11:11 pm 7.5.14

Chris died last night.

Yesterday, he began to have a mighty struggle with breathlessness and was restless with delirium --the intensity increasing into the evening.  His friends from grade school were here and held a long reminiscence in the room with Chris, other friends simply gave him a kiss, and all offered words of encouragement.

Olivia and I had consultations with multiple medical people:  hospice folks, a childhood friend who used to be a hospice medical director, a friend hematologist-oncologist, and another friend with expertise in the mechanics of moving seriously ill people.  All agreed that our job was to use the provided medications, music, and quiet stroking to keep Chris as comfortable as possible.  I cannot say with enough emphasis how much we needed their wisdom, knowledge, compassion, and encouragement to manage a situation that was feeling increasingly out of control and frightening.

Then, suddenly, it was over.

He simply turned in the bed, from his back to his side, and his breathing stopped.

We are now collecting ourselves, crying suddenly, and other times laughing.  The emotional dials are still set high.  Dinner tonight at a favorite restaurant had the feeling of sacrament as we ordered dishes Chris used to eat and passed them among the 9 of us: Lily, Olivia, Alex, Fathi, JoEllen, David, William, Aunt Helen, and me.  Then back home to indulge in the spread of sweets earlier brought by so many friends who were also in pain at the loss of Chris.

It has been 19 months of hope and disappointment, reordering priorities, bearing indignities, and finally giving in to the inexorable.  Chris was exhausted and defeated.  I am not sure if I am supposed to admit that, but it is true.  Fighting cancer can be harsh.

We are planning some sort of celebration of Chris's life, a month or so from now.  Plans will need to evolve as we clear our sense of what feels right, what makes sense.  I will post more when we know what we want to do.