He got to Cleveland, OH on Tuesday and upon reviewing his information, they said it is inoperable. They were medically managing his pain and blood pressures. He went into the bathroom to have a bowel movement on Thursday and it ruptured. He died within minutes.
I thought about what his final minutes were like. The searing pain, the warmth of blood rising up from his throat, the terror of what that must have felt like, knowing exactly what was happening to him.. then I realized what came right after that initial shock of what was happening. A peaceful surrender.. a calm sense of finality. The knowledge that very soon, all the pain will cease to exist. Flashes of his family's smiles. His mother tucking him in at night. His wedding day. The day he was told he was a ticking time bomb. The worry was finally leaving him, the uncertainty gone. He finally knew exactly how long he had left and it was okay. It had to be; what other choice did he have?(his exact words re: his trip to OH when his family asked him what he wanted to do about having the surgery) So he relaxed, slumped over, and let his blood pressure fall.
and I remember clearly his words to me when I was discussing the gravity of his diagnosis with him to which he said, "We all gotta go sometime, kid.."
I really am lucky to have the job that I have. I sometimes feel as though I am on border patrol to the pearly gates, and I feel pretty sure I will have A LOT of friends on the inside when my time is up. Hopefully they will save me the good seats at Bingo.
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