Escaping the Jaws of Life

As I sit at my computer reading one email after another from both of my children, the pain in my heart just ached at reading what they were saying……all the things that I anticipated them to say. I know that they are reacting to a sense that I am removing their shrine of their dad. It was our retirement home….but yet, I’m not getting rid of it…just renting it out for extra income. This was a defining moment. I had shifted and changed. They were complaining that they didn’t recognize me as the mother that they knew. I sit back and breathe…thinking, wow! My life was so much simpler before, being the abiding and adoring wife, doing the worthwhile community service projects, maintaining a successful career, paying attention as a parent, keeping my children involved with after-school activities to make them wholesome and healthy adults and citizens, following the rules; staying in line; being responsible and being a role model for my children. It was not a sacrifice…but something I did, because my inner being said it was the “right thing”. Never a hesitation….just do what was expected, making sure all those around me were comfortable and happy. But was I? Was I always happy? It could have been much worse for my kids. I could have divorced like the other couples around us. I could have been seeking MORE happiness then, trying to find the one partner that “rocked my world”. Larry did rock my world…but it was more important, we rocked it together. Maybe by being a bit selfish and seeking another path that MIGHT have made me happier… I never thought twice about it. I really never had that chance nor did I want it. You see…I was happy, very happy. A 36 marriage (less 4 days) ended in September 7th, 2007. He died. My life witness is gone. He vaporized in heavy breathing. The air was still and static with his last breath. He chose the quickest way to his path with honor, courage and no pain – thank you Hospice. Thank God for Hospice! How wonderful they were to help me through the flurry of that ultimate decision he made to not have the extension of life with radiation and chemotherapy-- to just give him two to four more months to live. He made that decision contrary to his son begging him to take the radiation to live long enough to see his second grandchild born. Larry…in his dire need to stop the nonsense of fighting a long battle of early on-set Parkinson's…said “no thank you, son…I love you.” He took the high road…his mind was lucid in the decision….but somewhere when the glioblastoma multiforme took over…he was also in his own world. That mid-August day in 2007 when he made that decision, I was driving our jeep coming across the Bay Bridge, away from the University of San Francisco. We had just seen a radiologist about alternatives…..he took his seat belt off and opened the door to the jeep. I was driving in the middle lane of the bridge and grabbed him with my right hand, managing to keep the jeep in the lane. “Larry!” I yelled with fright and looked straight at him….”what the hell are you doing?” I managed to grab his left arm to keep him in the passenger’s seat…he just smiled at me with amusement and said to me “It’s really pretty out there…don’t you think?” He said with a glint in his eyes and a smile on his face that showed so much peace. The San Francisco Bay was glistening and mirror-like. The buzz of humanity was quieter than normal…..or was that how I perceived it? There was a moment of stillness where I caught my breath and just glanced at him maintaining the car in its lane on the Bay Bridge. “Honey…you are frightening me! You are scaring me. Do you think you made the wrong decision? We can turn around and go back to the radiologist and tell him you want the treatments.” I’m panicking and I’m still driving…keeping my fear in check knowing that he passed the temptation of stepping out of the moving vehicle on the bridge. He shut the door. He smiled at me again and said in a very small voice, almost boy like…”I’m sorry I scared you, but I have made a decision and I want to go like my Mom did.” I knew he was again lucid.