Benny's Journey (or I'll Live Until I Die)

The longer you sleep in an easy chair the less easy it comes. It's comfortable at first, but for an entire night it gets old fast.

I woke up several times, mostly from nurses coming in to check on Bamps. One time he was awake and asked me "What are doing here?" I told him I didn't want to leave. He just smiled and went back to sleep.

About 7am I woke up to a big crash. Bamps had slept though it, but apparently, while bringing up the breakfast cart, the orderly somehow had managed to overturn the cart, which isn't an easy thing to do. There were scrambled eggs, cream of wheat and coffee everywhere! When he started to clean it up, whoopsie! He ended up face down in cream of wheat. It was hilarious. Because the food and coffee was slowly spreading out over the floor, everyone was tossing towels on it so it wouldn't spread too far, and Housecleaning was finding eggs and cereal on the floor, the walls, the furniture....even tracked into the nurses station! The poor orderly was getting ribbed about his starting his New Years Eve partying a little early!

Since the Great Egg Massacre happened right outside my grandfather's room, I was awake now. I was amazed Bamps slept through it, but he had a morphine injection at around 5:30am and looked very peaceful, but he'd have had a good laugh at all that was going on.

I decide to do my morning ablutions at the handwashing sink in the room. Hank hadn't arrived with my stuff yet. When I was attempting to put on mascara (a girly skill that still eludes me) I glance over at my grandfather in the mirror and get a bit of a shock. All around him there was a dense fog. I turned around to see if it was just fog on the mirror, but it wasn't the fog was still there, all around him, and above him. The nurse came in to check on him and saw it too. She didn't act surprised she just said she she'd come back later to do his vitals. She asked how I was and I told her I was fine, but I was really curious about the fog. I'd seen it once before - the morning my grandmother died. She just shrugged her shoulders and said that things happen there that they can't explain, you just have to accept it. Her theory is that the fog is either the spirit of the one dying or the spirits or friends welcoming the dying patient, or maybe the Holy Spirit. She was Catholic and had been estranged from the church for almost 20 years. Then she job at hospice. When you see stuff like that, you know there's something on the other side, you just don't know what.

Hank arrived about 10am with three McD's pancake breakfasts; we ate two and gave one to the wife of the man in the next room.

My grandfather was breathing very slowly, and his hands were cold. Once in awhile he'd squeeze my hand just to let me know he was there. Nurses came in about every ten minutes, and we knew that my grandfather's death was imminent. Hank held his right hand, I held his left.

We didn't have much conversation between us. What do you say at a time like this? Anything you could say would seem so trivial. Since Bamps was sleeping, really he was in what's termed a morphine coma, we were quiet. We didn't want to disturb him. At one point he called out "Esther" my grandmother's name.

The doctor came in at about 11am and did a brief examination. He said my grandfather looked peaceful, how were we holding up? Well, gee, my grandfather, the person aside from my husband that I was closest too was dying, so I've been better. Apparently I looked rather stressed out, despite the fact I thought I was fairly calm. He could prescribe some Valium for me if I wanted, and I said that I had my own, but thanks anyway. Hank, as usual, was strong, but you could tell the sorrow had crept in.

After the doctor left, a few minutes later one of the nurses came in and took my grandfathers pulse. She said it wasn't going to very long now. Just as she was turning to leave, my grandfather had a massive convulsion. He had no history of seizures, although his sister did have epilepsy. The nurse said it appeared to be grand mal seizure. As suddenly as it began, it stopped. My grandfathers eyes opened, he looked at me, managed a smile, and then closed his eyes again. He took a few more breath; inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale...we waited for him to exhale. He didn't.

The nurse looked for his pulse. It was gone.

My grandfather had got his wish at 11:23 am, on New Years Eve. He didn't want to start another year, and he didn't. He left his life the way he had lived it...on his own terms.

The tears Hank and I had been holding back for months finally erupted. For the first time in my life I felt utterly lost. The person I had been closest had left the earth. I believe in an afterlife, so I know he's fine.

I think he chose to die on New Years Eve. It was his favorite holiday and I'm sure in Heaven that night he went to one helluva New Years Eve bash, with my grandmother at his side.

Every year at New Years Eve, we drink a toast to my grandparents. We still feel them with us.

Yesterday passed quietly. Bamps slept for most of day. He had some jello, some juice and some water, but wasn't really interested in anything else. At least until Wheel of Fortune came on...Vanna White was worth waking up for! He didn't watch much TV, unless a good movie was on, but he never missed Wheel of Fortune.

I spent the day there at the hospice, watching TV, reading the papers and doing the crossword puzzles. The staff had ordered out for pizza for themselves and the patients and their families, mostly because traffic was horrendous. The hospital was near two major malls and people were doing their after Christmas shopping. It would have been faster to walk the three miles to home than it would have been to drive three blocks!

About 8:30 Bamps woke up suddenly and asked me what I was still doing there - I should go home and get some sleep. The nurses would call if Hank and I needed to come back in. He asked me to bring him some pancakes and sausage from McDonald's the next morning, as that was our Saturday morning ritual.

I headed home, and arrived shortly after Hank had pulled in. We were both tired, him from work, and me from hanging out hospice. After playing with the cats, and feeding them, we went to bed. They were still on sofa, still curled up together.

I couldn't sleep that night so I got up and watched TV. This was before cable and late night television 1988 really sucked, but it was noise. About 7 am Hank got out of bed and we dressed, fed the cats and went by McDonald's to pick up our breakfasts.

When we got to the hospice, about 9 am or so, my grandfather was alert, but was very pale and his breathing was somewhat labored. The nurse on duty, whose name I can't remember said that the doctor would be in around 9:45 or so. My grandfather decided he wasn't interested in breakfast, so Hank and I split his pancakes and sausage between us.

While he had been mostly pain free during his illness, he was in a great deal of discomfort today, mostly because of back pain. I also learned for the first time that in some people, pain sometimes becomes part of the dying process as the body fails. I just never knew that. He also cannot rest unless he is sitting up - his lungs hurt if he tries to lay down.

When the doctor arrived, about 10 pm, after examining my grandfather, he suggests that to control the pain, we can give my grandfather morphine. It will help his pain, but it will also sedate him, and make his breathing more shallow. This doctor was the "real" hospice doctor and was very open about my grandfather's condition. Death was going occur in a matter of days. Hospice can make comfortable and give support to him and us. Before he would give my grandfather the injections, he said that if there is anyone my grandfather wanted to see or talk to, do it now and he'd have the injection ready whenever Bamps was.

Bamps had me make phone calls to my mother, his sister, nephew, a friend in Tampa. He was too weak to talk long, but got on the phone long enough to say what he had to say. While the people on the other end were teary, my grandfather wasn't. He was ready. I think he was the only one.

There were only two people in town he wanted to see, a couple he and my grandmother had been friends with since we moved to Pompano in 1960. The wanted to wait and come on in that evening, but my grandfather asked if they could come now. He said he was sleeping a lot and as long as he was awake, now would be a good time. In about an hour they arrived. It was not an easy visit for them. I don't' think they were ready to let go anymore than I was. But there are some things in like we can't have our way.

At about noon, my grandfather requested the first morphine injection. We held hands until he fell asleep. I walked down to the nurses station to asked "what next?" I know that sounds incredibly stupid. I mean, I knew we were waiting for my grandfather to die. He knew what to do, but I was clueless! It wasn't the first time they'd been asked that question apparently.

The nurses said it would be a good thing if I stayed at the hospice now as well. My grandfathers condition was poor and he could go at any time. They asked if my grandfather would want his clergy member called, and since he didn't have one...well there was Fred, our Episcopal chaplin friend and fellow Yankees fan. They gave him a call, and he called back and asked if I wanted him to come in to give my grandfather Last Rites. My grandfather probably wouldn't want it, but I did, so around 4pm Fred arrived.

We had the Last Rites service, which my grandfather slept through, but Fred and I, a couple nurses, a volunteer, and a couple of family members of other patients did participate. It was very nice...for us, at least. Fred joked before he left that it was a good thing he slept through the service; why change now? Or something to that effect. It was funny when Fred said it.

I spent the rest of day watching television, watching my grandfather sleep, and pacing the halls. Hank worked that day, and came it around 6, bringing dinner from McDonald's. We reminisced a lot, talked with other patients, their families, and staff. About 10 Hank headed home to take care of the cats. I told him to just come back tomorrow morning. I was going to stay there. He said he'd make up a suitcase of stuff for me to keep there.

What I really wanted was for him to bring Kobi back, but animals weren't part of the in-hospice hospital scene yet. I think my grandfather would like having Kobi there. Georgina would be too skittish to bring in, but Kobi was a calm cat, and would love any opportunity for new people to worship and adore him. I can imagine he'd curl up at the foot of the bed and stay put.

Finally, at about midnight, I took a double shot of the scotch that was in the care package Hank had delivered earlier in the day and settled in to the easy chair for the night.

Christmas and December 26th went quite well. Despite having hardly any appetite, my grandfather managed to eat a few bites of turkey, two or three candied yams, some green beans, two slices of pumpkin pie and half a container of orange sherbet. His rational was "life is uncertain, dessert isn't."

We had a steady stream of visitors, mostly neighbors who came bearing cards. Some of them, having just returned from The North (we had lots of snowbirds in the park) were shocked upon seeing my grandfather. He had changed dramatically in the past few months.

Around Easter, his hair was still salt and pepper, but now it was totally white. The Kaposi's was leaving it's mark on most of his body, except his face - he only had one lesion - but his arms and legs were covered with them. He had lost a tremendous amount of weight since then.

On December 26th he decided he wanted to go sit on the patio, despite his weakness. I helped him out around 11 am and we stayed there until around two. We had a lawn chaise, so he was able to spread out and relax. Lots of neighbors came by, some with their dogs. We decided to let the cats out as well. They weren't exactly the roaming types so they stayed on the patio. Kobi decided the area under the lawn chaise was perfect for him and one of our neighbor came by with Kobi's best friend a toy poodle, who crawled under the chaise with Kobi. The kids next door came over and showed us all the toys Santa had dropped off. Since the kids were there, we decided to bring out the rest of the sherbet and we all finished it off, although my grandfather only had one bite.

Around two we decided to go back in. Ellie and Manny arrived just as we were trying to get up the stairs. My grandfather had suddenly become very weak. Normally only one nurse showed up, but because of a scheduling mishap, both Ellie and Manny were there at the same time, which turned out well.

Shortly after we got back inside, my grandfather lost control of his bowels again, and Manny took advantage of the opportunity to not only give my grandfather a shower, but to wash his hair, give him a manicure and gossip about the neighbor across the street who was showing off her new skintone string bikini to everyone. (Well, she did have the figure for it...)

Ellie did her usual physical. My grandfather's blood pressure had dropped and he had a slight fever. His breathing was a little more shallow than usual, but he did have a very busy morning. Ellie asked if my grandfather's spirits were good and he said about as good as they could be. Ellie made arrangements to come back tomorrow morning, with the doctor, because she felt that we should start thinking about perhaps moving him from the house to the hospice center. If Hank and I wanted to we could stay there as well, even though the only place we'd have to sleep were either the sofas in the lounge or in one of the easy chairs in the room.

My grandfather said he'd think about it, but he'd just assume stay home as long as possible. That way he didn't have to share a television with anyone!

That afternoon, after Manny and Ellie left, my grandfather took a long nap, not waking up until 10pm. He said he dreamed he and my grandmother were sitting on the porch of their old duplex on 25th Avenue with his parents and my mother, and me, when I was about 2 1/2 years old.

When Hank and I went to bed that night, we talked about what Ellie had suggested; and decided that if Bamps wanted to stay home or go, we'd support his decision.

Late that night I woke up when I though I heard Hank in the bathroom. Hank was next to me though. I got out of the bedroom, check the bathroom and it was empty. When I went into the living room, I saw my grandfather sitting at the kitchen table doing a crossword puzzle; problem was I also saw him sleeping on the couch. When I looked back at the kitchen table he was gone - now he was just sleeping on the couch. His breathing didn't sound just right, but he seemed peaceful. Kobi, who was usually at his feet or on the back of the couch had moved and was laying on the arm of the couch, at my grandfather's head. Georgina was under the coffee table, on Bamps' slippers.

Although I went back to bed, I left the door open. I couldn't get back to sleep.

About 7:30 Hank left for work, and my grandfather was still sleeping. The cats were away, but they hadn't left their places. A few minutes after Hank left, another car pulled up, and Dr. S. and Ellie got out.

After apologizing for coming early without calling, Dr. S. woke my grandfather up so he could examine him. He sat down of the sofa with Bamps after he had finished the examination and said "Benny, I think it's time you moved to the hospice. You'll be much more comfortable."

My grandfather hadn't let on that he was having pain every time he exhaled, but Dr. S. could tell. Bamps asked "What do think Pumpkin?" I said if Dr. S. thought it was a good idea maybe he should do it, but the decision was up to him.

He said he was ready to go. Dr. S. made a few phone calls, we packed up a suitcase of things my grandfather wanted to take, and by 11:00 the ambulance arrived to transport him to the hospice. After the ambulance pulled out, I called Hank to tell him what was happening, but just got his voicemail.

I called my mother, my friend Chris, Bamp's sister Dorothy, his nephew, and his friends to tell them what was happening, then left for the hospice.

When I arrived there was a bit of a commotion. Bamps had a private room - sort of. The other occupant died during the night, and for some reason there was a problem in moving his body out. Actually his kids were fighting over where the funeral would be. You'd think that they'd do that in person, but instead were playing phone tag. In the meantime their father was just hanging around in the next bed because the hospital morgue was full, and the funeral director was not able to get their until two. My grandfather quipped that least he wouldn't have to ask if it was OK to change the TV channel!

Around 4pm, the hospice doctor came in. Actually he was a medical resident and it was his first time "doing" hospice. He was overly cheery. It's one thing to have a bedside manner, it's another to be Perky Pete. Anyway he asked how my grandfather was feeling, my grandfather told him he was very tired, and the doctor said (this is how you could really tell this guy had NEVER worked with a hospice patient before) "Well don't worry Mr. B we'll have you up and around in no time."

My grandfather looked at me, looked at the nurse, then looked at doctor and said "You moron! I'm dying! I'm not going to be getting up and going anywhere!"

That was the closest I'd ever heard my grandfather being snippy to anyone. Ever.

All the doctor could say was "Uh, I'm sorry. That really was a stupid thing to say."

My grandfather told him to forget about it - he looked to young to be doctor and deal with dying people anyway.

And then they came with the dinner tray and we found where food goes when it dies. It was hospital food with a severe case of depression. Bamps asked me to bring him a hamburger from Wendy's and his chocolate Ensure. The nurses said bringing meals in fine. They do it all the time. It turns out this particular hospital wasn't exactly know for it's culinary talents. To this day I have never seen green beans that grey.

I came back from Wendy's just as Hank arrived and after spending a couple of hours there, Bamps sent us home. He just wanted to sleep. He said to bring the newspaper when I came back in the morning and we'd do the crossword together.

It felt very strange to not have him at home that night. Kobi and Georgina took up residence on the couch, side by side. Kobi was obviously depressed. I think he knew things would never be the same again.

Ellie, who's my grandfather's other favorite hospice nurse paid us a surprise visit today. She came with a quart of her special homemade eggnog, spiced up with a generous dose of Southern Comfort. Normally Bamps and I didn't care for SoCo, but the spices Ellie used mixed really well and the eggnog was terrific. I don't know what the hospice policy was on giving boozy treats, but since my grandfather wasn't going to drive anywhere and eggnog has calories, what the heck!

She also had Hope with her. Hope was her three year old daughter, who was dressed up as a Sugar Plum Fairy. No recital, just a three year olds natural urge to be as cute as possible! She was adorable. Soon after Ellie and Hope arrived our next door neighbor's kids came over to sing Christmas carols and have this time, they were the bringers of Christmas Cheer, in the form of a homemade ice cream roll. After a couple of songs, the adults dug into the eggnog and the kids (and adults) dug into the ice cream roll. It wasn't a balanced lunch, but it was a fun lunch.

That evening, more company came by, usually bring gifts of the boozy variety, which my grandfather definitely approved of. As he said, "What better a gift for a dying man? I sure as hell don't need another tie!". (Just so you know - he had only one tie, and for him it was one too many. It was a clip on red art deco style tie that he got when we once went to a restaurant that required a jacket and tie to enter. He didn't have a tie, so they loaned him one from the Secret Tie Stash. When we left he forgot to give it back, and they didn't ask for it either, for, in truth, it was the fugliest tie either of us had ever seen. I had to promise I wouldn't bury him in it, just give it to the cats to play with. (They didn't like it either - Georgina tried to bury it in the litter box.)

Hank was at work and missed the festivities, and since I can't remember if he had any eggnog that was left over, I guess all us other adults made sure we didn't let it go to waste!

That evening we had creamed chipped beef for dinner and watched "It's a Wonderful Life."

It was a good day, despite Kobi getting into the eggnog. What do you do with a drunken Persian?

Kobi and Georgina have not left my grandfather's side, except for the occasional visit to the litter box and to much. Kobi especially. He's taken up residence on my grandfather's feet, or under the coffee table. At night Kobi took to perching on the sofa top, watching my grandfather. A few times he would look towards the other living room chair and not take his eyes off it, all-the-while purring like made. I think my grandmother was probably there keeping vigil.

Some people believe in ghosts, some don't. I happen to. A few mornings, coming out of the bedroom and heading down the hall, I saw my grandmother, sitting on the edge of the couch, quietly watching my grandfather sleep. He asked me if I had seen her as well, so I know he was seeing her as well.

Georgina was a bit skittish, but she'd go sit under the coffee table and look up at where my grandmother was. Kobi, on the other hand, liked to follow her around apparently. We'd hear my grandmother's footsteps at night and Kobi's little paws would soon follow.

On December 23rd, a new nurse, filling in for Juanita and Sourpuss came by to check on things and bring a supply of lotions, pills and hard candy. Near the end of his visit (I can't remember his name - I think it was Manny) looked over towards the kitchen and said "Hmm. Who's the lady next to the fridge. Naturally this time we didn't see her, but Manny had some sort of gift going on, and described my grandmother exactly.

In talking with him, he said he'd been with hospice for about four years, and prior to that had been a complete non-believer in anything supernatural. Then, one night after one of his patients had died he was filling out the usual paperwork when he heard his name called. He didn't see anybody at the desk but when he looked down the hall he saw a man walk into the room of his recently deceased patient. Thinking it was a relative, he went down to the room, but the only person in it was the dead patient; he went back to the nurses station, but didn't say anything to the other nurses on duty.

About a half hour later he heard his name called again. This time he looked up, saw no one, but decided to look down the hallway. There at the end of the hallway was the recently deceased, dressed in a golfing outfit, just standing in front of his (former) room, and looking at Manny and smiling. The guy just sort of faded out from the feet first. From that point on Manny was a believer. When he told the other nurses and the volunteer what he had just seen, all they could say, "Yeah, you'll get used to it." Apparently, you hang around the dying enough and you get the hang of seeing them.

Anyway, back to Manny's home visit. Bamps was running a low grade fever, but didn't seem to have any other symptoms other than a poor appetite. Manny was totally amazed about my grandfather recovered vision. It was a first for him. Georgina, normally a little shy around strangers, had decided Manny was good people and spent most of the curled up in his lap. When I walked Manny out to his truck, he said "You know, he's going soon, don't you?" I think we all knew the answer to that.

Then Manny said that he usually doesn't mention things like this, but he had some psychic abilities (like we hadn't figured that out already!) and he said when he looked at my grandfather, he didn't see an elderly, very ill man. He saw a thirtyish, very handsome man with a bright, glowing aura around him and lots of orbs, which were other spirits. And then of course my grandmother was there. Over the course of his visit she changed from the elderly woman in the kitchen to her twenty-something look. He said they made a great couple and he'd never seen two people so connected between the two worlds. He also thought that at night, or whenever my grandfather was sleeping, he was already visiting "the other side". He was ready to go!

Manny made me feel a lot less depressed about all that had been going on lately, to put it mildly. That afternoon my grandfather made a very strange request. For Christmas dessert, he wanted orange sherbet, which was my grandmother's and my favorite. He never really cared for it. But, if he wanted orange sherbet, he'd get it. Who knows - maybe even the dead get food cravings!

It was also interesting at this time, that while his body was failing, his spirit was thriving. He said he was looking forward to death, because he missed my grandmother, and knew death wasn't the end anymore.

Well, what more can I say?

(Sorry about not posting. I meant to keep up with this, but I seem to have developed some health problems of my own. Back to the story...)

After Thanksgiving, my grandfather started to lose weight rapidly. That's the bad news. The good news is that for the first time in almost 70 years he didn't need glasses to read. His glaucoma had actually reshaped his eyes into a perfect 20/20. His opthomologist said she had heard of it, but never seen it. So now Bamps was reading the sports pages and whatever else he could get his hands on, especially if it was by John D. MacDonald or Zane Grey. He was even doing crossword puzzles again, although his tremor made it hard to hold a pencil.

His appetite had simply decreased. He wasn't hungry, except for a childhood favorite of cottage cheese and catsup. (Yeah, gross!) Fortunately he did like the chocolate Ensure, so there was some caloric intake.

It was a very hard time. Hank (my husband) had taken over bathing my grandfather because my grandfather has taken to having modesty attacks. He was also mortified about his lack of bowel control. I had never seen him cry until the first time he lost control of his bowels. For him the illness wasn't just an annoyance anymore, it was an embarrassment. Fortunately, there were adult diapers, but that just made him more annoyed and embarrassed.

Despite all this his spirits were good. He had a steady stream of visitors, although he really missed Juanita, who had taken the holidays off to go see her family. For the first time in years he decided he wanted a Christmas tree. Not having a lot of room, we found a little tabletop one that could go on the bar. We planned a Christmas meal of grilled turkey, stuffing, celery gravy and pumpkin pie, and those overly sweet canned yams.

At about this time, December 20th, he said that he was just tired. He wanted to see the World Series and he did; he wanted to see his nephew, and he did; he wanted to see Thanksgiving, and he did; but he wasn't sure he wanted to stick around much longer. He was missing my grandmother, his parents, his childhood friends and thought that he probably didn't have much time left anyway.

When the hospice doctor came to visit, my grandfather asked him for enough pills to take his life.

I was sitting next to him when he said it and it took both the doctor and I for a surprise.

For the next half hour, my grandfather and his doctor talked about why the doctor would not give him the pills. My grandfather understood. But he wanted that control over his life, a chance to end it on his terms. In the end, he decided that he would let nature take its course. If he were alive today and going through this, we probably would have moved to Oregon by now. I don't know.

Dr. S. set up an appointment for the nurse (hopefully Juanita, instead of the Sourpuss, would be the one to do it) to draw blood in early January for the relatively new HIV test, that was supposed to be much more accurate. In the meantime, we decided to enjoy the Christmas holidays, and for the first time in decades, my grandfather had a private visit with the Episcopal chaplin, and had communion. Not that he believed, he said, but it made him feel closer to his parents, who were devout Episcopalians.

Everyone knew the "end was near" as they say. But my grandfather wasn't mourning; we were, but he wasn't. He had lived a great life, and even though it wasn't ending the way he expected (being shot by the jealous husband of a 27 year old blonde) he didn't have regrets. It wasn't his style.

He talked a lot on the phone to his sister, my mother, his nephews, and even old customers from the restaurant. The only real regret he said he had was that he didn't make it to the Subway Series.