I think I can do this now. It's been all these years and still the day dawns with nostalgia and tears. I am going to share some of the thoughts I wrote in my journal during the Spring of 1996 and following. This is your warning. If you aren't ready, you aren't ready.
Monday July 29 1996 All this time gone by-I guess that's all there is--time to go on by.
I think I'm beginning to feel the real loss. I think I feel like she's really gone. Things-memories like video clips - pop into my head often, especially when I am driving.
Often, I see a replay of the last moments-snippets of those last hours. I don't ever want them to fade-but some of the details are losing the sharp focus.
Some thoughts: The hospital--that room had become my whole world. When we left that early morning, in the rain, it felt like the world was too big to cope with.
I took a "day off" from the hosipital and went to work on Wednesday May 8. It felt great to be out of that place. It did me a world of good. In my ignorance of the immediacy of her illness, I felt nearly giddy. It was kind of odd.
That constant struggle to allow Mary Jane's wishes to be followed. Almost all the responsibility fell to Paula and I. We could be there 24 hours a day--and we were. We had to be. Not only (for me) because we felt our need to be there but also because the medial staff kept trying to treat her. I actually had an argument with a doctor to get her more pain medication. Paula was with Mary Jane trying to comfort her (an impossible task) and I'm out in the hall with the doctors--maybe because a crisis came to a head in the weekend and they weren't aware...I finally refused to speak with him any further until she got more medication.
I went back into the room and Mary Jane asked why my neck was red. I admitted I'd fought with the doctor. She was proud of me.
A different entry: Kathy came home. It was kind of a relief to have someone else who could take up some of the slack. We were with Mary Jane at the end. That night we went out for some Chinese while Chris and Tina stayed. Mary Jane threw them out of the room. She was getting goofier and goofier. Now I realize how much the lack of oxygen affected her.
I feel like I should have known how close it was. There were lots of signs--I just didn't read them. Her chart disappeared. The nurses' visits were more frequent and concentrated. Her breathing deteriorated. Her eyes were open. Kathy was immediately aware the awful noise had stopped.
It seemed immediately the nurse came in. I must have been aware of it because I heard her say "I think she's gone.". I bolted upright and my head whipped from Mary Jane to Kathy.
I began to pace. The doctor on duty--a young guy--pronounced her, I guess. I remember he glanced at the clock. Kathy said her life would never be the same. Kathy shuffled us out of the room pretty quickly. I had trouble with my shoes.
I remember Mom saying "No news is so bad it can't wait til morning" which made sense until then. What I realize is that it isn't so much that the other person needs to know, but that you need to share the news so you aren't alone in the horror of it.
And it's in that spirit that I share this. Love you Janie.
2 comments:
I thought I was ready... apparently I was not. Sixteen years have passed and the ache of the loss is still very raw to me. I appreciate your sharing this. I didn't write a jouranl back then. Sometimes I wish I had. But I do have very vivid memories of things at the hospital. I felt like I lived there those last few weeks.
One of the many things I remember is that we were trying to keep Mary Jane's wishes the best we could. When Patty Anne was strong and yelling at doctors, I was in the room quite weak and wanting the doctors to DO something to save her. When Kathy was strong, Patty Anne and I could be less strong. Once in a while it was my turn to be strong. Thank God we had each other. I do think Mary Jane felt our unity in the fight for her.
I also remember a very young doctor with a little too much ego walked into the room one afternoon, all full of himself. Mary Jane was "loopy" (that is the perfect way to describe it) and held out her hand, stopping him. She looked at me and asked for her purse.
Me: Mary Jane you don't need your purse.
MJ: Yes, I do. Get it for me.
Me: It's not here. What do you need?
MJ: I need money
Me: I have money, what for? how much do you need?
MJ: I want to pay him for the pizza. (indicating the young doctor).
I must say I loved it! It put that doctor back on his heels. She let it go when I told her I would pay for the pizza.
Made me wonder, if being "loopy" was a good thing for her.
I remember getting the call when you and Kathy "shared the horror" of her passing. It will be etched in my mind forever. The last thing Mary Jane said to me was: Will you get the hell out of here? as I left that night to go home while Patty Anne and Kathy stayed. I had't spent a night away from the hospital in over a week. I believe she didn't want me there. I'm at peace with that. Patty Anne and Kathy were there and I'm glad for Mary Jane, sorry for Kathy and Patty Anne.
I hope we keep sharing our memories of her. Forever.
Love you MJ!
I have a hard time talking about Mary Janes passing, or Mom's for that matter. I reflect on it a whole lot. My job gives me more than enough time to do that.
I would go to the hospital day after day, most of the time for only 15 minutes or so. Never spent the night like you girls did. I remember her telling me to get out of her room that evening. A nurse came along and tried to explain " During the course of dying....." that was about all I remember hearing. Couldnt, didnt want to belive it. then the phone rang that night. I didnt know what to do. I drove to Cooperstown to be with Patty Anne and Kathy, they had left already. Figuring at the time the only place they could stop for coffee or whatever was the red barrell in Oneonta so I drove there and they werent there. I think I went home and got my wits about me and headed for Walton. We all know the rest.
I think of Mary Jane alot. Wish she was still here with us. Rest in Peace Mary Jane.
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