He’s gone…

On a very hectic Tuesday in April, Brent took his leave. The day started with him having a sugar crash - his third in as many days. Of course, I had work meetings and I was trying to juggle new-hire training while making sure he had everything he needed. On top of this cluster of funalicious delights, our water was still not working. We finally had a service company out who told us that the pump at our well had burned out, but they couldn’t tell if our well was dry. They’d have to send someone else to drill down, free the burned out pump that had melted to the casing, and then they could determine if it was just the pump or if we needed to drill a new well. (Spoilers, it was not the easy option).

Our lovely neighbor helped get water service hooked up using some form of magic with water hoses, so I was able to get Brent’s humidifier going and made him lunch before he drifted off to sleep. Brent was having a decent day. During his nap, his respiratory nurse brought us a nebulizer attachment for his breathing machine so I could increase the frequency of his treatments. The mucous was so thick, it was causing the walls of his lungs to stick together and even with his cough assist, his lungs were not expanding well enough for him to cough up the fluid in his lungs easily. He’d work at it for hours at a time and was so unbelievably frustrated. He didn’t want a ventilator, so there were no additional steps to be taken to ease this portion of his days. We’d work through it, but for the last few weeks leading up to this particular day, we spent anywhere from four to six hours fighting fluid in his lungs and trying to get it coughed up. All that to say, the new attachment allowed us to nebulize him while he slept so he could get the recommended treatments every two hours.

He woke from his nap just after 5:00pm and was playing video games. I was rubbing his leg with my foot while I worked on my laptop in bed…we were like the old grandparents from the original Willy Wonka, but with less dancing and our pajamas were not quite as snazzy. In spite of the chaos of the day, things had started to settle down…which as anyone who knows us can attest, that is exactly when things will inexplicably get worse.

I got up from my computer at 6:23pm. A coughing fit had begun and Brent needed help. He worked for just over an hour and finally got some relief before the coughing started again just before 8:00pm. I then approached the subject, as we had many times in the past, about how we were no longer at status quo and may need to discuss comfort measures for him. (Meaning, that we were going to make phone calls to everyone he loved and then were going to coordinate with hospice to arrange for sedation). He was tired and he knew I was struggling, watching my best friend suffer day in and day out. His response on this evening was simply “okay, fine” and of course I pressed him and told him I needed him to participate in the conversation, to which he simply replied, “I did.”

We cried together, I told him I loved him and he told me he loved me more. I wiped his eyes and told him to get himself together - everyone was watching. I put on his breathing machine, lifted him into his hoyer and started the transfer back to his bed. I was pushing the buttons to lay him in bed when I noticed that his ear looked a funny color. I released the hoyer, took off his breathing machine, and grabbed for suction. He looked me right in the eyes and clenched his jaw. He would not let me help him. I cried and told him this wasn’t it, but he kept looking at me and I watched his gorgeous, bright blue eyes change to a pale gray blue and I knew. His spirit was gone.

In spite of all the time we had spent preparing, the plans that we had to arrange for a final goodbye for his friends and family, he made a decision in that moment and stopped fighting. The transfer and the process of trying to get him breathing took less than a minute. His heart continued to beat for a minute or so, and he left us at 8:02pm.

The Hot Mess Club (my closest friends) and I had already planned for the eventuality of his passing. Within three minutes of his death, the first wave was there and within 30 minutes, I was surrounded by my friends as we cried together, and I held his hand until I had to finally just had to let go. I put his wedding ring on my thumb (where it’s been ever since). Our cats laid on his lap and Steve reached out and kept his paw on Brent’s until the transport came many hours later.

I made the phone calls to the list of friends and family we had previously discussed and I texted others. I did all the jobs I was supposed to do and my sister and brother in-law arrived, as well. When the transport finally arrived, I moved to the other room and felt more alone than I thought was possible - especially considering there were nearly a dozen people in my house. Just after midnight, I finally closed my work computer that was still open on my bed and I turned off the TV with Brent’s video game still on the screen. (Don’t tell him that I forgot to actually turn the console off for several more days…he would be so saucy!)

I don’t know if I will ever find words powerful enough to express the depth of the love I feel for Brent. (note I cannot use past tense here). He was and is the best person I have ever known and he showed me every day that unconditional love is not just some fairytale bullshit, but that it is a million little things, done over the course of a lifetime that allows the other person to feel safe, secure, held, seen, heard, and cherished every minute of every day. I hope that he left this world knowing and feeling that same love reciprocated.

He came to me in a dream the other night. He stood behind my recliner and wrapped his arms around me and laid his head on my shoulder. He kissed me and told me “I’ll see you tomorrow”. I’ve always believed that time is not always linear…its a little wibbly wobbly and timey wimey (for all you Dr. Who fans). He promised me not too long ago that he’d be somewhere that I could find him when it was my time to go. So, Mr. Ryan, I’ll see you tomorrow…whenever that may be.

I love you.

Then…now…and always.