A friend sent this screenshot to me this morning from Vernon’s Google Fonts page. It’s the sample phrase for Vernon’s ‘oxygen’ font So I decided to look at the other sample phrases on his page. I made my own screenshots and then wrote down the phrases as I’d saved them at random. I thought perhaps I could create a poem out of them, moving each phrase around to what felt best. But even as I wrote them down, I could see they were taking on a beautiful poem of their own. This is exactly as I copied them into my notebook. A poem from Vernon via Google Fonts. He is still speaking from the semi-beyond.
My two natures had memory in common.
Almost before we knew it, we had left the ground.
The face of the moon was in shadow.
Waves flung themselves the blue evening.
It was going to be a lonely trip back.
A shining crescent far beneath the flying vessel.
Silver mist suffused the deck of the ship.
All of their equipment and instruments are alive.
She stared through the window at the stars.
The spectacle before us was indeed sublime.
The sky was cloudless and of a deep dark blue.
A red flair silhouetted the jagged edge of a wing.
“He lives most life whoever breathes most air.” ~Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Even with the oxygen treatment being added to make Vernon more comfortable (his blood oxygen levels are running around 74%) his lungs are working hard. His breathing is so slow…but it has been for days. The thing that I’ve noticed more this morning than even last night is that every few breaths, it takes longer to get to the inhale. Suddenly I sit up: was that the last one? Is another coming? It’s not unlike listening to a sick baby’s breathing patterns: Wait—where is the next breath?! Every once in awhile, he’ll make a loud gasp as he exhales…of course that startles us all. It’s very hard to listen to. I shall have to come in and out of the room more frequently today, I expect.
We have to go in and out emotionally too. We cant’t be heavy all the time. It’s exhausting. Every time there is a sacred-feeling moment, and it seems like the end must be close, I feel so connected, so primed for the moment. It feels like the last goodbye….and then, he lingers and we have to pull ourselves out of the moment and take a break.I called my friend Andrea earlier to talk about it: “It’s so hard, his hanging on like this. It’s already 17 days since his last Dialysis. We expected it to be so much sooner. Is it just that he’s young and has strong working organs? I don’t think he has any unfinished business that I can think of.”
“He has been dying a long time, ” she said. “He should have died the night of the accident, but he didn’t. He kept coming back from the brink for over 2 years (and 3 months yesterday.) You have always made sure he has love and music around him, you visit him all the time, even now in hospice, you give him a lot to live for, a lot to stay for. His spirit may be saying…I’ve got forever to enjoy eternity, I just want a little longer with them here. What seems like too long to you may seem too short to him.”
That really helped my perspective this morning, even though it did make me cry. To see it from his possible point of view makes me relax a little, and think: the timing isn’t up to me. Like birth, its inevitable, but his timeline doesn’t belong to me. It’s still Vernon’s story. It’s still his life.
I checked out of the hotel this morning, sure that it wouldn’t be necessary to stay any longer. Of course, I thought that the day before that…and the day before that. We’ve seen signs of decline in Vernon, but they are still so slow that I never know until the afternoon what to expect for that evening. My friend Andrea, who was keeping me company this afternoon, offered to stay with me tonight, but the hotel was booked up. No room in the inn. So I decided to take Suzanne up on her offer to stay with her.
I met Suzanne in passing in the early days of Vernon’s time at Mesa Verde. I don’t remember how long she said her husband had been living there, but he had a stroke five years ago. They have been married 30-something years. We noticed each other because there aren’t many other wives we’ve seen taking care of their husbands…at least not on the notably younger side. Though we’ve exchanged numbers and sometimes chat in passing, I haven’t really talked to her at much length until this week. As soon as she heard Vernon was going to be on hospice, she offered a room to stay in if I needed one.
So tonight, finally deciding it was safe to leave Vernon there another night, asking the nurses to check on him every hour and let me know about any significant changes they might see, I drove down to the address she gave me on the Balboa Peninsula, about three miles away. Now I wish I could stay longer. It’s lovely. And she brought me tea.
Thank you, Suzanne, for giving me space to rest. Just what I needed, right when I needed it.
Citizen:a person who legally belongs to a country and has the rights and protection of that country
(Vernon under this photo in Joshua Tree, a place he resonated with. He was always fascinated by the deserts of America, so mythic and unusual to his European experience.)
This morning I started filling out new forms for the removal of his body. I discussed options with our Chaplain. Of course he was okay with the options I decided on immediately after coming into the hospice season. It seemed much more efficient to have all my major decisions over and done with right away, but after all this time of waiting with Vernon, I had a change of mind. So for that alone, I’m thankful this is taking longer than expected. Maybe that’s even why.
But I can’t bring myself to fill out the forms any more than the very basics on the first page. Not right now. Not this morning. Not today. Fortunately, I don’t have to. The basic things I will need handled have already been arranged.
I’ve filled out SO many forms for Vernon since his accident. But the great irony lies in the forms I filled out for him for naturalization. They literally took me all summer to finish. When he had gone to the hospital last week, I had printed the last letter out and made all the necessary corrections. There must have been 50 pages. In fact, the last thing I had to do to finish up the packet was take a 2×2″ passport-style photo of him with a white background. Of all the the things I’d collected, I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten that detail till so late. So I used the pillows of his hospital room as a backdrop, even though I knew already it was pointless. Those papers would never get sent. He opened his eyes and tried to look straight at my camera. He was always on board with this citizenship idea, to the very end: in his mind, I believe it solidified him with the land his family was in. That’s where he wanted to be. It didn’t seem to matter if he had a temporary catheter sticking out of his neck and wires running across his chest. *
But Vernon has never really belonged to any land. He grew up in England but was happy to leave and live in Norway as soon as the chance came up as a young art student. He lived there for many years, learning the language and finding a wife. He lived in Dusseldorf, Germany for a time. He lived in England again. He moved to America. He was a citizen of the world. And soon he will be a citizen of heaven. I don’t even have to fill out anymore paperwork for him till after he goes. It will be an afterthought.
As my friend Sandy used to say when her husband died: “I haven’t lost him like everyone says…I know exactly where he is.”
A few Here is our favorite Simon and Garfunkel song. We both always loved it.
We managed to get through last night and all of today. I hear changes in his breathing, and they are ordering patches that will help with the wetness in his chest and throat. He seemed much more regulated as far as medication goes, and he hasn’t been noticeably awake since yesterday. Still, I think he hears. His toe still taps from time to time and his eyebrows raise when he hears certain names or even my voice when I enter the room. And then we medicate him again as soon as he starts to move too much. I feel much better today, even though I was tired from lack of sleep, merely because I knew he was feeling much better. It’s been a weird symbiotic relationship that got more intense over the past two years, but it’s nice that we are still seeing signs of that to the very end. It feels right, though not always comfortable.
Nap time.
My mother being wonderful, as usual.
Here’s Ramona, his beloved CNA, watching the video of Vernon giving his speech on free Type. She loves him and will miss him. She keeps saying how handsome he is now. Before she left her shift this afternoon, I heard her ask him to wait till tomorrow morning.
Justine came up for a bit in the afternoon. I missed her so much so we planned a getaway at the hotel pool. But first she had some time with her dad. I wasn’t sure how well it would go as he was much less lively than when she saw him last week. She asked why he looked so young. I told her (much like before) that he was going in and out of heaven and therefore he was becoming more beautiful.
I also suggested she think of a sign, a symbol that her father would be watching over her. It didn’t take her long to think of something. “A butterfly landing on me.”
I think he heard her. They say hearing is the last thing to go.
Tonight, I am back in a hotel. The nurse has promised to call if there are any major changes. He looks and sounds much more ready to go than he did even this morning. But this is a slow transition. I trust that I’ll be where I need to be in the morning. And that he is where he needs to be too.
A special cover of Vernon's fav song 'Waterloo Sunset' by friend and singer/song-writer Ian McGlynn. All proceeds support Vernon's recovery! Donate what you can and download a beautiful song in return.
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