Wednesday night, we moved Steve from the couch to my room; in the hospital bed at the foot of my bed. There was plenty of room there for visitors, and his kids to sit next to him. On Thursday, Steve never came out of my bedroom. People came to see him and they would go into my room, and sit next to the hospital bed. Steve was never able to lay in our bed, he tried, but he was in so much pain. He could not get comfortable no matter how I propped him up.
People continued to bring food, so much comfort food. I let them. I had family here and friends stopping by. I will tell you what a blessing it was to know that I did not have to cook for all the people that were in and out of my house. Besides, they all needed to help in some way. Bringing food helped them feel like they were doing something.
I remember two ladies that came who happened to be widows, and they were trying to make light in some way. They said “Now you are one of us” I was in a daze, but I was sharp enough to realize that I was not a widow yet. Though it felt like ice water in my face; I did not take offense, because I knew that none was meant. I am not one that looks for reasons to be offended. But it was the first time I thought about that title.
I decided right there and then, I am not nor will I be “a widow” To this day, I have not taken on the title. It just does not fit.
Though Hospice was called onto the case, and a bed and commode were left; I told them that we did not need any nursing care. I am an RN, and I would care for my husband. So I did. I kept him bathed, and comfortable. I was honored to do so.
Steve’s son and daughter-in-law stayed in our guest room. His other 4 kids and spouses stayed at one of the kid’s house.
But Wednesday and Thursday night both, it was just Steve and I in our room. Me singing to him, petting him and telling him how much I loved him, and all the things that he had meant to me. I was very aware that Friday was the day; and was coming way too quick.