My dear Randy, passed away on February 1 this year. Covid. Devastating covid. We both caught Covid mid December. I was affected mildly, but poor Randy was hit hard. Every day he was just worse. We tried to stay positive, but hope failed many times.
After ten days at home, and one emergency room visit where they treated him like a leper and just sent him home, he was admitted to the final hospital of his life. I remember waking that night, him coughing while his lungs swelled. He just couldn’t get a breath to breathe. While waiting for an ambulance, he just sat at the bottom of the stairs, looking around as if saying good-bye to his home. I sensed it. He didn’t say anything, but was very forlorn.
I sat on the front steps, as the paramedics prepped him in the ambulance. I couldn’t follow because of the dreaded covid. I just sat there, watching from a distance, wondering if Randy would ever return. I suspected that he would never cross that threshold again. I’m imagining that he suspected as well. That day was December 27.
After two weeks of his continued decline and debilitating anxiety, I was finally allowed a visit with him. The nurse that day had tender compassion and realized that Randy needed his loves with him as he struggled. I was snuck in his room, on a covid floor, for 5 hours. That was a snowy January 10, and I rubbed his back, legs, arms, scalp all while we were mesmerized by the snow. He absorbed my presence as best he could, but he was full of thoughts of death and good-byes.
That night he was intubated and never came back to us. After three additional weeks, all sedated on the ventilator, I was finally told that he had extensive brain damage, that just was not recoverable. Shock set in for me. Numb… My worst fear was being realized. I was then allowed to be with him the next two days. Be with him… he wasn’t there… His body had reflexive movements, and groans, and vomiting, but he wasn’t there… My heart broke to see My Love in this sad, broken body.
I arrived Monday morning, February 1, knowing what needed to be done. I directly told the doctors, that today is Randy’s day to die. We must let him pass. I knew beyond a doubt… They all agreed. He breathed 30 minutes on his own, with me holding both hands, forehead to forehead with My Love. I sang to him, prayed over him, begged God for I don’t know what really, begged God to help me survive, and then… adventure.
Randy woke every day for a new adventure. I sent him on his new adventure, and God let me watch a bit. As I watched from the corner of the heavenly room, Randy was carried from his body by a big, bulky, strong being. Exiting the dark, he entered this room that was sterile but bright. I then told him when he felt strong enough, to JUMP! He eventually did, and oh the joy. He was jumping around like a cartoon character, his arms and legs flailing. He was so excited to be free from his sick, earthly body.
As I marveled in his joy, Randy’s dad appeared to the left in the room. I said “Randy I see your Dad! Do you see him? I see him!” and then told him to run to his dad. Then out of nowhere, here comes his sister Vicky, as a little girl, running towards his dad. She was challenging him to beat her, and he started running too.
That’s where my watching ended. Back to his lifeless, yellow, cooling body I returned. I sat with him for two hours, holding his hands every minute.
This is death. That was death. My Love had a miserable winding down in life, but his end was peaceful and joyful.
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