A Cancer Journey: Lou Goes Home
This is the final installation of our Head of Accounting’s story as she watched her husband’s life come to an end almost a year ago today. To read all of her story, click here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.
Part 4: Lou Goes Home
“Happy Birthday, Babe! The day this blog posts will be your first birthday in heaven, and my first without you. I think I will go to Dana Point with Bella and April if she is free. Then have the family over for pizza. You know we lost Molly the first Sunday in March, so it’s just Bella and me now.”
Part of my healing journey is journaling fairly regularly to Lou. I also let him journal back to me through my fingers on the computer keyboard.
But . . . I am a year ahead of myself . . .
Let me tell you something of those last weeks we had Lou. They kept increasing his medications and he hallucinated quite a bit. Some of the medications were totally wrong for him and caused terrible side effects. Also, Lou fell several times. The nurse took everything away and said it was time for him to remain in bed.
It was 4/15. I was trying to finish our taxes on the computer before midnight. Lou fell, trying to get to the room where I was working. If he could not see me it became a huge source of anxiety for him. I strapped him in the wheelchair, so he could be with me. When he was too exhausted to sit, I helped him back into bed. I tried to get him soothed enough for me to finish. We were both so stressed. None of his medications worked that night. He could not sleep. The nurse on night call told me to increase the one he was having the psychotic reaction to and someone would come soon. Lou got much worse. I panicked and became hysterical. That immediately caused Lou to find the strength to become normal & sane and overcome the effects of the medication.
During that time of him calming me down and holding me beside him in his narrow bed, Lou spoke to me and gave me what I have come to think of as his final benediction over me: Wonderful words from God through him, that will carry me the rest of my life. We finally fell asleep in each others’ arms.
About 5 am a nurse came and told me they were changing the medication and making him “comfortable”. They put him into a “medical coma” which he never really came out of, except once. He had had no water to drink for 8 days by then, because they said he would choke if given any. When he decided to talk, he fought and fought to find and loosen his tongue. “I am dying!” he cried out. That was all he was able to say.
Photo Courtesy of ©iStockphoto.com/mingman
On Lou’s last night, my girlfriend took the night watch while I got a medicated sleep. I woke with a start that morning to the song rolling in my head by the Kinks: “So Tired of Waiting for You.” Was it Lou trying to get my attention? I flew out of bed and to his side. His hand was warm but most of him was cold. I spoke to him and told him over again and again how I loved him and to go with God.
That was it. He was gone. It was 0830 on April 25, 2013.
I had no training as a celebrant, but I knew it was important that Lou’s service do him justice and share his story. I figured I needed to be the one to do it. His unfailing love and care for me had been unparalleled. Outside of me, no one was more important than his loving, faithful daughter April and his grandkids. I simply couldn’t just do facts and statistics. Lou was not that kind of a guy. He deserved more.
I ended up giving a eulogy that helped people see the man, the one who existed behind closed doors, the one our family loved and respected so much. Then, it was important to show him visually from a child on up in a video tribute with meaningful songs in the background. Our pastors spoke, our loved ones sang: “It is Well with my Soul” (and it was: He went straight to the arms of Jesus), and “Mansion over the Hilltop” (his favorite, and where I know he is living today.)
Photo Courtesy of ©iStockphoto.com/eAlisa
We ended with everyone singing together: “Blessed be your Name” The words described perfectly how Lou and I chose to view this horrible, shockingly short ordeal of pain we lived through together. The Lord gives and takes away. It would have never been our choice for this to happen to us. Still, our hearts chose to say “Blessed be the Name of the Lord”. As I am writing this, I am thinking of Easter. Because of the resurrection, I know Lou also lives.
Four short months of suffering together, has been followed by the hardest year of my life. But make no mistake: It is my pain, for MY Loss, not Lou’s.
Still, I am getting by. I have my family, my faith, people who care about me and my occasional Lou sightings.
So, Happy Birthday, Babe. And thank you… You were amazing! I truly had the best!
|| what do you think?
How have you commemorated anniversaries like these?
What practices have you found helpful in your grief journey?
57 Comments
You are incredible Anne. The Lord makes everything make sense.If He is not here then there is no reason to feel the way we do or to treat each other with respect. Lou was someone to respect & admire. I am happy you had a chance to experience that kind of love & devotion. Keep hangin on to Jesus, He’ll get you through.
Thanks, MItch,
I am so thankful for the faithfulness of Jesus through all of this. And we can’t live on yesterday’s experience. Last week when I was out being miserable, the second day, I just put the Blue Letter Bible on the computer in the Psalms all day and let it run. When I started sinking I just focused on what I was hearing and it got me through.
Glad I work with you Mitch. Still water runs deep.
Annie,
You are an incredible woman and Lou was a lucky man to have you in his life and to share this journey with. I thank you for allowing us to get a glimpse of those final weeks and moments. We try to understand what someone in grief is going through but even if you have had your own journey of grief each is as unique as a fingerprint. So I will just acknowledge how hard and devastating this year must have been on you. But one thing I have learned is our loved ones do not die! They just move to living in our hearts instead of on earth. But it is that pain of not having them here physically with us that tears us apart. Know that your O’Connor family is here for you and will be keeping you, April and your family in our thoughts and prayers. Annie, thank you for being a friend and confidant, I truly cherish our friendship and working relationship.
God Bless!
Love,
Chuck
Chuck,
You hit it on the head. Not being with us physically is what tears us apart. It is something you will never get over with your Matthew. Sure makes heaven more precious, doesn’t it. Shouldn’t but it does.
Lou was always so amazed that I loved him so much. I felt so lucky and spoiled that he loved me so much. We always couldn’t wait for the end of the work day because we would see each other again. Dumb, but I think we somehow sensed that life was gonna be way too short, however long it was. I am glad we didn’t know about the cancer any sooner. That part messed things up.
I am so glad we do work together. This whole entire working family has freely given their love, understanding and support. Not one of you has told me to “get over it” or you have “grieved long enough”. Nobody would like to “get over it” more than me, but it will come when it comes.
Love,
Annie
Anne,
Thank you for allowing us to be part of this journey with you through your eyes. No one can understand what this year has been like for you and what the rest of your journey holds. I commend you for having the strength and courage to be vulnerable and share with us. He is with you always.
XoXo
Amy
Amy,
I knew I had to write about this. It is possible that later, I may write more, on my own, not in the 700 words or less required of a blog, which often strangles my thought pattern. I believe there’s a story to be told that people may desire to relate to.
And yes, he is here. I am aware now and then and it helps.
Love
Anne
Anne,
As always, thank you for sharing your journey with us all. I cannot begin to understand how this year has been for you but I want you to know that my thoughts are always with you.
Joanna,
I always feel kindness and caring from you. You don’t say much, but it comes through anyway. Thank you.
Anne,
This has been quite a year for you and those of us who have shared in this unique journey. I have been so aware of the old saying, “Life rolls on…” We get lost in the day-to-day and all of a sudden a year goes by. I thank you for the hugs and smiles. They serve as a reminder to the beautify life Lou lived with you.
Chris,
Quite a year is right. Two steps forward and one step back. I feel a little bit liberated tonight and like I can finally respond to these comments. Last week put me back about a mile, but it is behind me. This is a new year. In my journal Friday, the anniversary of Lou’s death, he told me he hoped I would soon be able to put the intense grief I carry over his dying into a drawer and shut it tight and only take it out occasionally and then put it back. That was a helpful picture of what I need to do next.