Uncle Dave passed away this morning. My phone rang at 530 and when I saw my sister's name on the caller ID I knew what she was going to say. I've known this moment was coming for a long time now. But despite all the heartbreaking - and oftentimes numbing - experience I have with death, I just can't predict when someone's last moments will be. I wish I could. Patients and their families ask me all the time. And I so badly wish I could have better answers for them. Something more helpful that 'I don't know.' Give them the time they are asking me for - time to prepare. But the truth is, I just don't know. No one does. And the even bigger truth? You can't prepare. You can't.
But even as I write this post I realize that part of me did know. Part of me knew when I spoke to him 2 days ago. We talked about nothing. We talked about everything. He expressed concern that E wasn't walking yet and I assured him that at 11 months old she still had time yet. Our conversation left me with a smile on my face and so much love in my heart. And part of me knew.
I wish so many things. I wish I'd had more patience. That I had made it home more often to see him. That I could have helped shoulder the work load that my family has taken on these past 2 years of illness. But more than anything I wish I could have made him better. My body aches with how much I wish I could have saved him.
David Lee. I am so happy that you are no longer in pain. So happy that this life is done and you've moved on to the next. Moved on to a place where you can walk. Run. Maybe even ski downhill with a ridiculous top hat on. I've heard all the stories;) But I will miss your potato salad and your deviled eggs. I'll miss your under the radar thoughtfulness that would pop up at the most random times. I'll even miss the prying -
All my love. Amy Michelle.
