one foot in and one foot out

I received a phone call today while I was glamourosly shopping at Walmart in well, yeah, my pajamas that don't exactly look like pajamas.  It was the hospice.  It is never a good thing to receive a phone call from a hospice.  'Well, I've got some bad news,' was the first sentence. Then click.  Line dead.  I called back, 'sorry this is the after hour answering service.' riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. That wasn't going to work.  Luckily, the lady called me back from her cell phone and I abandoned my cart, grabbed my purse and headed to the front of the store for better reception.

'Sam is bleeding out.'  Sam, my dear sweet Sam whom I was assigned to visit nearly three years prior, was found unresponsive in his bed, his catheter so full of blood that it had overflowed and soaked his entire mattress, as well.  That is a picture I can barely handle - how long he must have laid there in his favorite green robe, soaked in his own blood.  Hospice people talk about death like they are telling you what's for lunch, by the way.  'He is in renal failure and will not recover,' was the further explanation, 'just thought you should know.'

One of the biggest (and only, really) drawbacks to moving to Austin was leaving Sam behind back in Dallas.  I still called every week and visited every time I was in town, but still, our visits were far less frequent.  I told him just three days ago on the phone, 'Sam, Austin is great but it would be perfect if you were here, too.'  I promised him that I would be back in Dallas in two weeks, would drop by and luckily ended with my usual, 'I sure do love you, Sam.'  'Honey, I love you too.' 

My first reaction upon hearing this news about Sam was to get in the car and head north on 35.  Three hours and I could be there.  Wait, it's rush hour, 4 hours I could be there.  Could I actually do it? It is no coincidence that today, even after 14 hours of sleep, I felt worse than I had in months.  Nope, couldn't do it.  Old Laurie would have grabbed a Jolt Cola and been on the road.  New Laurie is desperatley trying to learn these new lessons of moderation.  He is unresponsive, body shutting down, would never know I was there, yet I just wanted to be there and hold his hand.  I hate that he is there with only a strange nurse that is getting paid to sit there with him.  I hate that no one is holding his hand as he hovers in both worlds and telling him how much he is loved.  I hate that his two sons only call once a year and have no plan of coming down.  Sam deserves more than this.  If he is still with us in the morning, I will try and get up there.

I know he is ready, has been ready.  It is torture to live in a 95 year old's body and it was hard for me to watch.  He lived in a little apartment, no A/C, no TV (didn't want one), and basically just waited to die.  His wife of 63 years (and two weeks exactly), had passed a few years before and he was entirely alone. Or so he thought.  Sam I am with you tonight in every way I can. And I sure do love you.