The Last First

Wednesday of next week (September 27th) marks the one-year anniversary of my brother-in-law's passing.  He had suffered for years with Fronto-Temporal Degeneration.  Dementia.  His widow (my sister) had been his faithful wife for 55 years.  The last few of those years were the toughest for her while dealing with his combativeness, moods, demands, and (finally) his inability to accept her being out of his sight.  I'm sure he was terrified at the changes in his life.  She had no respite.

The last month of his life was the worst for her.  She was being asked to make decisions about his care.  He could no longer really walk.  Couldn't swallow.  Wouldn't bathe; wouldn't shave; wouldn't change clothes; and wouldn't let anyone help him do those things.  He was hospitalized for sepsis with a diseased gall bladder, urinary bladder, and an obvious decline in his ability to communicate.  She just wanted to take him home to his recliner and his familiar surroundings in order to make him comfortable, but God had other ideas.  She finally understood that there was very little she could do for him at home.  Then came the quest to find nursing facilities that she/they could afford that would even accept him.  Just about the time that she found a place, he took a turn for the worse, and she had still other decisions to make.  The doctors were urging her to put him in hospice.  She was reluctant, thinking perhaps that it meant she was giving up on him.  Again, God took over.  Mere days after allowing him to be in hospice, he passed peacefully.  Finally, peace.  No more pain for anyone.

The morning that he passed, she came home from the hospital and cried in my arms for a bit.  Then she did what all Covill/Armstrong women do.  She started to take hold.  The problem with that is that she was very, very sick with pneumonia, partially because she hadn't been taking care of herself in all of her trials.  I arrived only late in the day before, but thankfully, I could somewhat take over while she was ordered to bed by her pulmonologist.  She was in control of everything, but it swirled around her as she struggled to breathe.  She should have been in the hospital, herself, but it couldn't be just then.

I can't imagine what it is like to lose the love of your life after that many years.  I was also doing the Covill/Armstrong woman thing.  Damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead.  What needs to be done?  Okay...let's git 'er done.  I didn't spend a lot of time worrying about her grieving, figuring that she had been grieving the loss of her husband long before he actually died.  We were surrounded by every kind of grief possible, from a daughter throwing herself across her father's casket saying, "Don't leave me, Daddy!" to a grandchild writing poetry to Grandpa.  Some of it was, to me, unnecessary drama, but who am I to judge?  We all do what we do in special circumstances.

After Roger died, the whole family had to deal with "firsts".  The first Thanksgiving without Roger.  The first Christmas without Roger.  The first birthday, Easter, Father's Day without Roger.  My sister has gotten through it all with her usual aplomb--by helping others in her family, however treacherous to herself all that may be.  And now, a year later, we are facing the first anniversary of Roger's death.  This is the last "first" to get through.  It won't be any more difficult than the others, but it is a day when moral support may be required.  I will be going to Illinois next week to be with my sister.  She didn't ask.  I have no doubt in my mind whatsoever that she can navigate this day successfully on her own, bless her.  So why am I going?

I am going because it will be a tough day for her.
I am going because I don't want her to have to stand alone among her family that is filled with drama.
I am going because I loved her husband and want to be there as she lays a special wreath on his grave site.
I am going because I know she would do the same for me.
But most of all, I am going because she is my sister.