Changes

A few days ago, I asked Craig if he wanted time to talk to us individually about his thoughts and feelings.  After stating a firm yes, Craig drifted off to sleep.  As he did, I reassured him that we'd be there for him if and when he'd like to talk.  Then I turned towards his bedroom window and looked out.  To what, I'm never sure.  Some mornings, it's the sun that catches my gaze; it's comforting to watch the sun emerge from its hidden location just beyond the horizon.  Other times, I'm mindlessly staring at endless stretches of industrial buildings and open fields.  

At some point, we've all assumed the same position:  hands on the window ledge, gazing at some fuzzy spot in the distance.  Sometimes we're searching for meaning or clarity; oftentimes, we're not searching at all.  The window serves as a portal to some unknown destination, an open invitation for our minds to drift to somewhere else.

Now, as I listen to Craig's unsteady breathing, I find myself staring out towards the University of Colorado Hospital.  Though I can barely see its contours from our downtown location, my mind is navigating its halls with haunting familiarity.  It has been two months since we said our final goodbye to Uni C.  Still, I can recall the hospital's carpet, decorations, sound and smell with strange exactness.  To see Uni C from Craig's bedroom is oddly comforting, especially as Craig continues with his journey.       

Craig's hospice nurse, Sandy, visited again earlier this morning, though she was here only two days ago.  She said that after speaking with me yesterday, she felt another visit was needed, if only to help walk us through yet another turn in Craig's process.  His pulse has dropped from 100 to the low 80s, and the time between respirations has become longer.  More than this, Craig seems different.  Though he is more alert today as compared to yesterday, he's having difficulty staying awake.  His facial expressions have also changed; he appears to be grimacing more. 

Sandy spoke with Craig privately about the changes and what they likely mean.  (Craig gave Sandy permission to share their conversation with us.)  Sandy said that his body is slowing down and that it's time for him to give himself permission to let go.  He said he knows.  Craig mentioned that he's been experiencing changes in his body that would suggest he may be nearing the end of his journey.  When that will be is up to Craig. It's his will that is keeping him here.  This is Craig's process; he'll decide to let go when the timing feels right to him.  And, like always, we'll continue to be there in support.  

Sandy said he took the news with courage and that he seemed prepared.  She also mentioned that Craig seems to be opening himself to the possibility of finding peace in and beyond death.  What that may mean to Craig is only for him to know.  But it's clear that Craig feels a change. 

Though he was awake earlier, he's since fallen back to sleep.  I'm typing as he sleeps; Emily is stretched out on Craig's bed just a few feet away, while Diane is perched on the floor by Craig's hospital bed.  She's slowly buzzing his hand as he drifts in and out of sleep.  At one point, she takes a green cloth from his bed and dabs a tear from his eye.  She's also crying. 

He seems to be taking the news well, though he says it's tough to hear.  Though it's hard for any one of us to leave his side, we've started to cycle in alone time to give each other time for private conversation with Craig. We're just taking it one day at a time and will continue to be with him as he works through the changes.  -- J