IN THE BEGINNING.......

It began with a light pinch, as light as one would hold a butterfly by its delicate wing. It ended with a grasp so strong that it took some of the strongest pain-killing drugs known to humankind, to stop it.

In November, 2007, Gerry noted that he had a tiny ache right below his breastbone. When it persisted for a week, he went to his doctor to inquire about it. Did he need his heartburn medication increased? Yes, that would be worth a try. He had once had the stomach bacteria h. pylori. Would that cause this? Hummm...could be. He was sent for blood work. He was more tired than usual but had just finished working 14 hour days and was fatigued.
A few more weeks passed with no change in the pinch in his chest. He seemed to becoming more wan so when he returned to the doctor, his blood work revealed a drop in his hemoglobin level. A stool sample test divulged that there was blood in all six samples. Since there had been colon cancer in his family, this is a test to which Gerry faithfully submitted, every year. His family doctor and the surgeon to whom he was referred, both mentioned a bleeding ulcer as the possible cause of the blood loss. Stomach problems were nothing new to Gerry. He always suffered from severe heartburn and had been taking some type of heartburn medication for the thirty-two years I had known him.
We made the first of many trips to the hospital on February 8, 2008. Gerry was scheduled to have a gastroscope to see the extent of the ulcer. The endoscopy room was full of patients, in various states of consciousness, laid out or sitting up sipping on juice through straws. The attending nurse gave her memorized instructions to Gerry and told me to return in an hour. They wheeled the gurney on which Gerry laid, into that sterile place where anything can happen.
I think I got a coffee, went to Walmart and gassed up. I arrived back to the endoscopy unit in forty-five minutes to see Gerry's work-socked feet sticking out from under the bottom of the flannelette sheet. The room was now empty except for him and me. I bounced in and said, "Hi Sweetie. Were you talking to the doctor yet?" Our eyes met; his glazed, mine hopeful.
Gerry whispered, "It's cancer."
I waited for him to jump up and say, "KIDDING!!" but he didn't. He just laid there. We just stared at each other in shock. Our lives had changed in one second with a six letter word, C-A-N-C-E-R.
I now had a pain in MY stomach; a pain that did not signal physical pain like Gerry's but a pain that clenched my soul and would not let go for a long, long time.

Arms

This photo was taken of Gerry many years ago. He had just stripped a roof in Kensington. Look at the eyes.
______________________________

Gerry was always proud of the muscles in his arms. Those muscles were made of wood, gyproc and bricks. They were molded by hammering, sawing and holding. They were formed with diligence, determination and obstinance.
After Gerry's first hospitalization in February, 2008, I noticed his hands were becoming whiter and his arms were losing their muscularity. He noticed too. I said that would come back when he started working again. I said this as his watch became looser on his wrist.
As Gerry recovered from his surgery, chemotherapy and radiation, he did regain some of his muscles back. In fact, last summer, he was seen on our steep barn roof screwing tin on it. When I questioned his decision to take on such a risky task after what he had been through, his response was, "Who else is going to do it? It has to be done or the barn will rot out." His arms were getting stronger and he still could easily squeeze my hand until I "would give"! The timepiece on his arm tightened up.
As Gerry became ill again, and his days consisted of staying in bed until 11:00 AM and going back to bed at 9:00 PM and resting in between, the arms once again became feeble as they rested on the blankets. I would look at them and reflect on how he once could drive a 2 1/2 inch common nail with three hits of the hammer, how he could toss a bundle of shingles over his shoulder and climb a ladder to a rooftop like a cat and how he could fire a bale of hay into the door to the loft from the wagon down below.
The watch now rests on my dresser. I look at it. I think of the arms; those arms that were so strong that I never had to fear anyone or anything because they could move a mountain.

I am sick

I am sick.
I am wheezy.
I can't breathe very well.
I am tired.
I have no energy.
I have walking pneumonia.
I will get better.
Not like Gerry.

Gerry, CAN YOU HEAR ME?

This is a photo of the display at the funeral home. Thank-you to all who were able to attend the visiting hours, the funeral, come to the house, bring food, send cards, give donations, etc. I have been overwhelmed with your generosity.

Where is Gerry? I miss him. It has been a week now and that is long enough.

"Where are you, GERRY? Are you hiding? Your boots are still here and I have your wallet. The truck is in the yard and I have to ask people to help when I want to move heavy objects. Do you think I should get new carpet in Clayton and Jenna's apartment? And, oh yes, Jen and Wayne, have run into some problems with the renovations and we need your opinion. Your "Little Buddy" is growing a lot and talking more every day. You should hear him! When are you coming back? I have to much to tell you!"

Comforting Words

Last Saturday, Gerry experienced very few moments of lucidity but one of those moments will stand out prominently in my mind forever.
He had been taken by ambulance to the hospital. I was out of the room fetching something while Sister Darlene guarded Gerry. When I returned the nurse was giving Gerry an injection. Of course, I was curious as to what drug was being infused into my husband's body. When Darl said the word "morphine" my mind numbed. MORPHINE. Gerry was really sick. Gerry was in a lot of pain.
After the nurse left the room, I sat on a chair beside Gerry's sleeping body and held his hand. I started to cry and put my head on the bed rail. I quietly sobbed for the ten thousandth time in thirteen months. His clouded eyes sprung open. He held up the blanket and mumbled, "Slide in." I lowered the rail and laid beside Gerry back to front. He put the blanket over me and enfolded me in his once-muscular arms and comforted me by whispering, "We'll get through it."
Four days later, I once again laid beside him. This time, I was telling him I loved him as he gasped for his last breath. Gerry passed away this morning.

The WIngs of Angels

The angels' wings are seeking to enfold Gerry into their soothing clutches, but he resists. They are fluttering around, waiting, but he shuns them with regular deep breaths, blowing them away. Sometimes he taunts. He holds his breath. They swoop, wings outstretched but another strong breath is expelled and they are blown out of bounds. When the time is right, they will capture him, lifting him heavenward and into their world.

Jen and I are ready to let him go. We have seen him suffer enough.

Rites

As the ambulance backed into the driveway yesterday, I knew that once Gerry was carried out, he would not be coming back, in body anyway.
When he woke up, he was short of breath and his legs were very weak. He was also very confused. It was not a difficult decision for me. I knew it was time. I called Jen, my sisters, Mom and our good friends, Carl and Donna. We had coffee, some laughs and fellowship as I got things gathered up. Gerry didn't resist going. He was not really "here". He was admitted and is now in a private room in the Palliative Care unit. He is fighting sleep, as usual. Today he had a shot of morphine, a shot of Versad, a sedative. He tried to get out of bed and succeeded by eventually falling on the floor and having the power of a lift to pick him back up. He had another shot of Versad. This time he scooted to the bottom of the bed. We thought he needed the bathroom so we tried that. No luck! They gave his the third shot, this time intravenously and he dozed off. Gerry was never one to give in easily, even to the bitter end. He now talks incoherently to us. He talks about people who have passed away, his mother, his uncles Erskine and Ernest, old neighbors and friends. I am sure they are beckoning to him. His eyes are darting and blinking. He has a catheter. The priest was in and said the "Prayers for the Sick".

Jen and I are very sad.