It was 12:28am last night when Rachael took her final breath. I was there.
I didn’t like it, but I’m glad I was. My mom needed me.
There are no words for the end. Just a lot of sorries with inferred implications whispered through tears and sniffles.
“I’m sorry…” (you’re going through this).
“I’m sorry…” (this is happening to you).
“I’m sorry…” (we don’t have more time).
“I’m sorry…” (it came to this).
“I’m sorry…” (it’s not me instead).
And so many more.
Everyone was sorry for everyone. There’s just nothing else to say.
I’ve never sat with someone through hospice like that. It’s not pretty, and I felt myself getting angry at the process when I called my brother to give him the news at 12:35am. I was dropping a lot of F-bombs paired with “hospice”.
Maybe I just needed someone (or something) to be mad at. But it feels like there should be a better alternative. Nobody should have to go through that. Nobody should have to watch a loved one go through that.
Yet we all wanted to be there. I’d want to be there again.
I’ll miss you, Rach. This one’s for you: