Friday, February 09, 2007
This morning at work I wrote:
I have lately had someone push me to release John’s ashes. I know now that I am holding on to them because like the morphine I let them give John that I cannot get them back. Until I am sure what John would like me to do, and until he contacts me directly I will hold on to them. I do not want to have anymore regrets. When John was dying everyone was sure he was on the way out. When Dr. Wolf arrived one of my sisters told me she begged him to do something, anything to keep him from suffering. Dr. Wolf said we should increase his morphine and I agreed. I watched them push that poison into my son. Dr. Wolf told the respiratory tech to discontinue suctioning; she did not which I am ever so grateful for. She continued to suck the blood from John’s mouth until he did not breathe anymore. Once John got the morphine he shut down quite quickly, less than ten minutes. Siobhan, John’s nurse has told me they gave John very little morphine, that all it did was help him not to feel death take him, but I still have this nagging feeling that permission was the lose of hope and John did not die from the illness, but by euthanasia.
I do know since the last dream I had with John while I was in Spain he is fine. He is in a different level of existence that we are, he has friends, he is happy and he still loves me. When I returned from Spain I did not have the foreboding feeling I have had in the past with the return to reality, John not being there, no present to give him from my travels, no anguish.
I know that I am more alive these days, mostly due to the power of prayer, faith and people who believe in me. I often have moments of feeling very alive. Some of it is spring is almost here, the cherry blossoms are beginning to bloom akin to every February. Right now do not feel as though I and standing on the edge of the flat earth waiting to jump off. My fingernails no longer are bleeding as I hold on tight; I do believe my finger tips are now gripping the rim.
Now:
I have the instant of despair and I ask for John to intercede for me with God so I can go from here. Very confusing to go from one extreme to the other. To be almost jumping from my skin with optimism to absolute black. Grief is perplexing.
I have lately had someone push me to release John’s ashes. I know now that I am holding on to them because like the morphine I let them give John that I cannot get them back. Until I am sure what John would like me to do, and until he contacts me directly I will hold on to them. I do not want to have anymore regrets. When John was dying everyone was sure he was on the way out. When Dr. Wolf arrived one of my sisters told me she begged him to do something, anything to keep him from suffering. Dr. Wolf said we should increase his morphine and I agreed. I watched them push that poison into my son. Dr. Wolf told the respiratory tech to discontinue suctioning; she did not which I am ever so grateful for. She continued to suck the blood from John’s mouth until he did not breathe anymore. Once John got the morphine he shut down quite quickly, less than ten minutes. Siobhan, John’s nurse has told me they gave John very little morphine, that all it did was help him not to feel death take him, but I still have this nagging feeling that permission was the lose of hope and John did not die from the illness, but by euthanasia.
I do know since the last dream I had with John while I was in Spain he is fine. He is in a different level of existence that we are, he has friends, he is happy and he still loves me. When I returned from Spain I did not have the foreboding feeling I have had in the past with the return to reality, John not being there, no present to give him from my travels, no anguish.
I know that I am more alive these days, mostly due to the power of prayer, faith and people who believe in me. I often have moments of feeling very alive. Some of it is spring is almost here, the cherry blossoms are beginning to bloom akin to every February. Right now do not feel as though I and standing on the edge of the flat earth waiting to jump off. My fingernails no longer are bleeding as I hold on tight; I do believe my finger tips are now gripping the rim.
Now:
I have the instant of despair and I ask for John to intercede for me with God so I can go from here. Very confusing to go from one extreme to the other. To be almost jumping from my skin with optimism to absolute black. Grief is perplexing.
