Losing Les

I disappeared for a few days.  A lot has happened in those days.  Not all of it was pleasant.

On Thursday, we took Alex to Buffalo Wild Wings to celebrate his 18th birthday.  We had so much fun at dinner, laughing and joking.  I had the grilled chicken salad and it was ok.  I would have preferred a big, juicy burger, but I checked out the nutrition info beforehand, and after consulting with a couple of friends, it was decided the grilled chicken salad was the healthiest choice. 

Alex's birthday was actually on the 18th, but Thursday is 55 cent wing night, so he wanted to take advantage of that.  We told our server it was his birthday, and they sang and clapped, and had the whole restaurant clap for him.  He also got a big hunk of chocolate cake, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, all drizzled with a ton of chocolate syrup.  He was not interested in sharing.

We got home around 8p.  I pulled into the driveway, put the car in park, and looked at the clock.  I commented to Mike that we should go see his step-dad, Les.  And so we did.  A little background on this part - Les is 91 years old.  He stopped breathing last Monday (June 13).  My mother-in-law, Mary Ann, did a sort of CPR and got him back.  He was in ICU at Memorial Medical Center, in Springfield, for about a week.  He returned to Rushville on Wednesday, June 22, and was admitted to the local nursing home for a week of physical therapy. 

We visited with him for about 45 minutes to an hour.  He didn't quite have the pep that he normally did, but that was understandable after being on a ventilator in ICU for almost a week, and laying around in a hospital.  He looked great though, and was happy to see us.  We said our goodbyes and went home.

At 10p, Mike's phone rang.  It was his mom.  Les was in cardiac arrest.  She had just left the nursing home about 20 minutes prior, and the nursing staff was putting him to bed.  He stopped breathing again. 

I was in my pajamas, so Mike went to the ER.  I stayed home, waiting to hear.  I finally texted Mike and asked if I should come.  He said that I should.  I threw on some clothes and headed in the nightmare.

When I got to the ER, one doctor was just coming out of the room to talk to Mary Ann.  He was asking her if we wanted to intubate Les again to keep him breathing.  There were many things to consider -- all at once.  It was sort of a "danged if you do, danged if you don't" situation.  If she chose not to, then she would live the rest of her life wondering if she'd essentially signed his death warrant.  If she chose to do it, then we might face the decision of having to "pull the plug" later on because he might end up a shell of a human, being kept breathing by science and machines.

The choice was made for her.  The other doctor came out and said that they could not get a heartbeat...and lots of other horrible things.  It's not like in the movies, where they come out and say, "I'm sorry.  We tried everything and there was nothing we could do."  In reality, they will tell you all the signs of death, and make you understand without a doubt that your loved one is gone.  It was a little more harsh than what I had imagined.  In some ways, that's good; but it's very painful to hear.  It was also difficult for me to wrap my mind around at the time, for some stupid reason.  Denial is a very potent mind drug, I guess.

So the last few days have been a little surreal, as they are when you lose a loved one.  Each time I wake up, I know something has gone wrong, but it takes just a couple of seconds for it to come back.  I hate that. 

Ironically enough, Les passed away on June 23.  That is the same day that my mother-in-law lost her mother, 16 years ago.  We buried Grammy on June 26 - which happens to be Mary Ann's birthday.  So that she didn't have to endure the burial of a loved on a second time in her life, we agreed that it was fine to delay everything a few days.  His visitation will be Monday evening, and his funeral will be Tuesday.

Right now, we are all in that numb/surreal stage...a sort of emotional cocoon.  He's not there, we know.  He's not coming back, we know.  But we haven't had the services that will give us that sense of closure.  That will come soon enough.