Adoption The Highs and Lows cont.

The well of emotion I find myself in is, at times, horrific. Yesterday was our first meeting with Hospice. They are a wonderful group of dedicated men and women who make end of life issues a reality for those of us in denial.

I run though anger and fury these days which are lousy emotions to face. I am mad at everyone and no one. There is a pit in my stomach that nothing can fill. My house filled up with people this weekend who laughed and made small talk. I just couldn't find it within me to do the same. Friday night, I crawled into my red Santa pajamas, walked into the living room and said, "Night all," and crept off to bed.

Bobby has started to hallucinate. There are times he doesn't know where he is and he calls for my husband continously. At one point I went into the hall as watching his pain was too much to bear. When I went back, my husband sat in the chair next to him, whispering to him to look for the light, to look for Terry and Don. That they were coming to take him to a place where he'd have no more pain. To just let go. Finally the nurse came in and gave Bob morphine and Atavan. Something for the pain and something for the agitation. 

I am so proud of my family. My niece and nephew drove up from the Bay Area and my kids will arrive as the week goes by. As we stood in Bobby's room, circling his bed, we talked of the past, of people we've lost, and those who would await Bobby on the other side of life. Most of the time, Bob sleeps, though when he wakes he does recognize us. We haven't told him he's dying and he hasn't asked. Today, while I fed him a breakfast of grape soda and popsicles I asked him if he had any questions. He sighed, looked me in the eye, and said not yet Lucy. 

I think he knows. There was a world of grief in his face.  On my way to see him, I kept asking God to let him go that as a family we were ready. That still small voice let me know that maybe we were ready, but Bob wasn't. Somehow, that made me feel better.

There is a beautiful poem by Henry Van Dyke that Hospice shared with us:

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Someone at my sides says, 'There! She is gone."

Gone where?

Gone from my sight is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear the load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me, not her.

And just at that moment when someone at my side says, "There, she is gone!"

There are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!"

And that is dying.