A Day Out of Time
I traveled with my sons to Seattle Tuesday. It turned out to be a long otherworldly day, almost like a long dream. We heard prior to leaving that their uncle Geir was being moved to a hospice that Tuesday so that was where we headed. Along the way we stopped and connected with my sons' father (Geir's brother) and caravanned on to Kirkland. Because of ambulance problems we arrived about an hour ahead before Geir did. There were quite a few people there, friends and family.
I used to volunteer at a hospice but I was shocked when I saw Geir arrive. In a 2-3 weeks time he had gone from being mobile, able to drive on occasion, thin and worn but smiling to the half light of heavy pain meds, his face thin and yellow as though carved out of yellow pine. They took him to his room.
His wife Pam arrives and we hug for a long time. Then she goes to sign papers. Paperwork dogs us to the end. She finished and then people start quietly going in for visits. I catch up on family news. Pam comes for me and I take my turn sitting with him, replacing one weeping brother. I hold his hand, they told me to talk to him. I can't remember what I said at first.
Geir starts moving and I think he's just restless but when I lean close, his old familiar face appears with a faint animation, his eyes open up and he looks at me and nods in recognition, eyes still blue as when he was a little boy. "Nice haircut." he says. I tell him I see he's gone for the bald look and he laughed. It's hard to hear him but he tells me he's in pain and his feet are cold. I don't want to leave him, thank God for cell phones, I text my son David about Geir's needs, and Pam and her niece appear in the room and I get a nurse. His niece takes her socks off and we put them on his feet. The nurses come with a heated blanket, and more socks and pillows. It's wonderful to talk to him, teasing him about the "stinky" socks and seeing him smile. It's clear his pain meds are wearing off but we get to talk to him because of it. And he can hear us when he seems under the drugs. We get him turned and snugged in.
When I get back to the family room there is a conversation about dinner going on. Dave has to be at work tomorrow. We decide to leave and eat on the way home if need be. We never did, no one is very hungry, we stop mostly to let me out and have a potty break. Driving into the dark of the mountains feels strange. Over Snoqualmie Pass and down into the basin. It's amazing what looks uninhabited during the day can be lit up in all directions in the dark. We drove by the Yakima firing range and saw a huge helicopter doing some kind of exercises, looking like a UFO alternately turning its big spot light on and then turning all its lights off and disappearing into the dark. Into the dark but you know its there. I think Geir is disappearing into the light. At 11:30pm I find myself home, and wide awake, not feeling like I know where I've been.
I spent most of the day Wednesday napping. We're going back Saturday. There's a late birthday party for Geir, or a memorial gathering. I am so grateful I got to really be with him.
I used to volunteer at a hospice but I was shocked when I saw Geir arrive. In a 2-3 weeks time he had gone from being mobile, able to drive on occasion, thin and worn but smiling to the half light of heavy pain meds, his face thin and yellow as though carved out of yellow pine. They took him to his room.
His wife Pam arrives and we hug for a long time. Then she goes to sign papers. Paperwork dogs us to the end. She finished and then people start quietly going in for visits. I catch up on family news. Pam comes for me and I take my turn sitting with him, replacing one weeping brother. I hold his hand, they told me to talk to him. I can't remember what I said at first.
Geir starts moving and I think he's just restless but when I lean close, his old familiar face appears with a faint animation, his eyes open up and he looks at me and nods in recognition, eyes still blue as when he was a little boy. "Nice haircut." he says. I tell him I see he's gone for the bald look and he laughed. It's hard to hear him but he tells me he's in pain and his feet are cold. I don't want to leave him, thank God for cell phones, I text my son David about Geir's needs, and Pam and her niece appear in the room and I get a nurse. His niece takes her socks off and we put them on his feet. The nurses come with a heated blanket, and more socks and pillows. It's wonderful to talk to him, teasing him about the "stinky" socks and seeing him smile. It's clear his pain meds are wearing off but we get to talk to him because of it. And he can hear us when he seems under the drugs. We get him turned and snugged in.
When I get back to the family room there is a conversation about dinner going on. Dave has to be at work tomorrow. We decide to leave and eat on the way home if need be. We never did, no one is very hungry, we stop mostly to let me out and have a potty break. Driving into the dark of the mountains feels strange. Over Snoqualmie Pass and down into the basin. It's amazing what looks uninhabited during the day can be lit up in all directions in the dark. We drove by the Yakima firing range and saw a huge helicopter doing some kind of exercises, looking like a UFO alternately turning its big spot light on and then turning all its lights off and disappearing into the dark. Into the dark but you know its there. I think Geir is disappearing into the light. At 11:30pm I find myself home, and wide awake, not feeling like I know where I've been.
I spent most of the day Wednesday napping. We're going back Saturday. There's a late birthday party for Geir, or a memorial gathering. I am so grateful I got to really be with him.
posted by Celia | May 08, 2014
2 Comments:
Such a lovely post, Celia...last Saturday a friend of mine finally succumbed to lung cancer that had metastasized everywhere...45 years old. and in the weeks before, I got to sit with him at the hospital (he had a seizure and fell and broke his ankle) and then bake him a raspberry pie he was craving. I'm grateful for the time alone I had with him and the wonderful Hospice people that made it possible for him to go back home to die.
My thoughts and blessings are with you and your family during these times...
your narrative put me right there in the room with your family- and the phrase of Geir disappearing into the light is so touching. My thoughts are with you Celia and your family.
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