…it was peaceful. On Sunday morning, JD had trouble breathing and her skin turned a strange shade of blue, nearly purple. The nurses said this was a sign death was a mere hours away. JD’s mother came and went. And the waiting continued. Every once so often, JD’s breathing changed, became more shallow, more like snoring, then less like snoring. Her face returned to the normal pink colour, perhaps a little more grey than normal.
Our friends R&K arrived in the afternoon, all set up for the long wait. Ipads, beer, food, crisps. The hospice staff were fantastic in leaving us alone as much as possible whilst still checking JD was ok. As the day turned in to night, JD’s breathing changed a number of times. Looking back, I think she died a little every time that happened.
Around 10.30, I lifted JD’s left eyelid and saw her pupil had blown. And half an hour later, so did her right one. I knew she was no longer with us then. We held her hand, I crawled onto the bed and held her. And waited.
At 2am, R&K went home to sleep as JD’s breathing seemed very regular. I slept on the camping bed next to JD. The silence woke me up at 7. No sound of breathing. As I put my head on JD’s chest, I just caught her last few heartbeats. I got the nurses who confirmed JD was gone. Then they left me alone for a while and I cried. Relief. Pain. Anger. Sadness. Loss. Emptiness. Numbness. All of that.
They asked if I wanted to help wash JD but I felt unable to do that. I called JD’s mother, my parents and R&K came back to support me through the morning. It was all very calm & peaceful. I cried a bit more and we cleared out the room. After saying a final goodbye to JD, we went for a massive breakfast.
And so began my life as a widow.