Preoccupations

I didn't sleep very well last night and woke up for good around 4.

Thoughts of David's last "wakeful" moments have been pushing their way into my imagination for a few days now. I know now that he'd had really bad headaches for a couple of weeks and wouldn't go to the hospital but suddenly agreed to let Amber take him early on the morning of Nov. 2. They didn't make it to her car; David got confused, disoriented, lost control of his bladder and of his right arm, then fell. He was still able to speak when the ambulance arrived and he asked to be taken to the closest hospital. I'm not sure what he was aware of beyond that.

He was still able to obey nurses' shouted commands, "raise your right arm, David, squeeze my hand, David", even after the initial drain had been put in his head in the ER and he had been moved up to NSICU, so we know he could hear, understand, and still had some control of limbs on both sides of his body, even though his left side was slow and he did not respond to pain on that side. He was already on the breathing tube (standard procedure I think), so he couldn't talk, and his eyes were closed, his head was still. I was at his right side, holding his right hand, and I told him I was there. He squeezed my hand and then made a motion like he wanted something to write with, putting his thumb, forefinger and middle finger together and bobbing his hand up and down. Then, just that quick, the nurses told me they had to give him some drugs to paralyze him and to medically induce a coma, and they needed me to step out for a little while. That's the last interaction we had that I'm sure he could perceive.

While I imagine all this (it plays in my mind over and over again) I can hear my heart pounding in my ears; there's a feeling like panic or maybe even terror racing through me, like a shock or a charge; I tremble. I try to toss the picture from my mind but I still feel panicked, like I'm trying to find a way of escaping the idea that David's last seconds "with us" were fearful. I so desperately want to be able to go back and be with him waiting for the rescue squad, to hold him and rock him and calm his fears.

Then there's a wave of mercy, of relief, when I remember the last time I saw him well, Friday, October 30. He had dropped by my house unexpectedly shortly after I got home from school and said he was meeting Amber and needed to leave his van parked on the street if it was okay. I said sure and asked him if he was hungry. He said no, but when I pulled out the homemade vegetable beef soup he said, "Actually, that looks pretty good, yeah, I'll have some of that." He said he had a headache so I also gave him two ibuprofen. I remember I was in my room doing something when he shouted that he was leaving. I came out and hugged him, and watched him walk out the porch door. My last words to him were "I love you, Son." His last words to me were "I love you too, Mom."

God is good. His mercy is new every morning.
xxoo