BSD

I went back this morning, after texting R. to see if C. was still on the planet. She was. I came in to her room with coffee again. Chair was just where I'd left it. Same grey ice outside, same nice Pandora-ish music on. Her face was sharper, her mouth a perfect O, apnea longer. I called her son, spoke to him briefly, he was glad I was there and he said none of them were coming in. He was glad I called and the facility nurses were glad I called. And I just leveled with C. and told her the truth, that they were not coming again, but that they loved her and had come and that it was just fine to either take her time or go ahead and go. Her breathing changed, became so shallow, I would think it was the last one and then she would give a tiny hitch. I'm not sure the exact moment she died. I felt for her pulse on her wrist and at her neck, I put my hand on her heart, felt her hands, touched her face. I said all kinds of words, all loving, some surprising me, because - do I really think I'll see her sometime, on the other side? Do I really think she is beginning a new day of light, and joy, and health, and peace today? Those were the words that came out of my mouth though, and honestly, as I spoke them I meant them. It surprised me, because a dead body is a dead body and that was and is abundantly clear to me too. I got to be there for the miracle of death this morning. I thank her for that and perhaps any forces that put me there. It makes New Years Eve pale in comparison, that's for sure. I need a shower and I think a good cry in the shower, because all that from this morning has got to come out somehow and I don't drink anymore.

There are many downsides to lupus. In the year and a half I was too sick to work, I did get busy learning a few things I never had time for when working. I learned to bake a decent vanilla and a decent chocolate cake from scratch, including the frosting, which culminated in making a wedding cake for my best friend, and learning to let the eggs (and all the ingredients) come to room temperature before mixing. I love the chemistry of baking.

I also learned how to give a decent haircut. Not women's, but a solid boy's cut. I got the barber cape, the clippers, good shears, everything. I used to cut my best male friend's hair somewhat routinely when we were in college and in our 20's, but I didn't have any sense then of what I was doing other than trying to be neat and tidy. Now I think I can improve any guy's haircut by a notch or two with what I have and what I know. Cakes and haircuts, very 1940's and 50's, but usefully so. I love usefulness, and practicality.

Yesterday I got my hair cut, and as is usual for me I was happy with all but part of it, and thought all day today about going back to get it fixed, or asking my co-worker to trim it for me at work today - but we were busy with two dying patients on the same floor at the same time, so though I bet she'd have done it, it seemed a little self-indulgent to ask her.

So I did it. And thank you, silver lining, to lupus, and what I learned from the time you had your foot on my neck pinning me to the ground. I was looking in the mirror at my hair as we were starting the kids to bed and I thought, I can get this mostly right, I have the good scissors, I'm able to be patient enough, I can pay attention, and I can be careful. And that's what I did. I measured up, evened, pulled, made the first cut. Then I wanted to do more and I found it really hard to cut in reverse looking at the mirror. So I had Matt come over and make the last cut. Now its exactly what I wanted and I did it myself mostly. The kids enjoyed it and I think Matt kind of did too. Certainly more than he would have enjoyed watching me leave to find some open hairdresser to fix my not-obviously-wrong hair.

Today I also enjoyed sitting with C., who has been actively dying for several days. Everyone seemed very surprised she's still "fighting" and hanging on - for what? or for whom? - but it didn't seem that way to me. It seemed to me that she was just very comfortable, and relaxed, and in a good groove that she was literally riding out until the very end of it. She has a room to herself at the end of a long hall, its very quiet and she has a great big window. She had great mood music on a Pandora-like station on her TV, and it was grey and cold and icy out. She was clean, warm and dry, tucked meticulously into bed, her hair neatly brushed and held back with a small unusually pretty clip. Her oxygen concentrator made a soothing whoosh and hum. I sat in a chair facing her for a couple of hours, typed up all my notes from the day, talked to her off and on, touched her hand and held it off and on. I loved sitting with her and watching her breathing slowly change, become shallower, with slowly increasing periods of apnea. I loved watching over her to make sure she stayed comfortable, and peaceful, and easy. I loved having some time and space to be able to be with her and really say goodbye. It seems like a miracle to me to see anything or any person be born, regardless of their relationship to me. The same with death. C. had a life of a million things and moments completely unknown to me. Today our threads crossed for a couple of hours at the very end of hers. I'm so grateful to have gotten to be there with her today. It was ordinary, and exquisite. I thanked her when I left. I feel joyful tonight because of her. Tearful, too. I will miss her.