1. < Stories

Richard & Janet's Story

---

He was a young 52, and I was a young 43, and we fell in love, got married, and lived a full life together. When we were not working, travel was a major activity for us. After retirement, we built a home and moved full-time to New Hampshire. He had his thing; I had my thing, and we had our thing - life was good.

Looking back, things started to happen gradually. First, there were blood pressure issues and then circulation problems that ultimately necessitated the amputation of a few toes. Then, I learned how to change the dressings without thinking anything about it – that is what wives do, right? I've always been a problem-solver, so here was a problem that needed to be solved. If we signed up with the local VNA, it would have severely restricted his ability to still be involved in the community in the ways he was. That meant I had to learn to do what they would have done. So I did…Our activity level slowly ebbed and, over the next few years, came to a halt. We had moved to a home where we could live on one floor. His activities included church and stuff he could do on the computer sitting down. I was in a construction project that occupied many of my days. We were hanging in there.

And then it happened. It started with a back spasm that turned out to be a bone infection. Two weeks in the hospital, rehab that didn't go well, three more stints in the hospital, and then my realization that things weren't going to turn around. Conference calls with his children and Palliative Care team members at Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center located in Lebanon, New Hampshire. This led to the decision to get him into The Jack Byrne Center for Palliative and Hospice Care (JBC). He was there for three days – the last of which was Thanksgiving Day.

Looking back... It was critical to have had conversations with family members about how he/we wanted his/our last days to play out. The Jack Byrne Center was barely a year old when we were there and so I think there are likely some procedures in place now that were not at the time -- and I benefited from that.  

On Sunday afternoon, it became clear that Richard wasn't going to make it. I sought help from the Palliative Care team, and we had a conference call with his children in New Jersey. That team helped me through the words to use when letting his two sons and daughter know what I would do. The following Tuesday, he was transferred to JBC. On Wednesday, his children and their families drove up from NJ, where we planned to have Thanksgiving dinner together. Instead, we had it at JBC, using their completely furnished kitchen and family-size dining room. At 5:15, we bowed our heads and, amidst the tears, gave thanks for our blessings. My husband drew his last breath at 9:00 AM the following morning, surrounded by our family.

It’s not a sign of weakness to ask for help. As a Type A person, I was under the impression that I could work out this thing called ‘grief’ on my own. I didn’t start to make real progress until I sought help from a professional which was close to a year after the loss..traveling on a bus back from a trip to NYC. There are no straight lines in the grief process. One day I felt as though I was making progress and the next I felt as though it was never going to end.

November 23, 2018, is over four years ago, and while tears are welling up as I type this story, there's a smile underneath as I know that the lack of his physical presence does not mean he's not with me in other ways.

When we moved to New Hampshire and started new lives, we decided to have three buckets in which we operated. He had his thing, which was largely music. I had my thing, which was evolving into the theater. And then we had our things, which were church and bridge and travel. Now that he's gone, I've recently gotten back into travel and joined the church choir. It feels good to use my voice in a way he used to use his.

---