Goodbye Cousin Deb

Tonight I held my cousin's hand as she passed away.

She had been held on life support until someone could get to the hospital to be with her as she passed.

Deb was taken to hospital the night before I left for Nova Scotia.

I had spoken with her on the telephone that evening, and she was not well.  She promised to seek medical attention and I told her I would follow up from Nova Scotia.

Well, we know what happened while I was there.

On my return from Nova Scotia, I had several messages to the effect that Deb was in hospital and had been since the very night I had last spoken with her.

I visited Deb in hospital last Thursday after my physio appointment.  She was her usual feisty self.  Issuing orders.  Straining to see what was happening out in the hall. Deb worked in the nursing profession so she had to know what everyone was up to.

The next time I went up to see Deb was yesterday, again following my physio appointment.

She was not doing well.  She had been moved to the Critical Care unit and it didn't look very promising.

This morning while I was at my eye doctor's office, the hospital called to say that Deb had taken a turn for the worse and they asked about next of kin.

Attempts to find her siblings were unsuccessful so I became the next of kin.

Which is exactly what she wanted. 

That is why we were on the phone the night before I left for Nova Scotia -- she wanted to make sure I had the name and phone number of the lawyer who had prepared her will, which names me as Executrix.

When I spoke with the Doctor, it wasn't clear whether we would get there before Deb would decide that enough was enough.

But we did get there before she left.

And I held her hand, and stroked her head.

And I told her it was OK to go, that her husband was waiting for her.

I believe she had actually really left some time mid-morning perhaps, but the hospital staff needs to know, for their own benefit, that people don't die alone.  So they did everything they could to keep her here until we could be with her for her final journey.  And I love them for caring so deeply for the strangers who pass through the revolving doors of the Critical Care Unit.

Rest in peace, Cousin Deb.  Your suffering has finally come to an end.