K died today at 12:30. At our last appointment, the doctor told us we were losing. That we had weeks. We could have done some chemo right then, but the hope was that if we stopped Tarceva, his liver might bounce back a little by the end of the long weekend. Friday and Saturday he felt better. We worked on taking leave from work and spent time together. Sunday our friend came over and did video interviews with him, so that our son could feel like K was a real person. After that, we were going to lie down for a nap. K changed his shirt, and I noticed his belly was purple. I hemmed and hawed, but decided to take him to the ER. While we were there, he became altered, would fall asleep in the middle of a word. They wanted to admit him but he said no, and I took him home. Monday was a holiday and I suffered through it, terrified he would die at any moment and me with no one to call. I also was mad that he hadn't gotten around to writing me or our son a letter. I kept trying to get him to write one. He got more and more upset.
Tuesday morning I told him our appointment had been moved to earlier. I took him to the cancer center and begged for someone to see him. I thought maybe someone he trusted could give him guidance. Paula, his nurse, suggested we go to the ER, she said high ammonia levels were causing the confusion, and that could be treated. I never got him back though. He remained lost to me, and angry with me. Although he did kiss me on the forehead in a gesture laden with sweetness and what I assume was goodbye.
I want to forget those last few days at home with hospice. I want to forget his moans of pain. I want to forget holding him while he died because I didn't think he should be alone. I want to forget the several nights I asked for his death to come more quickly. I want to forget the horrible things he said to me when he was confused and thought he was fine. I want to forget that I practically begged him to hurry up and die so that I wouldn't have to watch anymore. I want to forget that he wasn't ready, and that his heart kept beating long minutes after he took his last breath. Please can I forget?
Where are you? I miss you. Please come back.
