This past Tuesday marks four years to the day that Lee died. For years, Lee had successfully battled diverse types of cancer, and endured a host of other serious medical problems, with unusual grace and good humor. She was indefatigable and determined to beat pancreatic cancer nearly to the moment this terrible disease took her life.

Lee optimistically had looked forward to the day that medical science would pronounce her fit and healthy. She was a good person, who deserved a better outcome. For selfish reasons, I hoped we’d share our lives together far longer than cruel Fate had in store.

***

A day arrived when Lee’s death from cancer became an unavoidable and controlling fact. Despite her doctors’ optimistic pronouncements, Lee had started to experience painful and debilitating setbacks they could neither explain nor treat. We found ourselves constantly shuffling between home and the hospital emergency room. Invariably, given her medical history, Lee was admitted.

Her chemotherapy treatments were suspended, but Lee’s severe pain persisted. I observed that the doctors did not seem to be paying much attention when she complained that she was in pain. Pain being a subjective symptom, I suspect some of these doctors had concluded that she was merely the type of patient who likes to complain. If they had known Lee as a person, they would have known she was the last person who would act in this manner.

Lee had experienced a similar episode one year earlier during treatment for colon cancer.  On that occasion, after weeks of tests and various stabs at treatment, genetic testing had identified Lee’s chemotherapy regimen as the culprit. Her chemo regimen had been contraindicated, a fact that could have been discovered had Lee undergone timely genetic testing. However, I am convinced such testing was not ordered before beginning cancer treatment based on a crass medical insurance judgment that it is too costly. These chemotherapy drugs had been building up in Lee’s tiny body like slow poison.

After this terrible episode, Lee was never again completely restored. This time rapidly spreading cancer was the culprit.

***

I spent many long, lonely nights in our home without Lee. I worried she would never come home.  Finally, Lee took charge. She insisted on going home no matter what her doctors were saying to the contrary. Had Lee acquiesced, I am certain that she would have died in a hospital bed, quite possibly alone, rather than getting to spend her final days of life in the comfort of her own home, and beloved garden, surrounded by loving and supportive family members and friends. In the fleeting time remaining to her, Lee would have so many visitors there was barely sufficient time to say goodbye to all of them.

Indeed, a caravan of Lee’s former co-workers showed up outside my front door, their vehicles replete with banners and signs of encouragement, hoping to lure her to the front windows so they could pay their respects, not realizing she had died the previous evening.  So much love and respect!

***

Bob and Linda were Lee’s last visitors. By then we were holding a vigil, as it was now obvious Lee would leave this world at any moment. Except for an occasional slight movement of her chest, one might well have concluded she was already dead. If she came to, this was due to the pain. Then I’d administer a powerful sedative, as I had been taught, and the vigil would resume.

Bob had an inspired moment and fetched his guitar. I followed suit.  The three of us softly began singing one of the songs that we played over the years whenever we got together.  And to our utter amazement, with her eyes still closed, Lee began to sing along softly.

Once Bob and Linda departed for Ohio, it was just the two of us. I still remember going to sleep on the day they left, half-expecting  Lee was going to die during the night –she was so weak–but the next morning was thrilled to find her alive and breathing. I resumed my vigil throughout that day, occasionally administering narcotics to ease her pain.

Around dinnertime, I left her side to stretch my legs a bit. I was only gone a few minutes, and when I returned to our bedroom observed that nothing had changed, so I settled back into a chair to resume my vigil.

Maybe it was just the sound of my returning to the bedroom. I would like to believe it was something more significant, but regardless, for the first time in several days, I saw Lee open her eyes.

Our eyes met. Reassuringly, I said to us both, “it’s okay.” An instant later, Lee was gone.

I am sad Lee died, of course, but also happy and grateful to have been at her side to the end.

Goodbye, my sweet. Rest in peace.