Permission to Leave

First, I never wanted cancer. I never wanted to be a widow or celebate or sad or angry. I never wanted to explain to my grandgirls that Papa isn’t going to get better or that, soon, he won’t be here at all. I never wanted to hide Audrey’s note asking him not to die. There are so many things that I never wanted and don’t want now.
The sad truth is he has my permission to stop this futile fight. My big guy can leave and go on to whatever comes next in the universe. I told him so.
He is unconcious and I call it asleep. His eyes roll back in his head and only the whites show under the shrouded lids. He hasn’t been awake all day. For the first time, I gave him his morphine in the bucal space between his cheek and jaw. The nurse says the liquid absorbs easily through the mucosa. She says the ativan will disolve there too.
This week he winces when touched. His brow furrows at a kiss and he moans when I try to rotate him into a new position–bed sores, you know. He hasn’t any yet. I see it as my job to have him die with skin intact.

He is dying and there is nothing he or I can do about it. So as he sleeps I talked to him. I told him he has been the best friend a girl could ever want. I told him that I love him and I love being with him and married to him and I love the way we have been together for all these years. And I told him it is okay to go. It is okay to let the curtain fall on this act of the play that is forever. I will be alright. I will be sad but no sadder than I am waiting for his body to give up. It is alright to slip into whatever the universe holds for him. He should take it easy; be gentle with himself and, yes, he should be gentle with me.

He no longer moves to the side of the bed to make room for me to hold him. I think the holding hurts. I think there is little that doesn’t hurt as the time for more medicine approaches. I know the sight of his frail frame, holocaust wrists, and sunken cheeks hurts me. Eyes that don’t quite focus and the missing catechism response to “I love you” hurt me too. I want MY love back. I want him whole and hardy and ready to take on the 26-year olds. I want to promise never to complain of the cold at another soccer game or beg off another softball tournament. I want to commit to every Aztec game until the rapture, as if such promises influence cancer and its progress through his body.

My darling, you have my permission to leave. This party isn’t any fun any more. There is nothing either of us can do to make it better now. But remember, please, how wonderful it has been. Take that memory with you. Take my love with you. Feel my touch as you go wherever this last journey takes you.