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When Cancer Wins: A Surviving Spouse's Story Chapter 7 - In The Aftermath The nurses closed the room door and left Brad and I alone to begin the grieving process that continues to this day. After an hour or two, I found one of the nurses and asked if they could change her pajamas to her favourite ones that I had taken home, cleaned, and brought back to the hospital a couple of days earlier. Brad and I waited in the lounge. When we went back in, she was changed and all the tubes and equipment had been removed. It was just her, laying in bed. She was truly and finally at peace. And I did something I actually wish I hadn't. I leaned over and kissed my wife on the cheek for one final time. To this day, I am still haunted by the memory of coldness. Brad and I collected everything from the room, stopped and thanked the nursing staff for the care and compassion they had shown to all three of us, and then we sadly headed for home. We didn't talk much on the way back. There were too many strong and different emotions involved. I remember feeling a strange sense of relief that the ordeal was over and then tearing up as I felt guilty for it. Almost as if he could read my mind, Brad looked at me through tears and said, "It's okay Dad, at least Mom's not in pain any more." We got home around 11:00 AM and sat for a while quietly in the living room, trying to comprehend that this was both the end of one life and beginning of another for us. That first hour or so is just a blur to me - it was sensory overload. And then I realized I had a lot of things that I had to take care of. Jan didn't want a funeral (she hated them) and she wanted to be cremated. I called a funeral home in Markdale. They called me back a short time later (it was a Sunday so it was not normal business hours), and I made initial arrangements on the phone which I would complete the next morning in person. I hadn't made arrangements in advance simply because I couldn't pay for it. Then I had to begin the agonizing string of phone calls to relatives and friends. Everyone knew instantly why I was calling and before I could say anything all I heard was "Oh no...." and then the sound of sobbing. There were too many people to notify on my own so I enlisted some to pass the word along. Even so, it was 6 or 7 o'clock before I hung up the phone for the last time. Totally exhausted, Brad had fallen asleep in his room. I was glad. I knew he was on the edge of collapse after the last few weeks. I think he slept for 14 or 15 hours. I spent the evening in quiet solitude amid the myriad of things in the house that reminded me of my wife. Above the couch was a screw in the wall that had been her first IV "bag holder" until we got proper equipment. A shelf by the back door held two miniature school buses and a stuffed bus company bear. Plants that she had bought now lay drooping, neglected for the past few weeks. Her favourite candles were all about. A book she had been reading still lay on the end table, a bookmark showing how far she had got before failing eyesight had made it impossible to continue. Reminders were everywhere. But the most painful was an afghan she had begun crocheting for Brad. Five of the nine segments were done, but none were attached to each other. Someday, hopefully soon, I'll find someone who can complete it for him as he has often mentioned how much it would mean to him. I guess it was around midnight before I wandered off to the bedroom. Despite my level of exhaustion, I dozed on and off for hours and it was probably 4 AM before I fell asleep. I was up again before 8. Monday was a trying day for me. Brad, understandably, did not want to go to the funeral home. I didn't push the issue - I didn't either. By 2 PM, I was back at home, all cremation details finalized. But emotionally I was destroyed, and financially we were now in ruin. The funeral home had accepted post-dated cheques that would never clear. I didn't know where money for food was going to come from, let along things like utility bills or the mortgage payment. Brad didn't yet have new clothes for school. If my mother hadn't quickly intervened with help, Brad and I would have ended up on the street. No matter how old you get, your mother is always your mother and is always there for you. And I began to feel some of Brad's true pain in no longer having a mother to turn to. I recall very little about the next few days. I think Brad and I were just totally burned out and we spent those days in a vegetative state. The one memory I have of that week was Brad remembering that he had left his Playstation at the hospital (it had kept him, and me, partially sane during long stints in the palliative care suite). I called and they were holding it at the nursing station for him. I had to go to Markdale and sign some papers so I stopped in at the hospital and retrieved it (entering the hospital again was not an easy thing to do). Some of the nurses rushed over to me and grabbed my hands, asking how we both were doing. They are truly an amazing group of caregivers, and speak volumes for the depth of humanity to be found in smaller Ontario towns. That first week was my allowed bereavement leave, and it was also the first week of the new school year but I had kept Brad home. The next week, I returned to work and Brad went to school. One day that week, after work, I drove to Markdale and picked up Jan's ashes. I brought them home and gently placed the velvet covered box in a display cabinet in one corner of the living room. It didn't take long to realize that I had to do something to honour her and give others a sense of closure that was lacking since there had been no funeral. Jan had never said I couldn't have a memorial service so I decided to exploit that loophole and put one together for her. Brad was also in favour of it. I contacted the hospital chaplain who I knew was also the pastor at a church in Flesherton (midway between our home and Markdale). He had been in regularly to see Jan and I was taken by his easy-going and friendly demeanor. He quickly agreed to do the service but the only convenient date was just over one month away. I accepted. That next month was a flurry of activity. Planning the service and deciding on having people back to the house, designing, printing, and mailing invitations, and then trying to figure out what to do for food and refreshments. Despite the short timeframe, but not too surprisingly, almost all the invitations came back positive. In fact, even more than I had expected. I met with Reverend Prince to discuss the details of the service. He was very easy to work with and wanted to view it as a celebration of Jan's life rather than a somber reflection on her death. Given Jan's attitude toward such things, I could not have chosen a better person to host her service. The church held around 200 people and that's a good thing because about 150 showed up on October 14th. I think Jan would have approved of the service. Obviously, many tears were shed but Reverend Prince highlighted the positives of her life and didn't dwell on the sadness of her death. At one point, he asked people to come up and speak about fond and fun memories of Jan, and it was both touching and humorous to hear how some had such unique and warm memories of times spent with her. He read statements that Brad and I had written, and even played her favourite song. Very properly, it wasn't a funeral service, it was indeed a "celebration of life". I knew that Jan would not have disapproved. Afterward, nearly 80 people returned to our house. Thankfully, some cycled in and out, but we had a constant 50+ people in our home. Given the size of our kitchen, dining, and living area, that was roughly 1 person for every 8 square feet! Accounting for furniture, cabinets, etc., which takes at least half that, it was like a can of sardines! Later, I realized that total load was probably more than the house was ever designed for, but luckily nothing collapsed, and we made it through the day. I must admit though, we have a few floor squeaks now! Thanks to my sisters-in-law and a couple of others, the place was quite clean by the time everyone left. I'm grateful for that, because the next day was very tough. The service was over and a month's worth of adrenalin was gone. It was just Brad and I stuck with a new life that we weren't prepared for. It was now that the true reality of our loss began to set in.
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