We are now staying in a hospice house for the third time; we returned home from the other two, I am not certain that will be the case this time. The Jewish holiday, Sukkot was recently celebrated, a holiday that reminds us of the temporal nature of our homes/ lives. We all live in a sukka . We are short time visitors on this earth plain.
We are surrounded by a tight circle of love from all of our angels. We feel it and breathe and relax in its support. I read and reread and savor the emails, the sweet tributes. I continue to read them to Neil, hopefully he hears them. I do not need to sleep here any longer, but I like to keep watch over him. If he wakes up, he will be disorientated and scared. I am his familiar. He told me last week, he will miss my voice, my reading to him. I will loose him, bu he will loose everyone, everything, this lover of life.
Neil has experienced a noticeable downhill slide in our five days here, now sleeping 24/7. His breathing is strong and steady; he does not seem to be in pain. I told him the Giggle Fund is growing, I saw a tear form and roll down his cheek. He holds the title of being the second of Hospices longest surviving patients. Two days ago, he told me he could see his mother standing nearby.
On our second night here, he was still able to express himself. The night nurse, Faith, introduced herself. Neil took one look and was infatuated.
"You are so beautiful", he told her.
"I think I like you," she responded. "No one has told me I am beautiful for a very long time."
He asked her if he could hold her hand and she willingly complied. (It is a good thing I am not the jealous type). Faith is about 30, soft spoken and truly lovely. It was 9:30 pm, I had just put on my night clothes, with my cuddly, warm fleece jacket over my shoulders, my second skin, as I am always cold. I smiled and watched this tender scene, between Neil and his night nurse, Suddenly Neil turned, looked at me and said, "What are you wearing, you can't dress like that here. This is a very nice place. You should get yourself some new clothes." The next day I went shopping for a new nightgown,which I am now wearing under my cozy fleece jacket. I had the feeling that it was not only Neil who had a visit from his mother. She spoke through him, always a fashion plate. For me, though, comfort,warmth and coziness trump style. Besides they keep it so cold in here.
Each day brings dramatic new changes. He is no longer aware of Faith. He is not watching TV or
asking for news. He is withdrawing from the world. On Friday I bought him a corned beef sandwich, he really wanted to go out to lunch, forgetting he could not get out of bed. He ate it along with a bowl of sweet and sour cabbage soup. On Saturday he did not eat or drink; he spent the day sleeping, but was up most of the night. He is aware when people are around, but frustrated by not being able to talk/entertain/interact. His words are often garbled and slurred. Not being able to express himself so frustrating for him, a linguist and a people person.
Outside Neil's hospice room is a dazzling butterfly garden......Monarchs, zebra stripped butterflies, caterpillars, creatures in a dizzying array of colors and life stages, all busy transforming into the next stage of life before our very eyes. The metaphor is poignant and not wasted on us.
Life demands transition/transformation/change. It is all part of nature's creative process. I do not like this part of the process. It is hard to for me to think of loss as creative. Creativity holds such positive connotations for me.
A part of me will be relieved to see Neil released from the prison his body has become. I want him to walk, to run, to swim, to fly.. But thinking about missing him, living without him is not a transition I look forward to experiencing. Making this transformation will be my ultimate creative act.
Cheryl
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