28 August 2023
Man, so much has happened since you left. I can't believe you dipped out on me like that. I felt as though you were my closest and dearest friend. Apparently, you didn't feel the same. No worries. It happens. I still love you.
So... a few days after you left, Mom died. The cancer finally took her. Six-and-a-half weeks of watching her fade away was heart-wrenching and so very exhausting... I know you were there for most of it, and I appreciate your comfort and kindness during those weeks. I know you were having your own issues, and I wish I could've been there for you more than I was. Mom needed me, though. It was just me and her... in my living room... her in that Hospice-loaned hospital bed and me on the couch, sitting and watching and waiting in numbed stupor as she threw up green sludge and whispered for water or morphine. I was beyond exhausted.
Six-and-a-half weeks with little to no sleep will do that to a person. Ask any new mother.
Anyway, I think... I recall talking with you on Sunday, the 27th of October, 2019. We were both tired, but you took time to talk me off that proverbial ledge. Do you remember? That was the last time we spoke on the phone. Mom had just asked me to kill her so she could be out of pain. I told her I couldn't. You told me I should.
You told me if I loved her, I'd let her go.
The thing is, I did and do love her, but I just couldn't do that. That was too far, and quite frankly, too much for her to ask of me.
Monday afternoon, I upped her morphine a bit, trying to ease her pain.
And then I drank a whole bunch of whiskey and pop to try to ease mine. I awoke with a start on the couch. I don't know what time it was... maybe 6pm-ish. I had a god-wink to call you and tell you how much I care for you. But, you know, since you are so much younger than me, I thought you might take it the wrong way and then there'd be that awkwardness between us, and I just couldn't handle that.
So, I texted.
I texted our group chat:
"Hey, I just wanted you all to know how much you mean to me. I love you all so much."
Sarah answered back right away. Matt soon followed...
But, you didn't answer.
You rarely did.
I thought you might call, as was your norm when I texted. But you may have been preparing for your trip... or maybe you were already on your way. At any rate, I hope you read my message.
I remembered you had court that same day regarding custody of your kids. I remember hoping you got good news, but didn't want to ask in case you hadn't. I knew you'd eventually contact me.
So... back to Mom. Or, rather, me. (Man, I can't believe it's been this long since we've spoken.) I went back to sleep on the couch. I was probably still a little swasted.
Something woke me.
I sat up. I looked at Mom.
She was the same, but different.
But, then I noticed there were golden orbs floating over my head. I shit you, not. Like a stream of golden, beautiful, bright orbs... just passing, like in a stream above my head.
And then I was in them.
And then over them.
The most beautiful vibration/song engulfed the room. It felt like an eternity of beautiful serenity.
Then, I was back on the couch.
The orbs were lessened, but flowed away.
The music faded.
I looked at Mom.
She was still breathing... a mechanical, weird, cadence.
I don't remember the next few days. I was in a haze of exhaustion and... I don't know. I really don't recall much of it.
On Wednesday, Oct 30th, I asked my cousin to come over. I felt it was Mom's time--that her body was going to give up the ghost and I felt I didn't want to be alone. If you recall, Pam lived across the street.
Pam got there and we lotioned up Mom's arms and legs, talked with her, and tried to make her body comfy. She never responded... just that mechanical breathing that started on Monday and never ceased, changed, or altered. At around 11:30pm, her mouth snapped shut and she was still.
I called Hospice.
I contacted my siblings.
I texted our group, "She's gone."
Hospice came. They wrapped her shell up in a black bag and took her away. They took away her bed, her walker, the shower insert, the cane...everything they had lent us when she was first diagnosed on September 15th, was is? With stage four full-body cancer.
I fell asleep.
Sarah answered my text in the morning. She asked if y'all could come see me that day at noon.
I told her I looked a mess, my house was a mess, I probably stunk, but it'd be nice to have friends around me.
As promised, Sarah, Matt, and Gary from Habitat showed up at my door right around noon. I looked for you, but you weren't there. I figured you probably had to work.
I invited them in, apologized again for the state of my being.
They all awkwardly sat around for a moment. I get it, though. It's had to be around a mourner, and Mom had died barely twelve hours, prior.
Sarah opened her mouth to speak. I knew what she was going to say. She was going to say she was so sorry for my loss, and that Mom is no longer in any pain. I prepared to respond.
"So," she started, then stumbled. I waited until she began again. "So, I bet you notice Jonathan isn't with us today..."
I started to say that's okay, I'm sure he had to work, but I barely got my mouth open when she finished with, "because he's no longer with us."
It took me a second, I'll admit. I always thought I was quick on the uptake, but not that day. Not just twelve hours after Mom left me.
"They found his body yesterday afternoon. He took his life sometime Monday night."
And that was the final straw that broke my life.
I miss you, my dear friend. I should have followed that god-wink and called. I am so sorry I didn't.
I hope you found what you're looking for. I hope you have peace.
The (almost) last words you spoke to me were: "If you loved her, you'd let her go."
I can't help but think that was your good-bye to me.
If you don't mind, I'll write to you now and again to let you know what and how I'm doing. You've missed so much. I wonder sometimes if one of the orbs was you. I'd like to believe so.
