VST lay quietly on the bed, after hours and hours of struggling. His peaceful breathing was like that to which I had fallen asleep thousands of nights before, but different now. He was leaving on his heavenly journey alone, and very soon. Before the sun rose in our eastern-facing windows, this was my chance to wish him well on his journey. A time to quietly thank him for everything he’d done for me and our children from the moment he walked into my life on September 5th, 1987 until now.
Holding his hands in mine, I began to talk to VST, even though I knew he could no longer answer. Our eyes could no longer meet in all-knowing, non-verbal conversations. He could no longer pull me closer to give me a sweet kiss. The time had come to say Goodbye to the best friend a woman could’ve ever wanted. My VST was now slipping in a coma.
On April 1, while complaining of pain and needing meds, VST and I met with the Oncologist for our first and only time, receiving the devastating news. A cruel April Fool’s joke awaited us. Go Home. Live your BEST LIFE. No more doctor’s appointments. Hospice would be calling. Devastating cancer of the bile ducts. No effective treatments. Maybe two months left, at most. It was nice to meet us. Goodbye. Just like that, we were shuffled out the door, after filling out a ream of questions for the doctor in a hopeful state only minutes before. Nothing else to be done. No help to be found. No miracles. VST had already lived his best life.
Just weeks before that, we had made an offer on Winterpast, and accepted an offer on Dunmovin. Two months before, we had nursed each other through colds during our last Christmas together. Six months before that, we had been at the ocean, breathing in the fresh air and sniping at each other during silly spats. How I wish I could run the clock back and relive our days from the beginning. The further I went back through memories, more pulled me towards our beginning. I wanted to stay there, far from the last memories we were making now.
Speaking to VST in hushed tones, I poured out my heart and soul. Things needing to be said for years came tumbling out through my tears. At times, I was sure I felt slight pressure from his fingers held gently in mine. A slight movement from an eyebrow confirmed that he was listening intently. I appologized, lamented, complimented, remembered, memorialized, and pleaded. The two hours left me spent, empty, and exhausted. I had told VST everything left to share. My heart was torn open, and there was nothing left.
The minutes had raced through the second hour of my conversation with VST, as the sun finally peaked over Sugar Loaf Mountain. How many times sorrow had followed a sunrise just like that in Virginia City. Mining Accidents. Illnesses. Lost babies and mothers. Parents and grandparents. They all lay quietly at the cemetary, visible from our bedroom window. I could feel the comforting spirit of Virginia City, assuring me that VST would find peace. How I wished Virginia City wouldn’t be the one to keep my husband as I moved away from her beauty and into my own tomorrows.
VST and I had an intensely private and quiet relationship shared only with each other.
With whom would I share those deepest thoughts with now that he was leaving me? Who would understand with a simple look what I was feeling? Who would ever accept the complexities of a farm girl from the Central Valley of California? Difficult. Brazen. Foul mouth-ed at times. Brittle. Broken. Mourning so deeply for the death that would follow in mere hours.
With the sunrise complete, my tears subsided. There was truly nothing else to say or share with the man I had loved so completely for 32 years. He was free to go, and it was my job to make sure he knew he could do that at any time. Quietly, we sat together in our bedroom, as we had done on countless other mornings. Two people in love. Two people ready to start their day going in their own directions. Two people always returning to home and each other every night. Just two people. Soon to be one.
Later in the day, T and K arrived, shocked to find their dad in his deep sleep. There are no words for the sadness surrounding the three of us. There are no words for the comfort their presence brought to VST and me. Sometimes, at the gravest of moments, there are no words left, even for the best of writers.
With that being said, it means the world to me you followed me through this hell-ridden trail of grief. April 9th brings new focus to my blog. I’m now a gardener who has grieved. A woman first, one of thousands who experienced widowhood during Covid 2020. My blog needs to pick up and carry on, with focus on my days, rich with new stories and laughter. I hope you continue to tag along. The stories to come promise to be wonderful.
Thanks to everyone. Joy