|Rob at an Earlier Time|
Watching the person you love slowly die is agonizing and intimate and oddly, it is also full of small moments of grace.
For the last few days Rob has mostly slept so deeply it has been a challenge to rouse him. Yet, since last night, he has been mostly awake seeing visions and hallucinating and saying goodbye. The hallucinations were mostly about modes of transportation: horse, jet, bus--that failed in some way.
"Get me my horse," Rob directs me, motioning with his hand at what I suspect must be a horse. It's 2:30 in the morning and unfortunately that task cannot be done.
"My parents are on that jet," he'll later tell me as he indicates to what I suspect is a jet in the sky. "It left without me."
Still later I see him poking with a finger in the air.
"What are you doing?"
"Checking the bus schedule."
My brave husband is fixing to leave, but can't quite do it. The horse can't be corralled, the jet left without him, and the bus is nothing more than a schedule.
Last night I traveled along with him inside a few of the hallucinations. His coordination is poor and he spends a lot of restless time picking at the covers. At one point he caught my face with his hand and looked directly at me and said, I'm dying. I could barely nod, yes.
Today he wanted to kiss me and sing with Jane and Robyn and Jack. He was filled with such immediate joy. Later when it was just us, he wanted to kiss again and tell me to live well with our son.
"Live. You understand? I want you and Dev to really live well."
"Yes, we'll live well. We'll live with all you have shown us."
"Good, that's what I want.
"We'll do it brilliantly."
I want to savor these moments with Rob. I want to remember them, hold them to my heart when I no longer have him to hold.