ago.

Until next time
image.png

Post script

I blog here, on Instagram and via WordPress to my own website. I write for love and a living and you'll find out more about that here. Content for the first two, and sometimes the last, cross pollinate.

Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers' community.


Original artwork: @artywink

I create graphics using partly my own photographs as well as images available freely available on @hive.blog and Canva.



0
0
0.000
5 comments
avatar

I can’t even imagine how difficult that time was for both of you. I love the photo of the two of you at the wedding. Precious memories for sure. My heartfelt thoughts to you and I know he feels you all the time. ❤️🥰

0
0
0.000
avatar

You are a strong, loving and promising wife. The aloes are now one of the living memories of him. Whenever you missed him and someone in heaven just look up the stars and they are watching over you☺

0
0
0.000
avatar
(Edited)

Awe Fiona, it's just so darn unfair the way Tom went, those long trips you took, full of hope! For me it's still unthinkable that you had to make that final call. Even though you both agreed on it.
When one thinks of those difficult moments, it's as if it just happened right now, not so!
These long winter nights are way too cold, in more ways than one!
Keep forgetting to say it, even though I didn't know your Tom, hearing how determined he was to win your heart, and seeing the smile on his face in the photos you've shared, you made him a very happy man💞
You're often in my thoughts❤️

0
0
0.000
avatar

The love you shared, the weight of the decisions you had to carry, and the way you honored his presence and personhood in those final days, it’s all so profoundly human and brave. The image of you taking photos of the aloes, marking time, keeping a promise, still sharing moments with him is beautiful and heartbreaking all at once. Sending hugs!

0
0
0.000
avatar

Sometimes it's those last days that are the most traumatic and I imagine reliving them would be really hard. I can't even imagine how much you must miss him still.

0
0
0.000