I was just going through my memories on Facebook and I came across this photo.
This picture was taken in October 2014 when I got home from Afghanistan. I had been gone for over six months and my Uncle Mike was one of the first people (along with my mom, dad, Sam, Kelsey, and Noah) to greet me as I got off the airplane in San Antonio. When this photo was taken, I had no idea that 26 months later my beloved Mike would no longer be with us.
One year ago today, Mike was admitted to Hospice Austin’s Christopher House. He had stage four lung cancer and was rapidly declining. On December 22, 2016 after much convincing and special phone calls by my sister, Mike agreed to go to Christopher House. I spent my whole life knowing Mike as vibrant, happy, with a larger than life personality. And laugh. He was one-of-a-kind and everyone who knew Mike loved him. I was at his house when the ambulance came to take him and it pained me to see this strong man unable to walk any longer. As much as I didn’t want to admit it then, when that ambulance took him away, I knew he wasn’t coming back. I was most fearful that he would die on the way to the Christopher House and I wouldn’t have a chance to see him again.
In all, Mike was at Christopher House for just seven days. Those seven days felt like a lifetime, but at the same time it felt like they went by in a blur. During those seven days, he was mostly asleep though there were a couple of times that he was awake and talking to us. Some of my memories from that week are so clear while others are much more hazy. One memory I can specifically recall was one evening that Mike was having a good day, if that exists given his circumstances. I cannot even recall what day it was, but I know it was towards the end. Several family members had come to visit him and one of those family members was my cousin, Justin. There were a bunch of us in the hallway because I think maybe they were cleaning Mike up. Anyway, before we all went back in, Justin asked for some time alone with Mike. While Justin was in there, all-of-a-sudden we heard a rupture of laughter. You know – the kind that comes from the gut. Come to find out, when Justin walked in, Mike said, “Hey Justin, look!” Justin looked and Mike was shooting the middle finger at him. When Justin told us what happened, all of us who were there laughed until we cried. Unfortunately, that would be the last time we heard Mike’s beautiful laugh, faint as it might have been. Mike’s laugh was one of the most contagious laughs I have ever heard and it breaks my heart to know that I will never hear that boisterous laugh again.
I would be remiss without mentioning my Mom in this post. She was with Mike day and night from the moment he was admitted to Christopher House until the day he died. She only went home a couple of times during that week to get things she needed or to spend a couple of hours with me, my Dad, my sister, Troy, Tom, Noah, Bill, and Jesica on Christmas Day. During the few times that she actually left the Christopher House, there were some very special people in our lives who were willing to sit with Mike so that he wouldn’t be alone. You know who you are and I am so grateful for you. Also, I have to mention my sister. Without her, Mike may not have gotten into the Christopher House as quickly as he did. It was also thanks to Sam that Mike had such great care before he went to CH and while he was there. I know being a nurse isn’t easy and it has got to be even more difficult when you are being a nurse to a family member.
The night before my sister Sam’s birthday, my mom called Sam and I to the hospice center because Mike was showing signs of active death. That was scary for me because I have never been around someone who was showing active signs of natural death. By natural death, I mean not connected to life support or any other type of medical device. The only thing Mike was connected to was oxygen and pain medication. As expected, that night we didn’t get much rest. We were up most of the night, crying, laughing, talking to Mike, telling him that we loved him, we forgave him, that it was okay; whatever we could do to make him comfortable and peaceful.
Two days later Bill and I took Noah and Jesica to the mall to do a little post-Christmas shopping. We got lunch for my mom and were walking out of the mall to take it to her when my phone rang. It was my mom. She said, “you don’t have to come anymore. It’s over”. I will never forget those words. Although I was sad, so sad, part of me was relieved. I would never wish death on anyone, but it was time. Mike was in pain. He was suffering. He was hurting. I knew that with his death, he wouldn’t hurt or suffer anymore. I called the people I needed to call to tell them that Mike had died. Those were the worst phone calls I have ever had to make. Just as much as no one wants to receive bad news, no one wants to give bad news. For the last time, I went to Christopher House to bid my goodbyes to Mike before the funeral home came and took him away.
One week from today will be exactly a year since Mike died. There are still days that I want to call him or text him to tell him something funny or sentimental, or just that I love him and miss him. When people die, we often say “for just one more day…”. If I had one more day, I would tell him how much I love him, admire him, and am grateful for the time I had with him. That’s the funny thing about time though; you never know how much time you have left with someone and once that time has gone, you are left wishing for more time.
We had Mike’s funeral on December 31, 2016. We decided to have “Auld Lang Syne” by Rod Stewart play at the very end as people said their final goodbyes. “Auld Lang Syne” means “days gone by”, or “for old time’s sake”. Essentially, the song means to look back over happy times from the past, separation, then coming back together. We thought this song to be fitting as a final goodbye to our Mike.
And it was. It was the perfect, most beautiful song to say goodbye to.
Vagabond Texan 