He gasped for air, startling me from the doze into which I’d drifted. Anything more than a fitful sleep had escaped me those last two days. Honouring his wish to die at home came at a cost.

I was scared he might go any time, but his heart remained strong. He didn’t want to linger this way, and his fear was evident in the furrow of his brow, arching with each panicked breath.

Does anyone have the courage or faith to face death?

A chair at his bedside, one nearly impossible to sleep in, became my station. I clasped his hand, not expecting a response. He didn’t move or acknowledge my presence, but feeling his warmth, I knew in my heart he was aware of me.

My belief, that all humanity could choose heaven’s peace as they depart from this life, was the reason no priest attended to the sacraments for Frank. I did pray, more than ever, but a holy wafer on the tongue of a dying man wouldn’t gain him access to heaven, just get him there faster if he choked on it.

I drew a basin of warm water to bathe the man with whom I’d spent most of my life.

The room was still, except for his rattling respirations, which seemed to fill every corner, soothing my loneliness. I had grown used to this discordant lullaby, my constant companion. I ached for it to stop, but dreaded being alone.

A sharp ringing shattered the stillness. Nerves a-jangle, I sprang and grabbed the phone from the table.

“Hello?” I said to our daughter, Louise. Frank groaned and struggled, one arm dangling off the bed, legs splayed out to the side. He wasn’t strong enough to get out of bed, but he could fall out, teetering on the verge as he was.

“Sorry, honey, I’ve got to hang up! Your Dad needs me.”

She would worry, but that couldn’t be helped. Hurrying to his side, I eased his legs back into bed, then nudged him over. It wasn’t hard— he only weighed a feather. I measured another dose of morphine and sedatives into his intravenous drip.

The morning pressed on, each second heavier than the last. I washed his pale, fragile body, then took up my vigil in the chair beside him. The fragrance of the soap lingered with me, fresh and manly, his favorite brand. I held his hand, then let it go, fearing the contact could keep him grounded in this world. Surely God in all His mercy waited for him in the next.

Still, I’d brush his frail fingers with mine, trailing up his arm to his shoulder and jaw, more for my comfort then for his. I dreaded the coming night. It would be my third without sleep. My gnawing worry was that I’d doze and wake to him cold beside me. Not to have been there when he needed me most.

The back door opened. Who could it be? The nurse had topped up his medication yesterday.

Frank didn’t want the nurses staying. He had always been a loner and it made sense he wanted privacy at this time. But he did want me. All animosities, (in a 40-year marriage there were a few) had been healed in the eighteen months of his illness. We had received the gift of time, to comfort and console. Now, it was til death do us part.

Footsteps echoed in the hall.

“Hello?” I hollered.

The sweetest voice answered. “Hi, Mom.”

“How did you manage to get here, Louise?”

Our daughter lived many miles away, but by some miracle, arrived just when I needed her most.

“When you hung up so abruptly, there was no doubt you needed me. It was so unlike you. Oh, Mom, you look so tired.”

I was spent. Consumed, but not finished. Her arrival infused me with newfound courage. Hope that we could do right by him.

She held me, gazing into my eyes, the dark circles no doubt giving away the toll my caregiver role had tattooed on me. I had stopped checking my reflection in the mirror, not wanting that wraithlike face staring back. I embraced her like a lifeline. “Can you stay?”

“Yes, I’m here for the duration. You seem completely worn down, Mom. Get me settled, and go have a rest.”

Louise stroked her father’s arm, and the man who’d seemed more dead than alive for the past three days opened his eyes and smiled. A smile of recognition and love.

“Love you, Dad.”

She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand and kissed his forehead. He closed his eyes, drifting off to a land just this side of demise.

I slept deep and dreamless, then awoke in our dark bedroom, confused. Frank’s anguished, clutching breaths flooded my mind with reality. When I rejoined him and Louise, I felt better, braver. For him, things were much the same.

He moaned occasionally, and his arms flailed. We mouth moist with swabs of glycerin. Dying is hard, thirsty work.

He didn’t want nurses, but he needed looking after. The yoke of my burden, shared with our daughter became lighter. I sent a silent prayer of thanks for tender mercies.

“I’ll get us some supper if you are all right with him for a little longer,” I said.

“That would be nice, Mom.”

On and on we went, each sitting with him in turn, never leaving him alone.

Frank favored euthanasia. He had hoped the bill in Parliament would pass in time for him, but the politicians’ debate dragged on. I didn’t blame him for wanting that, having witnessed the suffering that a person goes through to get to the other side.

The medication at our disposal could have ended his suffering. Surely, even an extra dose of morphine would have helped. It was hard to watch him so diminished, suffering in a haze of agony dulled by the medicine but not eliminated.

“I’d like to give him an extra dose,” I said. “For him, it would be good, but I’m sure they count the medication, and we must give them only after a certain length of time. If the morphine is gone, someone will be held accountable.”

“You’ve little children who need you,” I said. “I want to see my grandbabies grown. No, we can’t do that, and he wouldn’t want us to, knowing the cost. It’s tempting though, but there would be no leniency for us.”

“I guess so, Mom. It’s just hard watching him like this, not being able to help.”

“Louise, you are helping by being here at his side,” I said. “The love we have for him is what we must give. Don’t feel it’s discounted because we can’t offer more. Love is potent.”

I settled my hand on her shoulder, and she brought her hand up and embraced mine. We stayed that way a moment then went, one to each side of the bed, and held his hands. Our eyes met in resignation, but remained steadfast, tethered to him in duty and devotion.

We would be there for him. For him!

“We are here, Darling. Don’t be afraid. We won’t leave you.”

“You’ve been the best Dad. love you so much. You were there for me . . . now I’m here for you. Oh, Dad . . .”

She sighed softly. There would be a time for tears, but now he needed us, not our emotions. It was as hard for her as it was for me, but he could not console us. Tears would only cause him more distress. We were there to comfort.

She sent me off for a rest. We hugged as I left the room, finding our solace and strength in each other.

His gasping, catching breaths filled the room. Until they didn’t.

She woke me, softly calling my name, and gently touching my arm. The house was still and quiet. She didn’t have to tell me.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get you. His breathing just changed, so I held his hand until it stopped. I was afraid if I went to get you, he would go alone, all by himself.”

Her arms reached out, as she gave and sought comfort.

“You did right,” I said. “Just the perfect thing.”

When the nurse came to pronounce him, she squirted the syringes of medicine into a plastic jug and it was impossible to decipher if she counted or not.

He was beyond all that now. His release had come.

Frank died in April 2016. Euthanasia became legal in Canada as of June 2016.

It didn’t help him, but it would others. He’d smile at that.

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