It's been a hard month today.......

WARNING: THIS IS VERY RAW, VERY PAIN-FILLED. YOU MAY NOT WISH TO READ.

I don't mean to be depressing here.

I really wanted this blog to be a place of joy.

A place people came to laugh at the joy of life.

And it makes me sad that it hasn't turned out that way.

Maybe soon.

But for today, it is a sad page.

 It has been a very long day.

Today is one of "those" days.

You know, a date.

I have tried to think about something else.

I have tried not to relive it.

But here it is. 

Slapping me in the face.

Screaming "PAY ATTENTION TO ME!!!!!"

I held it together all day.

Managed to smile.

Laugh.

Do my work.

But on the way home, I cried so hard, I had to pull over.

I'm still crying.

It is a dual date.

One of several in the coming days.

But it's mainly about my Al.

Hard decisions had to be made.

I knew it had to be done.

But I so didn't want to!

I fought it!

With everything I had.

And then some.

He didn't want a walker.

He had to have one.

He didn't want a wheel chair.

He had to have one.

He didn't want to move from our bed to a hospital bed.

He had to move.

He didn't want a potty chair.

Or a catheter.

Or oxygen.

Or so many other things.

But mainly, He didn't want to go to the hospital.

He didn't want to go to an in-patient hospice facility.

He wanted to stay home.

And just about this time two years ago tonight,

he left our home for the last time to spend the next 16 days in hospice.

I find it interesting that his known cancer journey started with 16 days in the hospital,

and ended with 16 days in a hospice facility.

His pain had become unmanageable.

They were giving him all they could as an outpatient.

And still, he was hurting so badly.

His brain was so affected by the cancer.

They could do nothing more to ease his hallucinations,

his panic, his feelings of betrayal, of confusion, of - so much.

In the last few weeks prior, he had become more and more confused.

He could no longer stand or walk.

But how he wanted to!

He kept insisting he had to go somewhere.

Kept insisting he needed to get out of bed.

Would beg me to help him.

Would ask why I wouldn't.

Would ask why I didn't love him anymore.

I had not slept in weeks.

Literally, for days at a time I did not sleep at all.

And when I did, it was for only a few minutes.

I had to be with him.

I had to watch him.

I had to touch him as often, as much as possible.

Even if he hurt too bad to be touched, I had to look at him.

I just had to. 

And then the night before, I drifted off.

I had a cot next to his bed in the dining room.

When I set it up at night, there were only a couple feet between our beds.

I wakened suddenly to his feet hitting my stomach.

He was trying to get out of bed. 

He was partly on his bed, partly on mine, his mid-section hanging between.

Even at that point, thin as he was, he was huge.

I could not get him up.

I held him up in the middle to prevent him falling to the floor.

I called my daughter for help.

We got him back into his bed and settled.

And I knew.

The next day, my daughters talked to me.

Our hospice nurse talked to me.

I insisted I could continue to keep him home.

But I knew.

And so, that evening, he was transported to hospice.

And hope died.