About Tricia...
Tricia was born in Pensacola, Florida in June 1945. She spent her early years there, then she and her siblings and her mother moved to Greenville, South Carolina. Her parents divorced shortly thereafter. She lived there until college. Based on our conversations, I know that if we had met in college, we would not have had much to do with each other. She was bohemian/artsy and I was a frat-boy raised in LA.
We each had an earlier marriage that ended in divorce. In 1981, I quit my job and opened a consultancy where my first client was the Community College in Grants Pass, Oregon where we had both migrated. Through this work, I met Tricia, who was responsible for career counseling and student employment. This crossed over my responsibilities for personnel and labor relations. We became friends my first year working there, taking breaks and lunch together. Some weeks after separating from my wife, I asked her to go to the movies. Over the next 3 years, we grew closer and finally agreed to marry (I had to ask twice, but she swears the first time was inaudible).
She helped raise my two boys, who were with us half the time. We enjoyed white water rafting, home remodeling (doing a number of house flips), and finally international travel. It was a magical life for both of us. I thought the magic came from her, and she thought from me. We were amazed how over the years our love grew and grew, getting deeper and deeper connections. We developed many rituals and habits that made up our life as we gathered friends from around the world.
A farewell to my sweet Tricia...
Death is not the truncated dramatic way it is depicted in movies. It is a long agonizing process; days or weeks in the making.
Tuesday morning, January 26th, we rose as usual with a morning snuggle and changing sheets, as this was laundry day. We had our normal breakfast and then Tricia started her daily exercises she had been doing for the past 6 months. Nothing very strenuous, mostly stretches and such. Afterward she went to the kitchen, while I started my workout on the rowing machine.
About 9:15 She came to me, shortly after starting my rowing and said “something was wrong” as she had trouble putting the granola container in the cupboard. We walked together to our room to put shoes on, so I could take her to the hospital. I noticed she had trouble putting on her socks, so I said we’d call an ambulance, and she agreed.
Ten minutes later the EMTs arrived, asked background questions, loaded her on the gurney and drove her to the hospital. I was not allowed in the ER, but had to go and check her in with all the insurance info. Because of Covid, no visitors were allowed in the ER and I had the choice to wait in the lobby or wait at home. I went home.
Late afternoon, I got a call from the ER doctor who told me a CT scan confirmed she had another hemorrhagic stroke in the same general region as the earlier one, but more towards the front and more severe. In fact, they were not able to stop the bleeding and a second CT scan confirmed there was more bleeding. He told me a neurosurgeon was standing by to call me about some options.
Shortly thereafter, the surgeon called and said the bleed was causing pressure in the brain as it is constrained by the skull. He proposed surgery to allow the brain to expand and reduce the pressure. He wanted permission to proceed. I asked about risks and expected outcomes. Even with surgery the expected outcomes were vague, and permanent damage was likely. Even with surgery death was a possible outcome. I told him I needed to think about what to do and to call back in a few minutes. He agreed. In the meantime, I found her advance directives and reviewed her directions to me as her medical representative. It was clear that she did not want to risk these likelihoods for a remote possibility of better results. I declined the surgery.
She was moved to the ICU, and I was able to be with her. Later that evening, she was moved to a normal private room for comfort care. Here I saw the extent of the damage. Her entire left side was paralyzed. She could not move her left arm and hand, her left leg and foot, and her speech was reduced to a whisper and garbled too. By nightfall, she did not even whisper, she didn’t speak again. I do not know if she had feeling in her left limbs as she could not speak or move them.
I had a chair next to her bed and I held her hand and talked to her. She seemed able to understand as she squeezed my hand with her right hand. That night, sometime in the wee hours, I crawled into the bed with her and held her as best I could. I had a one-way conversation recounting the times of our life, my sense of loss about her impending transition. I told her how much I loved her and that I knew she loved me. As I lay with her, I cried and cried.
I took comfort in the night in the familiar shape of her body's features; gently caressing her head, limbs, chest and tummy. This feeling of comfort was enhanced as I touched her soft, warm, and smooth ageless skin.
Years ago, we came across a greeting card with a lovely message by Jackson Brown Jr. We made a ritual of repeating lines to each other. It goes:
You are the:
High in my noon
The flap in my jack
The bees in my knees
The jelly in my bean
The hop in my scotch
The pow in my wow
The gee in my whiz
The fox in my trot
The rock in my roll
The grand in my canyon
The fortune in my cookie
I recited these lines to her several times. I told her how much I loved her, that she made me a better man, that she was my hero. She was my best friend, my life partner, the love of my life, a sweet lover and the best person for me.
She was peaceful at the end. Erratic deep breathing began about 4:00 PM on the 29th; I thought this was the final stage and that every breath was the last…only to be followed by another. About 6:15 AM Friday the pattern changed to light shallow breaths and continued on into early AM Saturday. The raspy breath prior to death began in earnest. By late morning, she was struggling with each breath, gasping with a heaving chest. The doctor authorized and the nurses increased her pain medication to reduce the stress. A little after 1:00, I told the nurse I had an errand I needed to do for about an hour. I asked if I should go now or wait till later. She checked her condition and suggested it would be better to leave now. I left for the grocery store, since my sons were arriving the next day and we had not purchased our weekly groceries as that fateful Tuesday was set for shopping. While at the grocery, I received a call from the hospital that her condition had changed. I knew what that meant. I returned to the hospital within 10 minutes and was formally told of her passing.
I went to her room, and sat with her, then laid with her, saying final good-byes. Afterward, the nurse assistant and I washed her body; I brushed her hair and then took a lock of it to braid into a keepsake.
You all know how giving Tricia was in life. That evening I received a call from the hospital. They found a record that Tricia had signed up to be an organ donor, when she got her Oregon Driver’s License in 2015. They said she was a candidate for cornea transplants. I authorized them to take them as a final way to honor who she was in life.
I know I have a difficult road ahead. We were so close. Since retirement we have done everything together. 24/7/365. Always together. It will be a long road to being on my own. Thank you to all my friends, neighbors and family that have offered to help me through the process. There will never be another “machez amio”* like Tricia.
Ron
2/2/2021
*Cajun for cherished friend
