 20 Plastic Bags and a lifetime of memories
by Gail Paparian
(In Loving Memory)
Seventy-eight years of life, 32 years together
the wrappings will go to the Salvation Army in twenty plastic bags.
While I am coming out of denial; the reality
that my husband-partner-lover-best friend will not be coming home again. Years
of complicated health issues did not make his departure any easier.
Loving friends and family have advised me not
to make any major decisions for at least a year. How does one do that? It’s the
paper work, the death certificates, the medical bills, the banking: How does one
put all or any of this off for a year? The answer is… I can’t.
I have listened to all the well meaning words,
and then been left alone to deal with, decide and try to do… anything. The first
few nights were busy. Family, friends, phone calls, making arrangements,
bringing food in: then alone to wander the house and see Bill everywhere… his
glasses, his clothes, his scent nearly drove me crazy.
I dreaded by first night alone, but finally it
came. Thankfully, Sandy (our dog) and I shared our grief together.
Instead of weeping, I needed to do
something positive. After pacing the floor for a mile or so, I hit on what I
must do: I went to Bill’s bathroom and threw out thousands of dollars worth of
pills various doctors had prescribed for him. I then discarded every book and
pamphlet we had both read including, “How to Live with Congestive Heart
Failure,” and “Learning to Live with End Stage Renal Disease.”
Gone, too, were the identification
cards detailing each wire of his Defribulator/Pacemaker. Gone was the need for
me to carry a card describing his dialysis access. I don’t know how long and how
many trips it took for me to get rid of all this stuff. I only know I was
drained, yet relieved.
“Eliminate things that make me
sad,” became my mantra. Some days were easier than others, but in reality there
haven’t been many good days; yet I had to do something each day that would ease
my pain of loss and loneliness.
I made mental inventories, as I
couldn’t yet face what to do with Bill’s things. There were medals, memorabilia
and personal family items that I designated for Bill’s son and grandsons. This
wasn’t that difficult, as Bill and I had discussed it.
The problem came when I would see
his robe in the bathroom, or do the laundry I hadn’t done for a week only to
find his pajamas and underwear. I dutifully folded them and placed them in their
usual drawers; unable to recognize that the long patterns and habits we
developed over the years were gone. Never again would I fold Bill’s trademark
blue boxer shorts; never again would I iron a seemingly endless number of blue
golf and sports shirts.
I forced myself to take some of
Bill’s cashmere sweaters to the cleaners. He would kill me if I didn’t properly
care for these treasures! I avoided opening his closet so I didn’t have to deal
with it.
July 4th was
approaching and as each day passed, my frail resolve to go positively forward
crumbled. This July 4th, Bill’s birthday, would be the first time I
would be approaching it without him. Bill’s love and respect for our American
flag became my enemy. Each time I saw the stars and stripes, I cried. My Yankee
Doodle Dandy was gone and I didn’t feel much like celebrating.
For years, Bill and I would return
to Solana Beach to celebrate the 4th and Bill’s birthday. I allowed
myself to be talked in to going anyway. When I was able to secure the last
reservation at the pet spa for Sandy, I gritted my teeth and went. We found a
wonderful red, white and blue candle and returned to my friend’s home. We lit
it, raised our glasses skyward and in unison toasted Bill. Fortunately, being
dried-eyed was not required.
Through the support of these
friends, I did make it through the holiday… somewhat. We all shared Bill
stories, cried, ate, drank then cried some more. I wish I had the tissue
concession!
I reassured my friends that I was
okay, even though I wasn’t. I remember saying, more than one time, that at least
I had no regrets about my and my stepson Michael’s decision to withdraw Bill
from life supports. While the day before had seen Bill give permission to have
his leg amputated above his knee, I deeply believe that he never intended to see
this happen. Enough, I suspect was enough. He left this world with all of his
limbs attached.
I thought back to when we arrived
at the hospital early on that fatefully Friday morning; I fully expected to hear
Bill say, “Sweetheart, is that really you?” Sadly, I would never hear those
words again or see those famous eyebrows arch. I looked into Bill’s green eyes
and saw…. nothing. The person I had known and loved for thirty-two years was
gone.
His body, weakened by multiple
organs breaking down and failing, was still going. That is when I asked that
they give him something for pain and remove the tubes. Several hours later, with
my head on his chest Bill Paparian’s heart stopped beating.
The tears are flowing freely as I
write this; my only comfort is knowing that Bill is no longer suffering. Long
ago, Bill and I made known to each other and wrote down what our final wishes
were. “No worms” (neither of us would be going into the ground) and “no heroic
measures.”
When the most devastating decision
in my life presented itself, I didn’t find it difficult because it was the most
humane thing to do and it would have been what Bill wanted.
I drifted in and out of the
conversations that were going on around me. I tuned back in, only to hear
several friends declare that they still had not made their final decisions
known. I was a bit surprised, as these “60-somethings” were all intelligent
people. I’m sure their trusts were in order, but they hadn’t managed to put
anything down on paper to deal with…’what if…’
“Not the right thing to do,” I
pronounced. “If you have final directives, you need to make them known to your
spouses, your family, your attorney, your doctor and anyone else who might get
in the way of having your wishes followed.”
I cannot stress how important this
is to do when you are sane, sensible and able to think clearly. While not
pleasant to do, it is the only way one can insure that your wishes are followed.
Do it and put it in writing!
On Tuesday morning, one of our
favorite charities, The Salvation Army, will come and pick up 20 plastic bags.
The memories will remain with me forever, but the pants, shirts, sweaters,
shoes, suits, pajamas and other worldly apparel will go away.
I have kept some things that I
just cannot part with and that’s okay. While it makes me sad, it does bring me
one step closer to moving forward. Bill would want other people to be the
beneficiaries of all those wonderful wrappings he wore so well.
Maybe just writing this brings me
one step closer to healing. I hope so, because the pain is just awful. If I have
learned anything through this ordeal that consumes me on a daily basis, it is to
make your wishes known if you want them followed.
Don’t assume that anyone can, or
should read your mind when that time comes. It is difficult enough to “pull the
plug”; it is somewhat easier when you are following the wishes of one you love.
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