Randy’s
mind was pretty far gone at the end. Yes, this was difficult and
painful, but the getting there was more difficult than the being there.
Being with him as he knew he was dying and every time he’d wake up with
some new symptom was excruciating. In a
way, we both found some measure of peace once the tumor took over and
freed him from the emotional agony he was going through.
At this point he was on a lot of pain meds but they didn’t want to dope him up unnecessarily, so they would give him the really strong stuff at bedtime. This knocked him out around 7 or 8, but often he would wake back up at 10 or 11 and be talkative. He didn’t make much sense but he would know who I was and that I was in the room with him, so I’d grab my laptop and sit on the floor mattress by his bed (they had him in a lowered bed because he was a fall risk when he could still move around) and we would just talk about nothing until midnight or later. I really treasured these late-night visits. We had minimal interruptions, he was chatty and sometimes silly, and I’d get online and read him supportive messages people had posted for him.
Our last late-night visit was Saturday, November 8th. He was talking like he always did and I was chatting with a friend online and talking to him at the same time when out of the blue he stated, “Tomorrow is all we have left."
I stopped typing and turned to look at him. “Why do we only have tomorrow?"
“Tomorrow night."
“We only have until tomorrow night?"
“Yes."
"Are you leaving me tomorrow night, Randy?"
He seemed mildly confused by the question and paused for a moment before replying. “Yes?”
“When?"
“At dinnertime."
I had discovered that when he took a while to answer and his speech was slow and deliberate, it was some glimmer of his real self fighting through. I usually left to go back home Sunday afternoons around dinnertime, but Randy no longer had an understanding of time. He had stopped eating several weeks prior so he didn’t even have that as a reference. It was highly unusual for him to refer to a specific time anymore. I wanted to stay an extra night but I didn’t have many days left I could take off from work so I stayed as late as I could on Sunday until an incoming snowstorm forced me to head home around 6 p.m.
Several weeks before I had started telling him goodnight or that I’d see him later when I left to go back home. He had once become emotional and agitated when I said I was leaving and I didn’t want to cause him distress. He seemed to feel that goodnight meant I was going to be gone for a little while but that I would always come back to him. When I left this time, however, he was already sleeping and because of what he’d told me the night before, I did what I never did anymore. I said goodbye. Three days later he fell asleep and never woke up.
I believe that Randy knew Sunday was the last time we would speak with each other but in his confusion he said he was leaving Sunday around dinnertime rather than I was, as I did every weekend. I believe that he tried to prepare me for what was to come.
At this point he was on a lot of pain meds but they didn’t want to dope him up unnecessarily, so they would give him the really strong stuff at bedtime. This knocked him out around 7 or 8, but often he would wake back up at 10 or 11 and be talkative. He didn’t make much sense but he would know who I was and that I was in the room with him, so I’d grab my laptop and sit on the floor mattress by his bed (they had him in a lowered bed because he was a fall risk when he could still move around) and we would just talk about nothing until midnight or later. I really treasured these late-night visits. We had minimal interruptions, he was chatty and sometimes silly, and I’d get online and read him supportive messages people had posted for him.
Our last late-night visit was Saturday, November 8th. He was talking like he always did and I was chatting with a friend online and talking to him at the same time when out of the blue he stated, “Tomorrow is all we have left."
I stopped typing and turned to look at him. “Why do we only have tomorrow?"
“Tomorrow night."
“We only have until tomorrow night?"
“Yes."
"Are you leaving me tomorrow night, Randy?"
He seemed mildly confused by the question and paused for a moment before replying. “Yes?”
“When?"
“At dinnertime."
I had discovered that when he took a while to answer and his speech was slow and deliberate, it was some glimmer of his real self fighting through. I usually left to go back home Sunday afternoons around dinnertime, but Randy no longer had an understanding of time. He had stopped eating several weeks prior so he didn’t even have that as a reference. It was highly unusual for him to refer to a specific time anymore. I wanted to stay an extra night but I didn’t have many days left I could take off from work so I stayed as late as I could on Sunday until an incoming snowstorm forced me to head home around 6 p.m.
Several weeks before I had started telling him goodnight or that I’d see him later when I left to go back home. He had once become emotional and agitated when I said I was leaving and I didn’t want to cause him distress. He seemed to feel that goodnight meant I was going to be gone for a little while but that I would always come back to him. When I left this time, however, he was already sleeping and because of what he’d told me the night before, I did what I never did anymore. I said goodbye. Three days later he fell asleep and never woke up.
I believe that Randy knew Sunday was the last time we would speak with each other but in his confusion he said he was leaving Sunday around dinnertime rather than I was, as I did every weekend. I believe that he tried to prepare me for what was to come.
