About 2 years ago, he was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma, and after 6 long, grueling months of chemo, he was in remission. I remember us talking about what he would do if it came back. He stated then he didn't think he'd do chemo again...he'd just let nature take it's course. I told him back then that I would support his decision, no matter what.
This past spring, he and I were out "thrift storing", and he moved a TV off an old coffee table I was interested in. Later in the day he complained about his upper back hurting, and mentioned he figured he'd pulled a muscle moving that TV. No big deal.
2 weeks later, he went to the ER because he was in horrible pain, and he had lost feeling in his legs. They did a CAT scan, and discovered the tumor lying up against his spinal column, and took him to surgery right then & there.
He never went home again. 2 surgeries later, they wanted to start chemo. He agreed to 2 rounds. As soon as he was done with the first round, he said no more. This chemo made his chemo in the past seem like a cakewalk. He just didn't have it in him to continue. He was in the hospital for close to a month, and then was transferred to Hospice. A little less than a month later, he died.
I was so grateful that he allowed me to participate in his life during that time. He would occasionally ask me if I was doing ok, if it was getting to be too much for me. I told him I wouldn't be anywhere else but right there with him.
His mom would stay one night, his sister the next, and I would stay every 3rd night. We all settled into the routine fairly quickly. I had no idea until after his death that I wasn't the only one who absolutely HATED walking into that Hospice. I couldn't stay away...when i wasn't there all I thought about was him. I would visit even when I wasn't staying that night. But every single time I walked through those doors, I just hated it.
His mom & I were with him when he slipped away...I was whispering in his ear, just talking to talk, and his breathing stopped for about 20 seconds, he took another breath and that was it. He was gone. I was still whispering "it's ok, it's ok" in his ear after he was gone.
I really thought that because I had had 2 months to adjust to him dying, then I would be able to handle it better than if it had been sudden. And maybe I did...I got my chance to tell him good-bye, to let him know how very much I loved him and I tried to express my almost over-whelming sense of gratitude toward him for loving me like he did, for taking care of me and looking out for me all these years.
But I am so full of grief still...I think about him so much...wishing he were here, missing his voice, missing the sight of him towering in my living room as he waited on me to finish getting ready to go somewhere.
We weren't lovers...he was as gay as I am...but we were partners. He was my SO, especially toward the end.
I miss my Bear something fierce.
You're free now...go have fun.
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