I am no stranger to death beds. I was at my dad’s bedside, holding his hand, when he passed away eight years ago...on my birthday. Exactly one year later, I cradled my mom in my arms when she died...two days before my birthday...in the very same downstairs bedroom (in my home) that Anthony was in when he passed. So, holding Anthony in my arms, as he struggled through his final breaths, felt eerily familiar. Yet, in truth, nothing could have prepared me for the experience of my husband dying in my arms. Nothing.
After Anthony died, I saw his body lying there in front of me, but I felt...I knew...he was gone. Yet, I kept watching him, almost like I was waiting to see if he was (miraculously) going to take another breath. A couple of times, I actually thought I saw his chest move. Strange how our minds play tricks on us...especially when we’re at our lowest and most broken...or when life delivers a blow that knocks the wind out of us and brings us to our knees in shock and disbelief. Like when someone you love dies. Death is a painful reality to accept and maybe our minds just want to kick the very thought of it out...and as far away as possible.
Anthony died at 8:50 am. After he took his last breath, all I wanted to do was hold on to him. I was already lying next to him, cradling him, so I stayed right where I was. When our kids heard me crying loudly, they came into the room, one by one, and found me with my arms wrapped tightly around him and my head resting upon his chest. I didn’t move for at least an hour. I was aware of family members and close friends coming in and out of the room during that time, but I don’t know, for sure, who was there. The only thing that mattered to me during that time was that I stay as close to Anthony as possible.
I did not want anyone to touch me. I also did not want to speak. That was probably confusing to my loved ones, who only wanted to help and console me. Still, I felt as though I needed that painful time alone with Anthony. We were so very close in life...our spirits were entwined. When Anthony died, I felt the pain of his spirit tear itself away from mine. Even though it was the most agonizing thing I’d ever gone through, it was a sacred and intimate experience that belonged to the two of us. Even if no one else understood, I know Anthony did. I also know he would have wanted me to do whatever I needed to do in those moments. He always put my feelings before anything or anyone.
When it felt right, I allowed people to gently touch me. A short time after that, I was able to speak and answer questions. One of the first questions I had to answer was one I dreaded most: What time did I want the mortuary to come and pick up Anthony? The Hospice nurse told us we could take as much time as we needed...so, I didn’t hesitate to ask that Anthony not be taken until the early evening. Since he wanted to be cremated, there would be no viewing at the mortuary before his funeral, so this gave other family members and close friends the chance to say their goodbyes, too.
I told the nurse I wanted to bathe Anthony and change his clothes and the sheets on the bed before anymore people came. I brought in a basin of warm water, just as I had so many times before, and gently washed my husband’s body for the last time. I spoke softly to him, the way I always did when I bathed him in bed. I kept him covered, and dried him quickly, and powdered his back. I dressed him in clean clothes, but before putting on his shirt, I shaved his face...just as carefully and gently as always...and then I sprayed him with his cologne. After putting on his shirt, I brushed his hair, then spritzed it with hairspray. He looked peaceful...and beautiful.
The nurse had helped me change the sheets after I bathed him, but I told her I wanted to do all his personal care as my last act of service and love for my husband. When I finished dressing him, we covered him with a clean white sheet. Then, with a basket and a pair of garden clippers, I went to the front yard and took cuttings of every fragrant flower and leaf in our garden. When I finished in the front yard, I brought the basket in and emptied it on the kitchen counter before heading out back to gather more. When I came in from the backyard, I placed the rest of the garden treasures carefully on the counter with the others. What an array of colors and blooms...with the most exquisite fragrance!
From the front yard, I had blossoms and leaves from our citrus trees...orange, lemon, and lime...as well as two varieties of lavender, several roses, and leaves from my scented geranium. From the backyard, I gathered a healthy bouquet of herbs... several aromatic branches from the laurel tree (bay leaves), large sprigs of savory rosemary and sage, and stems of fresh green, spearmint leaves. I also harvested at least one rose from each bush Anthony and I planted. He called them his babies...so I was especially careful when I arranged these first blooms of Spring with the other pickings. All the while, I thought of my sweet Anthony as I drank in the perfume from their velvety soft petals.
I took the flowers and herbs into the bedroom where Anthony lay and gently arranged them around him. He was holding his rosary in his left hand, and I placed a small wooden cross upon his chest. On an end table in the corner next to his bed, a candle was burning. I also set a picture of us and our children...taken on the day our marriage was blessed in the Church...on that table. A CD of Marian hymns was quietly playing in the background. The atmosphere in that dimly lit room was chapel-like, and everyone who entered to pay their respects automatically spoke in sotto voce. It was peaceful and beautiful. And it felt so right.
Throughout the day, a slow, but steady, stream of family and friends came to say goodbye to Anthony. As the late afternoon approached, I realized I was not ready to have him taken away. I told my daughter how I felt and asked her to make the call and postpone the pick-up until the next day. Some of my family members were a bit concerned until my daughter told them that the Hospice nurse said many people keep their deceased loved one at home for 24 hours. When she called the mortuary, they were perfectly amenable to the change in plans. We agreed upon 10:00 am the following morning.
When the last visitor left our home, a quiet, and somewhat somber, peace settled down upon us. Everyone went to bed. I stayed in the room where Anthony’s body lay. I slept very little. I cried a lot, and I prayed a lot, and I forced myself to acknowledge the fact that my husband, my dear sweet husband and very best friend in the whole world, had died. And when I tried to deny it, all I had to do was look over at his lifeless body that had grown so cold. The entire time Anthony was sick, he stayed positive and said he was going to get well. Even though all the odds were stacked against him, he maintained that hope. I supported him the whole way through. But, he died anyway. That reality was a bitter pill to swallow. Keeping him at home that first day helped me digest the horrible truth.
I had not originally planned to have a viewing at home. But, I also did not know Anthony wanted to be cremated...He told me of his wishes only a couple days before he passed. The decision to keep him at home for the first day just sort of happened spontaneously; however, the seed for this idea was planted some time ago. A few years back, Anthony and I watched a show about ‘home funerals’ and we had quite a lengthy discussion about it in the days that followed. Our society has very different ideas about death and dying and how we handle the body of our deceased loved one. When compared with other cultures, our society’s attitude about death seems unhealthy and unnatural to me, in many ways. The sterile approach, aimed more towards detaching ourselves from our grief, does little to help process and work through our feelings. Grief is messy and painful. It is also a basic, primal experience. Whisking away our loved one quickly and neatly, as soon as possible after passing, is symbolic of our society’s unwillingness to face the cold, hard, and painful reality of death (and perhaps our own mortality) and the suffering nature of grief that comes with it. I chose to face it head on, and I am so glad I did.
When the mortuary people came to take Anthony’s body the next morning, they told me I should leave the room. I refused. They said it could be very upsetting. What could be more upsetting than holding my husband in my arms and looking straight into his eyes as he drew his last breath? I asked for a moment alone with him. I shut the door. Before I said my final goodbye, I cut a lock of Anthony’s hair and tucked it into an envelope. Then, I took the rosary from his hand, removed the cross from his chest, and gently slipped his wedding band off his finger. I kissed him goodbye for the very last time, then I called the men in. I sat there and watched as they prepared to wrap Anthony’s body. When one of the men began to gather the flowers and set them aside, I stopped him. I asked that the flowers remain with Anthony when he left our home. The man gently placed them back where they were. After Anthony’s body was completely wrapped, the two men carried him out to the gurney and wheeled him out the front door. I followed them into the driveway and reminded myself to keep breathing. When those men put Anthony into that vehicle and closed those doors, I wanted to pound my fists into them. Instead, I rolled my hands into hard, tight balls and held my arms as close to my sides as possible. As that van left my driveway and drove down the street, I felt drained, empty, and so very alone.
Yes, it was hard doing it the way I did it. But, I have no regrets. When my mom and dad died, their bodies were taken shortly after they passed. All I remember was feeling shocked and numb. It didn’t feel real and I had to keep asking myself if they were truly gone. It took longer to process. There was no doubt in my mind that Anthony was gone. No more mind tricks or crazy delusions. Just reality and the deep, painful sting of grief.
I understand that what I did may not be good for you. And that’s OK. I just wanted you to know that you have choices. So, when you are faced with the death of your spouse, or a close loved one, ask for what you need...even if you need to do things a little differently than most people. Don’t be embarrassed or ashamed to let yourself grieve the way you need to grieve. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re doing it the wrong way. There is no wrong way. And don’t be afraid to feel the pain...No matter how bad it gets, it won’t kill you. Sometimes, you’ll just wish it would.
