The Final Goodbye -by Linda Osmundson
When I promised “’til death do us part,” I never thought about what might happen before that time. In 2013 my husband was diagnosed with dementia; he was 74. Even though I’d been a caregiver all my life – of my brother, students, husband, children, grandchildren – I had no idea how to care for someone with dementia.
I read books, attended workshops and joined a support group. Mostly, I learned the hard way – through experience.
Bob’s PSP (Progressive Supranuclear Palsy) dementia resulted in muscle loss, difficulty swallowing/walking, and cognitive problems, from remembering to talking to understanding. He argued. I learned to distract him. He fell often and I couldn’t get him up. We knew the EMTs pretty well after several trips to the emergency room.
Bob told everyone he had dementia. He apologized to me for being sick, thanked me for my caregiving and occasionally showed signs of depression. Our friends quit asking us to join them. Many found it hard to watch his decline and/or to talk to him. I gave up all my activities. To relieve me of 24/7 caregiving, I hired outside help. He also attended an adult day care two days a week.
Our sons began to worry not only about their dad but about me. We all decided it was time to consider a memory care facility.
Sleep eluded me. After a sleepless night, I told Bob if I didn’t get more sleep, I’d get sick and then who would take care of him.
“I’ll go to that place,” he insisted. He thought he’d go into assisted living. “I’ll take that and that and that.” He pointed to wall décor, furniture and other things he thought he could use in an apartment. “Can we go on Saturday?” His request to move quickly stemmed from a desire to call a cab and go to the liquor store anytime he wanted because I wouldn’t take him.
God seemed to be telling me it was time. Bob was willing; the boys were on board; the facility had an opening; it was the best apartment in the unit. Of course, it was also the highest price! We took it.
I visited every day, usually at lunch or for special programs like happy hours, weekly singing and/or patio picnics. Bob smiled all the time and the staff loved him even though he barely talked, slept a lot and needed more and more care. About six months before he passed away, he moaned, “I wish I could die.” I fell apart. I wasn’t ready for him to leave me. He went into palliative care and then hospice.
I called the family to come celebrate his 80th birthday on September 6, over Labor Day weekend. We invited all the residents in his memory care unit. He couldn’t talk or take part but watched with his always-present smile. The following day, two sons and families stopped to say goodbye before they hit the road home. He didn’t get out of bed. In fact, he never got out of bed again.
Our youngest son came every day of Bob’s last nine days. Paul drove six hours and arrived just before the hospice nurse predicted Bob’s death within hours on September 14. Paul couldn’t handle it. Neither could I. John said, “You and Paul go home. Dad may be waiting for you to leave. I’ll stay with him.” Around 12:15, I whispered in Bob’s ear, “I love you. You’ve provided well for the family. It’s okay to go.”
No sooner had we readied for bed than John called with the news his dad had taken his last breath at 1:30 a.m. on September 15, 2018.
After the funeral home took Bob away we returned to my house. As the sun began its daily climb, I got ready for bed, exhausted. When I closed my eyes, I felt a light breeze and a final feathery kiss.
Linda L. Osmundson authored the award-winning three-book series How the West Was Drawn – Cowboy Charlie’s Art, Frederic Remington’s Art and Women’s Art. Like the series, her newest book, Papa’s Changes, Dementia Through a Child’s Eyes is meant for readers age 7 - 107. Hundreds of her articles have appeared in magazines, anthologies such as Chicken Soup for the Soul, blogs and newspapers. Discover more at LindaOsmundson.com.
