I can't sleep. I am consumed with grief, regret, loss, and questions. Earlier this evening, I was told that Sam is going to die.
My stepsister called after dinner to let me know that Sam will be placed in hospice care within the next few days. At least that's the plan for now. I feel ridiculous calling it a plan. But there it is.
There is no hope that he will recover. He is, as my stepsister said, "in limbo". Per his request, she is honoring the papers he had signed stating that no extraordinary measures be taken to prolong his life. Since he cannot swallow, and since his only source of nutrition cannot remain in place for longer than two weeks, once that life-sustaining NG tube is removed, no further action will be taken other than to "make him comfortable" and try to ensure that he doesn't suffer.
But I will suffer.
I had no idea I would be so devastated. I am sick at heart. I am in mourning before his death.
Up until the past few days, I didn't realize how deeply Sam has affected my life. I didn't know I loved him. Even though he has always been a bitter reminder of my father's death, and has never been a replacement for my father, he has been a part of the fabric of my life and psyche since 1967.
I'm not a religious person. I don't believe in God. This is a great disappointment to me, but it's true. However, last night, before I went to sleep, I said out loud:
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord Sam's soul to keep. If Sam should die before I wake, I pray the Lord Sam's soul to take.
I'm going to say it again tonight.
I wish Sam could hear me.
There are rarely any words that bring comfort when confronted with the death of a family member, and I believe that you, like me, my friend, have a really hard time dealing with loss. All I can say is that Sam was very fortunate to live such a long and, up until now, healthy life . Of course, knowing that doesn't make the simple fact that he will soon be gone any easier.
ReplyDeleteThese are the times when I wished I were religious, because believers do posses a certain sense of comfort that we nonbelievers don't, when it comes to end of life circumstances. Although I don't have a particularly strong belief in the spiritual world, I do sometimes wonder if the energy
of the living does get recycled somehow . It would be nice if that were true.
I'm thinking of you Nellie, and I'm so sorry about Sam.Be comforted by the fact that he isn't in pain and that he is well cared for. I'm sure he knows that your thoughts are with him.
Thank you so much JL :) I think I learned a long time ago, in the summer of '65, the summer of my father's death, that ANY kind words are comforting. And yours are especially so, and mean more to me than I can express in any words I can think of.
ReplyDeleteI share the same thoughts about being religious. For better or for worse, I think I'll probably remain a person of non-faith, in the religious sense. I do have faith, but it's in myself and other people. I do envy believers. I know many. They do derive comfort from their faith.
I think my father was an atheist. He wanted to be cremated, but my mother refused to do that and insisted on a burial. So now his remains are keeping my mother's parents company at Mt. Ararat on Long Island. That's probably a horrible thing to say, but it's true.
I put my mother on a waiting list for a room at an Alzheimer's Unit a couple of miles from my home. A bit ambivalent about it, given our history, but I don't want her to be alone.
I'm certain that prayers are efficacious, although not always in ways that are easy to understand. I'm also certain that although death can make nature seem wasteful, carelessly demolishing the glorious thing that was a person, much is saved nevertheless.
ReplyDeleteThese are huge events. I wish you strength.
Well, I trust that you are right about prayers. Unfortunately, I'm an extremely empirical person - I wish I weren't. About a year ago, I actually read a study that "proved" that praying for people doesn't provide the desired outcome. Can you imagine doing a study on that? I think that prayer primarily helps the prayer (that is, the person who prays). Funny that it's the same word.
ReplyDeleteI have decided not to visit Sam while he is hospice since he seems to be in a vegetative state. I'd rather remember "the glorious thing" that was Sam. You write so beautifully. Thank you for your thoughtful kind words. They do help. Nell
I agree, history is full of embarassing "studies".
ReplyDeleteOne of the things empirical life has taught me is that we know very little about how we affect ourselves and one another when we act. A person's prayers bring her a new resolve, and her resolution in turn changes my sense of the whole world. The connection doesn't become clear until much later, and it's different from what we anticipated, but we see it was there all the same. Prayer's first effect may be on the one who prays, but I think in many cases that's only the beginning of the story.
It's good to remember that prayer has its complement in attentive receptivity. If we can send words into the dark, we can also wait for communications -- not always in words -- to emerge from the same place. It's hard to do this, but it can be very worthwhile.
You've set forth a complex set of ideas - too much for me to integrate at once. But very intriguing.
ReplyDeleteSomeone prayed for me today. I met with a work colleague and we had a disagreement over something. Suddenly, I found myself in tears apologizing for my disposition. I told her that Sam went into hospice today and that I'm trying to bring my mother closer. She wrapped her huge arms around me and prayed for Jesus to save me and lift my burden. It was very powerful. I think it was her love that lifted me, but I could be wrong about that.
"For Jesus to save me and lift my burden." In its way, a perfect prayer.
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