Thursday, September 10, 2009

Sitting vigil with Michael

Originally uploaded by andrewlee1967

Sitting vigil with Michael.

He sleeps, quietly, trustingly.

Michael is no longer able to tell me what his needs are. He has put his trust in me, and I must trust my instincts when it comes to maintaining the optimal level of medication throughout the day.

This is actually my second attempt at a journal entry today. My first draft, I'll call it, was mistakenly deleted. Each time this happens I find myself about to react, and can feel my blood pressure rise. Then I reconsider the lack of magnitude that such an matter is, take a deep breath, and start over.

In writing these journal entries I am often questioning just how much to share. Then as a writer (I'm getting some lofty ideas) I remind myself that art, like love, should have no boundaries. With this in mind I'll share with you my finding that you can squeeze a lot of love into one small hospital bed. As of last night Michael still had strength in his right arm. I was able to lay beside him, held in his embrace. I share this as a testament of how this relationship continues to be one of mutual love and affection. Michael continues to give me so much. And though I know that this same arm has lost it's strength today, his occasional gaze can still cause me to bend at the knees.

Michael's breathing is getting heavier, and in the background is the lovely voice of Julia Fordham. Today we have been enjoying the purity of her voice with our CD collection. I have been playing all of our favorites throughout the week, knowing that he can hear them. I can feel that someone, or something, is communicating with Michael about his impending journey, but while we are sharing his attention, Michael will have music.

Throughout last night Michael was focused on one particular area toward the ceiling. He was clearly enthralled by something, as he was looking up with the curiosity of a child. His guide must have arrived.

Keep your love flowing, yet consider this. Michael has benefited so much by all of our love. In his honor, as he prepares for his departure, lets start sharing some of that love with others who might also be in need.

Love. Dan

1 comment:

  1. Dan, I just found your blog and am reading yours and Michael's story. Finding this blog and reading it was like a fresh breath of air after being underwater for too long.

    I've been widower for 17 months, and like you, I found precious little for the widowers of gay men, as you said, other than the one book. I read how you miss being part of a couple. I so understand that. I live in a small town South of Dallas, Texas, and there is a gay couple that just moved here recently. Every time I see them walking with their dog, I first think it is so sweet, and alternatively I wonder if they know how tentative their life together is. Those kinds of thoughts are fleeting. I am happy for couples in whom I can see the love that George and I shared together for 25 years.

    It is sad that you only had 3.5 years together, but judging from what I have read on your blog, I can see you probably lived a lifetime in those years.

    I lived and worked with my partner all those years, and it has been hard to resume my life alone. I'm in therapy and I have a host of wonderful friends and my precious Dad who is 91, and still very active. It's so hard to be a me, and not a we, don't you find. The sharpness that was omnipresent has lessened somewhat, but I have cried an ocean of that boy, and I am sure you have too. I'm very happy to see that you two were fortunate enough to be married. Our state, not surprisingly does not recognize even civil unions.

    I like what you say in your profile that sorrow is interrupted by small wonders of joy. That is basically where I am as well.

    I am so glad I found this blog. I have wondered whether or not if there was such a blog.

    It's very touching to read your story. Good luck in your journey, and it must be such a comfort to have children. If I had only one thing to redo in my life, It would be I would have had children.

    Best regards,

    Kevin Graves