This afternoon today, last year, was a hard one. I did not make another ‘executive decision’, like I had to do a couple months earlier in September, but it was hard just the same.
Bob had been struggling pretty severely to breathe over the last 2 days – the inhalers and nasal oxygenizer were not helping; and the bed had been lifted as far as it could be lifted to rise his head above his chest. This afternoon, last year, Bob had stopped breathing twice. Drs. Gilbert and Morgan had stopped by the room to ask him if he would prefer being put back on the breathing machine … and he shook his head “no”. They came back in a little bit, with the breathing machine Team and had them talk to Bob – explain the procedure and ask him again if he would like to go back on the machine: again, he shook his head “no”. Everyone left, with Dr. Gilbert telling me, “If he changes his mind, let us know.” They wanted to put him in suspended animation hoping the edema would eventually be controlled.
Bob knew it was hopeless and intimated to me that he wanted me to pray with him; I did.
Bob knew it was hopeless and intimated to me that he wanted me to pray with him; I did.
I knew Bob would not change his mind.
So, at 2:27 PM this afternoon, last year, Nicole (one of the people on Dr. Morgan’s Surgical Team assigned to Bob), took me into the hallway outside his room, to talk to me. She said, “I am sorry, Mrs. Hargand, but we have done all we can do; there is nothing else we can do. The inhalers are not working because the spreading edema is pressing and his body is shutting down. He has refused the breathing machine … that means that he will now be placed on Comfort Care status. Everything will now be removed from his person, and he will be periodically given pain medication to keep him 'comfortable' through the process.” I refused to cry. I asked, “Should I contact the family.” She touched my arm in a sympathetic manner, and said, “Yes, I think the sooner, the better.”
She was kind. She was sad. She had come to love Bob in the short time we had been there.
So, that is what I did. I called Bob’s siblings, and our children and grandchildren; and told them what was going down. As I was going back into his room, a woman from the hospital’s Bereavement Program was entering his room as I was turning towards the door – we entered together. She explained what was happening to him, and I asked him one more time, “Are you sure you do not want the breathing machine?” Again, Bob shook his head ‘no’. Then I smoothed out his covers, and I said, “Well, then, you are going to be going Home.” The woman from the Bereavement Program looked at me and said, “You are a very brave woman.” I said, “I am not that brave … I love him. I will honor his wishes.” She stood with me as the nasal oxygenizer and the heart monitor were removed from Bob’s person.
I held my husband’s hand, and watched all this happening. And I refused to cry.
I would ‘keep it together’ until Bob’s spirit entered Heaven: so, help me, God.
Slowly, as time went by and family members started arriving, the little room began to fill up until it was pretty packed. A serving table was wheeled in with coffee, water, juices, and snacks for those who wished it: I, to this day, don’t remember if anyone ate or drank anything from that tray. I think I was numb; and mentally removed myself from the situation.
All I DO remember is nodding to those that showed up, and holding Bob’s hand while looking into his eyes that held mine, thinking, “soon he will be ushered into Heaven where he will be walking the streets of gold with our wolf, Precious, our Pomeranian Tyson, and at least 2 of our many cats – Sox and Chase, all of whom have been patiently waiting with Yeshua, for him to arrive and join them in that place beyond the clouds where we have been promised life eternal with no more pain or tears.”
And still, I refused to cry.
Bob was preparing to step off this planet Earth – I was determined he should do so boldly and confidently. I would be as strong as I needed to be until that happened.
I was grieving, yes; but I did not then … and I do not now, this afternoon, today … grieve as one who has no hope: I KNOW that I will see Bob again, when we are together again in the future. How long that will be, I can’t say. But I know that it will happen.
And this afternoon, last year – just like this afternoon, this year; truth be told, I was a little jealous that my beloved would actually get to see, walk, and talk with Yeshua soon, while I am left behind for the time being.
This afternoon, last year, I did not mourn – nor, do I mourn, this afternoon, this year. Instead, then, as now, I celebrate Bob’s life. Then – as he began to shed his earthen vessel … and now, because I know that for the past 11 months & 29 days, Bob has really LIVED like he never lived before. His spirit is enjoying being housed in a new body – specifically designed and created just for him; a new celestial body that will never age-wear out-or decay.
This afternoon, last year, I was sad: I won’t deny that fact. I was sad because I knew, while holding his hand in mine and ingraining his face in the data bank of my brain, that I would no longer be able to look at my husband’s handsome face, cuddle into his loving embrace, or hear his reassuring and soothing voice ever again this side of Heaven. And, I was happy that his days of torturous pain and unrelenting agony was coming to an end.
I was thankful for all my Friends on FB that were praying for us – and had been praying for us through our ordeal. I was thankful that those who attended to Bob throughout that long night of solo journeying, were compassionate and tender with the love of my life. I was praising Elohim, that even in the end of his life, Bob ministered that faithfulness of the God he served – the God Who was ever present, covering Bob and I with His wings and giving us peace that passes all understanding.
The holy hills of Heaven were welcoming a faithful son Home. His father awaited him there. And Yeshua had a crown in his hand to place on Bob’s head when he walked through the Pearly Gate.
I was thankful that a good majority of family came to see Bob off on his journey. They came to say their farewells and to tell good stories about their son, brother, dad, and grandfather. There were some tears: mine, included; but mostly there was love and laughter as we gathered together. And once or twice Bob roused himself and looked at everyone. His hands were held, and his legs were stroked – his mouth was kissed, and his head was caressed. Love was lavished on Bob. He was able to step off this planet knowing he was loved, appreciated, blessed, and honored. He was able to enter into a new life knowing that he could rest easy with the assurance that we will all be okay while he is enjoying himself up yonder beyond the clouds where tears will never stain the golden streets of that longed for Celestial City.
After everyone left, and went home, I finished the Reuben sandwich Alyna had prepared for me at the Deli/Restaurant she manages – and I played music through the night and prayed with, and for, Bob (he could not talk, but he was able to hear). Bob liked Southern Gospel; so that is what I played the most of; with some easy-listening country music that spoke of the glories that awaited him on his fast approaching journey.
And, of course, I played Joey + Rory’s song, “When I’m Gone” because it is such a beautiful brave song that speaks directly to facing death and the day following death.
This afternoon, this year - just like this afternoon, last year, this song resonates and soothes:
I will not tell of what my eyes saw as my husband's body was shutting down - it is private and personal; and it is hard to watch someone's body die. It serves no purpose to describe those things to you. I will say this, that during that time, Dr's. Morgan and Gilbert, did come in periodically to check on me and make sure that I was not freaking out. I was not; but they were concerned because watching death happen is a hard thing to do, especially if you love that person, like I loved Bob. But, Elohim was faithful, and I was able to do it without hysterics. I wanted Bob to know he was not alone on this solo journey, and that I was there for him as always. I loved him; I would not fail him.
Bob most definitely got Home before me, but I will be following as soon as my chores here are done: I haven’t been clued in yet just what those chores are, exactly, but in due time I will be. And when I have completed what I was left here to tie up, I, too, will be going Home.
Bob most definitely got Home before me, but I will be following as soon as my chores here are done: I haven’t been clued in yet just what those chores are, exactly, but in due time I will be. And when I have completed what I was left here to tie up, I, too, will be going Home.
