Easter Mourning Covid-19
April 12, 2020
I've been writing these posts but not posting because honestly while Jim is still living, I want him to keep living and these posts have more to do with the difficulties of his dying than the joy I can find. I'm having a really hard time finding joy right now. I can see hope off in the distance but when the I get to that distant spot, Jim might not be here with me. This is the lonely time of Covid-19. This is the time of Jim's dying. This is one of those posts.
Every day I wake, let the dogs out, have coffee. Half the time, when I come down the stairs, Jim is sleeping on the couch. He awakes many times during the night and then sometime around 4:00 or 5:00AM he simply goes downstairs. He says it's too hot or too cold, or the dogs are crowding him though he won't let me crate them back up. He says its because he wants me to sleep and doesn't want to disturb me anymore. All of his reasons are true and good but I wake up and he is not there and I think to myself that much too soon, he will never be there anymore and that this is not that time and I don't want that time to come. And then the dogs and I come down the stairs. I kiss his forehead and say good morning. And then after the dogs come in and out and in again, I sit with my coffee and watch Jim sleep. And lately much of the day I watch him sleep.
I remember when my parents were in this last act of living. Mom would sleep all day in a curled knot in what had been Grandma's room, and before that the boys room and before that the girls room and before that the Master bedroom. Dad, he slept in the chair in the assisted living apartment. One time, though he could hardly walk, the night after Mom died, Jim was staying with him, and Dad got up in the middle of the night and wandered the halls of the giant complex. It's the night Jim lost Dad - but luckily found him again - confused, relieved, and joyful at seeing Jim.
Today is Easter Sunday. If any holiday could be my favorite, this might be it. Sometimes my birthday is on Easter Sunday and now sometimes it is mine and my youngest niece Easter birthday - twins of different generations both daughters of David DeMarle's (one with a J, one with an E), once upon a time it was my Grandmother Biehler's and now sometimes it in my twin nieces Kate and Julia - born on her birthday. Today it is my youngest grandniece's birthday, Mariana, Margo's daughter. Today my brother Dan and his wife Joanne, Margo, Tony, Mariana and her new baby brother Kayden will celebrate together.
Last Easter, Jim was released from the Gettysburg hospital into my care when I thought for sure I might lose him unexpectedly, painfully, and quickly. It was truly miraculous and joyful and frightening when he was set free. Easter, this year, is more difficult for me to feel. It seems cancer prefers a slow death stealing away hunger, energy, strength, and hope from my love. But I guess, the one thing that it has not stolen is love. What Jim and I have both discovered is the depth of love, the eternity of love. The love that is not about strength or energy or even joyful celebrations; instead it is about sleeping so as not disturb the one you love. It's about being there and being present for each other and walking each other home.
I've been writing these posts but not posting because honestly while Jim is still living, I want him to keep living and these posts have more to do with the difficulties of his dying than the joy I can find. I'm having a really hard time finding joy right now. I can see hope off in the distance but when the I get to that distant spot, Jim might not be here with me. This is the lonely time of Covid-19. This is the time of Jim's dying. This is one of those posts.
Every day I wake, let the dogs out, have coffee. Half the time, when I come down the stairs, Jim is sleeping on the couch. He awakes many times during the night and then sometime around 4:00 or 5:00AM he simply goes downstairs. He says it's too hot or too cold, or the dogs are crowding him though he won't let me crate them back up. He says its because he wants me to sleep and doesn't want to disturb me anymore. All of his reasons are true and good but I wake up and he is not there and I think to myself that much too soon, he will never be there anymore and that this is not that time and I don't want that time to come. And then the dogs and I come down the stairs. I kiss his forehead and say good morning. And then after the dogs come in and out and in again, I sit with my coffee and watch Jim sleep. And lately much of the day I watch him sleep.
I remember when my parents were in this last act of living. Mom would sleep all day in a curled knot in what had been Grandma's room, and before that the boys room and before that the girls room and before that the Master bedroom. Dad, he slept in the chair in the assisted living apartment. One time, though he could hardly walk, the night after Mom died, Jim was staying with him, and Dad got up in the middle of the night and wandered the halls of the giant complex. It's the night Jim lost Dad - but luckily found him again - confused, relieved, and joyful at seeing Jim.
Today is Easter Sunday. If any holiday could be my favorite, this might be it. Sometimes my birthday is on Easter Sunday and now sometimes it is mine and my youngest niece Easter birthday - twins of different generations both daughters of David DeMarle's (one with a J, one with an E), once upon a time it was my Grandmother Biehler's and now sometimes it in my twin nieces Kate and Julia - born on her birthday. Today it is my youngest grandniece's birthday, Mariana, Margo's daughter. Today my brother Dan and his wife Joanne, Margo, Tony, Mariana and her new baby brother Kayden will celebrate together.
Last Easter, Jim was released from the Gettysburg hospital into my care when I thought for sure I might lose him unexpectedly, painfully, and quickly. It was truly miraculous and joyful and frightening when he was set free. Easter, this year, is more difficult for me to feel. It seems cancer prefers a slow death stealing away hunger, energy, strength, and hope from my love. But I guess, the one thing that it has not stolen is love. What Jim and I have both discovered is the depth of love, the eternity of love. The love that is not about strength or energy or even joyful celebrations; instead it is about sleeping so as not disturb the one you love. It's about being there and being present for each other and walking each other home.
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