Re-living March 3

The afternoon that Tracy was dying at first it was just Hannah and I at home. Tracy had sort of been in and out of it all day. He was sort of talking to Hannah and I, but we would ask him a question and it would take a long time for him to reply. It was like he would start to think about his answer and then lose track of what we said. We would ask if he were hungry, and he would start to answer (which I am sure would have been no he was not) then he would stop talking and stare off into space. When we would ask again he would finally answer. I was not sure he knew who we were even. When I asked if he knew where Hannah was though he would smile and say she is right here and act like I was the one who was losing it. When I asked if he knew who I was he would really smile and say " I was his beautiful wife". Just as a side note, he would say that all of the time. I do not feel like I am beautiful and Paul certainly did not think I was, but Tracy would say it several times a day and act like he meant it.

Let me digress a bit....the previous two days, I was noticing that it was harder to keep his O2 sats up on 2 liters. I raised it to 3 liters and it was holding okay, but I had to constantly check it and adjust for it. I think it was actually CO2 buildup. And possibly a new infection. Also his urine output seemed to be getting less and he was sleeping more. I would try things like more fluids, more feeding tube things, adjust meds for certain times a day to see if that would help him sleep better at night and less during the day. I would also get highly annoyed when he would use the plastic urinal and not the toilet. I did not mind that if we were in the bedroom, but not the living room. If I had known we were that close to the end he could have peed on the floor for all I would have cared. I was still deeply in denial and wanted the man back who would not dream of using a urinal period. The night before what was to be his last night he asked for me take off all of my clothes and lay next to him so he could feel my skin on his. I think he knew it was to be the last time. I think I did too.

At around 6 I had to go pick William up from a play rehearsal and Joshua up from getting stoned with friends. Hannah stayed at the house and said his O2 sats had stabalized and he was talking some. When we got home, he seemed to know who William was and asked how the rehearsal went and asked him to play a song. He was not sure who Joshua was but said that he looked like he was a really nice boy. Hannah and I were starting to get really scared at that time.

Joshua fixed dinner and Tracy had a bite or two. Then around 8 Tracy really was not talked much at all or responding anymore than a hand squeeze or a smile. He said hi to Joshua again but it was more like Hi to you boy who I have no idea why you are here. I told Joshua to call Dr. Law and Hannah to call Trevor and her mother. Joshua said that Dr. Law said we had two choices to call 911 where they would take him to the hospital and put him back on the vent or to wait it out. Dr. Law told Joshua that the night could go either way. Tracy was clear on his vent wishes. Rita and Trevor came over. Tracy looked at me, smiled and then said fuck (what would be his last word. Not exactly poetic, but Hannah, Trevor and I like it that was his last word). He grabbed me really tight and held on for awhile. I believe at that time his brain stopped functioning. After awhile he got really heavy and was not able to support a sitting position and Trevor helped me lay him down on the sofa. Everyone at that point said something to Tracy. They loved him was the basic thought. All through this time Hannah was either on the floor next to the sofa or in the bathroom throwing up. Joshua called James and Wesley. William was having a hard time deciding if he were going to be upstairs or downstairs with us but ultimately decided to be down with us. I was glad about that. He started to say something to Tracy but just ended up squeezing his shoulder. Somethings can not be put into words.

Wesley apparently called our minister who arrived at the house at about 11 45. I am quite pissed that Wesley called him and will always resent the minister for coming. He interrupted a very personal family moment. He moved Trevor out of the way who was standing behind me ( I was sitting on the sofa next to Tracy). So this minister, who I did not care for before this had his hand on my shoulder when I could have used Trevor behind me. He should not have been there, but no one knew how to tell him to leave. I am sure Wesley thought it was a good decision and I do not resent Wesley but one day I need to tell him that when he is a minister to ask if he is needed and not just show up. James called me at midnight. I gave James a play by play. James said it was very erie at the time but was glad he was with me in some way or another. I had read and some asshole doctor in the hospital said that sometimes the dying are waiting on the living to tell them that they (the survivors) will be okay. I did not tell him I would be okay because I believe Tracy would have known I was lying. . I told him that he had done a good job, that he had fought a good fight and that I loved him. All the while the minister had his hand on my shoulder and I wanted to punch him. I was still on the phone with James sometimes giving updates or sometimes he was just listening to what was being said. Tracy just basically took fewer and fewer breaths. He did not appear to be in distress. Every minute or so he would sort of gasp for air. You could see a vein on his neck really pounding. And then it stopped pounding and he took no more breaths. That was 12 05 am on March 3. It was not dramatic. Up until this point I was not crying. I was terrifyed. I was annoyed at the preacher. I was so glad that Trevor, Hannah and Rita were at the house. I was glad that Joshua (who was starting to show signs of insanity by now) and William were there. Joshua was suddenly EXTREMELY hyper. Everyone else was sullen. Joshua was offering everyone a cigarette. (but telling them they had to smoke outside as I did not allow smoking inside). Trevor and Hannah took him up on the offer and the three of them went outside.

Rita made the call to the funeral home. The rest of us (including the preacher whom I at this point hate) stayed at Tracy's side. Tracy was not a religious man - he was more spiritual or actually too lazy to go to church on Sunday morning :), so even he would not have wanted the preacher there. I was just holding Tracy's hand now sort of paralyzed.

I was holding it together more or less until the funeral home director home came. He came inside introduced himself like we would be expecting anyone else at 12 30 in the morning. Then he made small talk which I found highly annoying. Who cared about the weather? My husband was dead on the sofa. Then his wife came in with the stretcher and a bag that zipped up. That was it for me. I called James back and went outside and was hysterical. I had a hearse in my driveway. My husband was about to be zipped up in a bag and taken to some cold room. My life would never be the same. James was crying on the phone as well saying it was not fair and that he was so sorry. I ended up in the garage because I knew that I could not take watching them put Tracy in the hearse. At this point I was crying/screaming on the phone to James to make this stop. To not let this be happening. James was crying also. I just wanted everyone (especially the preacher) to leave. Wesley arrived from Binghamton around this time. I stayed in the garage until the hearse pulled out which took forever. Apparently the funeral director waited inside for awhile for me to sign some papers. No one knew where I was so he had to go home. I did not know that and was glad that I did not go back in and sign anything. How bizarre are the rules. I doubt at that point I could have written my name. I eventually went back in and tried to find a room that I could be alone. No room was safe, not even the bathroom because Hannah kept needing to throw up. By 3 am everyone besides Wesley, William and Joshua had left.

Tracy and I both have our own laptops. I have been pouring over his computer and came across a picture that he had taken of himself dated 12/1/08 and a letter to me. The letter was incredibly sweet and oh so very sad. I am sure his intention was to not send me into a deep depression that I am not sure how I will get out of, but that is what has happened. In the picture he looks very sad and very sick. But I like it better than the ones when he was younger. In the picture you can see that he was tired. That he had given up. In the letter he said he did not want to die, he did not want to leave me, but that was what was happening. I still though can not stop thinking of what i should have done differently. Not only this past year, but the last few hours.

This day has been horrible. The whole weekend actually. Joshua is threatening to quit school because he can not get caught up and I am in no shape to help either emotionally and certainly not with chemistry. William is holding our family together and what a mess he will be in a few years. How does life get so messed up? My body actually is hurting right now. My skin hurts. It hurts where my clothes hit or the part that touches the bed or furniture. My legs feel so heavy it hurts to walk. Not to mention that my heart aches (and I have palpitations that border on panic attacks). Grief is painful in more ways than one. Every day is worse than one before.

I miss you honey.

Do not know how to do this

A little background...I was divorced with four boys when I married my "happy ending" husband. My ex was an abusive alcoholic, my husband thought I was beautiful, strong and wonderful. He said it enough that I almost believed it myself. He was a supportive caring stepdad to my boys and never hesitated to help them with whatever they might need. One of my sons is 17. He had the most trouble with my ex husband and the strongest bond with Tracy. The day of the funeral my son had what is now called grief-induced psychosis. We spent the evening after the funeral at the ER with my son who was over the top with energy, feelings, and oddly enough rap lyrics.

Anyway, my son was in the psych ward at the hospital for 7 days falling apart and then getting back together. He was at home for a few days after before he returned to school. So all in all he missed 2 weeks of school. Tonight he said that the stent in the hospital ruined his life, that he would never get caught up with school and he had no one to help him. Honors chem and trig would have been Tracy's department.

The fact that he said he had no one to help him hit home in a BIG way. I am of no use to him or anyone else at this point. I do not have the strength or energy to pick myself up once again to rebuild a life. I have thought a few times when driving somewhere of pulling in front of a semi. The only thing that stops me is how the driver of the semi might feel. I spent the last few hours holding my husband's ashes with my iPod full blast listening to 'our songs' crying hysterically. My sons have no life and they certainly do not have a mother who is any good for them. Every day is harder than the day before.

Every day I wake up look at the clock and calculate how many minutes I will have to be awake. Then sleep will not come. So I calculate how long before the day begins. And I start over. My entire body literally hurts. My skin hurts where the clothes hit. It hurts to walk, to sit, to lay. Doing even the smallest of tasks takes every bit of energy I have.

I just do not know how to do this.

Stop all the Clocks by WH Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

from Trevor

As I look back now, it seems that part of my dad was lost about 10 months ago when he stopped being able to do many of the things we loved to do together. Hannah said recently that she was almost in tears the last time we all went sailing together because it was so hard to see Dad on that boat, but not able to handle anything like he could in the past, no longer the master we remembered. In good health he could singlehand that boat with his eyes closed, the tiller tied off while he hopped around at the bow changing sails, all in a howling 20-knot breeze.
But even though he couldn’t always be out and active in these last few months, it was still great to tell him stories when I went to visit. He would listen intently to everything I told him however mundane it was. He was always eager to hear what I learned or did that day and was genuinely interested in the details of straw bale building even though at first he thought it seemed like a hair brained idea.
He was a good listener, which I guess comes with being a good teacher. And he was a great teacher, a teacher of understanding. He was as generous with his knowledge and he was with his possessions. Just as likely to answer a tough question as he was to toss you the keys to his car. Which was whenever you asked. And now, only four days after he is gone, the questions are piling up with no one to answer them.
Hannah and I were sometimes hesitant to ask him questions about our homework. He would never let us get away with a simple answer, he wanted to make sure we understood the answer even if it meant a 30 minute response to a true or false question that led to the conclusion that either answer was correct depending on how you looked at it. And this started when I was in 1st grade!
He taught me many things and among them were how to drive and how to live, a key tenet to both is that there is more than just going fast-although he did love to do that. There are corners to negotiate and we must always look at things from the perspective of others on the road as well as our own. Oh yeah, and please don’t tailgate!
He also assured us that we were capable of accomplishing anything and was very encouraging in most of our endeavors. When he taught both Hannah and me to sail, he didn’t waste any time learning first from a book, we got right out there. I found a picture yesterday of him taking me on the Hobie Cat when I was 3 years old, on a windy day in January on the Atlantic Ocean! Mom, I can’t believe you let him do that. So, by the time Hannah and I were ten years old, he decided it was time to experience our first solo sail, whether we thought we were ready or not. Hannah says she was actually crying as he pushed the boat away from shore. It seemed that like that day, he was always confident of our abilities even when we were not.
One of my favorite memories is of sitting with him in lawn chairs in his garage debating on politics, speculating about the fate of the world and planning how we were going to rewire those backup lights on my car. He would listen to me rant about the latest crazy philosophy that I had come across even if he totally disagreed and he was always willing to clear out the garage and his evening to pull my car in and try our best to fix whatever was wrong.
My mom and I were remembering one of his favorite expressions; “I can’t miss the best sailing day of the year.” I can still picture him saying this while looking out at the trees swaying in the breeze in our backyard. Those days always seemed to occur when the yard really needed to be mowed or there were piles of leaves to be raked. There were always at least 20 “best sailing days” each year.
Sometimes these conflicts over sailing or chores, sharing the road with an unskilled driver, or Hannah’s behavior would get him worked up, but on average he had the natural temperament of a Taoist; “He acts without expectation, teaches by quiet example, and accomplishes without taking credit. Because he constantly forgets himself, he is never forgotten”. He was brilliant though he would never admit it and caring though he sometimes didn’t know how to show it.
It was this unassuming, modest approach to life that resulted in his being surrounded by love. He was so lucky to have Mica by his side throughout the last twelve years of his life. And even when he was weak and hopes of recovery were low, he had the brightness of her companionship. So to say that his suffering was relieved earlier this week does not tell the story for he did not suffer as long as she was there with him. Thank you Mica for being so good to him and for being the best stepmom anyone could hope for. We’ll miss you always Dad.

Blue Song by Tennessee Williams

I am tired.
I am tired of speech and of action.

If you should meet me upon the
street do not question me for
I can tell you only my name
and the name of the town I was
born in–but that is enough.

It does not matter whether tomorrow
arrives anymore.

If there is
only this night and after it is
morning it will not matter now.
I am tired.

I am tired of speech
and of action. In the heart of me
you will find a tiny handful of
dust.

Take it and blow it out
upon the wind. Let the wind have
it and it will find its way home.

"A Parable of Immortality" by Henry van Dyke.

I am standing by the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze
and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength,
and I stand and watch
until at last she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sun and sky come down to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says, 'There she goes!
Gone where? Gone from my sight - that is all.

She is just as large in mast and hull and spar
as she was when she left my side
and just as able to bear her load of living freight
to the places of destination.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment when someone at my side says,
'There she goes! ' ,
there are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout :
'Here she comes!'

Lovely Cruise by Jimmy Buffett

Drink it up, this one's for you
It's been a lovely cruise
I'm sorry it's ending, oh it's sad, but it's true
Honey, it's been a lovely cruise

These moments we're left with
May you always remember
These moments are shared by few
There's wind in our hair and there's water in our shoes
Honey, it's been a lovely cruise

Ohhh, these moments we're left with
May you always remember
These moments are shared by few
And those harbor lights, lord, they're coming into view
We'll bid our farewells much too soon
So drink it up, this one's for you
Honey, it's been a lovely cruise
Yeah baby, it's been a lovely cruise
Oh darlin', it's been a lovely cruise

Obituary

Dr. Tracy Warren French passed away at home, surrounded by family, on Tuesday March 3rd after an extended battle with cancer. He was 57.

Tracy was born in Indianapolis, IN. He graduated from Indiana University in 1973 with a BA in Biological Sciences. In 1977 he graduated from Purdue University of Veterinary Medicine with a DVM degree.

After residency training in clinical pathology at the University of Florida he joined the faculty at Cornell College of Veterinary Medicine in 1982. For the past 26 years he has been a respected Associate Professor and the Director of the Clinical Pathology Laboratory.

Second only to his love for his family was his passion for sailing. He enjoyed many windy days on Cayuga Lake and many not-so windy ones at home playing his guitar, tinkering with his cars and spending time with his loved ones.

He is survived by his wife, Mica French, two children Trevor and Hannah, their mother Rita, four step-children James, Wesley, Joshua, and William Sanders, his parents, Robert and Elda French, and his brother Alan French (Karen).

A Memorial service will be held Friday March 6th at 3 pm at the Freeville United Methodist Church, 37 Main St, Freeville with Wesley Sanders officiating.

In lieu of flowers, memorials in celebration of Tracy's life may be made to James P. Wilmot Cancer Center 601 Elmwood Ave Rochester, NY 14642.

On March 3, 2009 I watched my husband take his last breath.

Baby do you know what you did today,
Baby do you know what you took away,
You took the blue out of the sky,
My whole life changed when you said goodbye,
And I keep crying, crying.

I wish I never saw the sunshine,
I wish I never saw the sunshine,
And if I never saw the sunshine baby,
Then maybe I wouldn't mind the rain.

Every day is just like the day before,
All alone a million miles from shore,
All of my dreams I dreamed with you,
Now they will die and never come true,
An I keep crying, crying.

March 2

This morning things were going okay. He was doing some of the breathing exercises and seemed a little more alert. He also now weighs 111 pounds. Then unbeknownst to me he took about 40 mg of oxycontin. He is prescribed 5 mg every 6 hours. I had pretty much taken it away for this very reason, but he found it. It is amazing how well he can get around when he is on a mission. I do not think he intends to take extra but he forgets if he took one or not, so takes another. Also he chews them when they are not supposed to be chewed. This afternoon he is largely unresponsive. So I am pretty sure the unresponsiveness is related to the oxy and not solely the CO2 retention. I am sure that some of it is CO2.

I do not know exactly what to do even. He has made it clear that he does not want to go back to the hospital. I do not blame him. There is not much they can do beyond the ventilator which just prolongs life and does not fix anything. Plus if he is hooked to a ventilator then we do not go to Cleveland.

He was doing the breathing exercises earlier at least. And walked around enough to find the oxy. This amount of oxy is not enough to hurt him. It just does not make it where he does much or is very coherent.