Doug,
When your father and brother died suddenly, the last memories you have of them was the last time you saw them. A woman in a group I attended came home to find her husband dead. When she related her story, all she talked about was him laying there and there was nothing she could do. The group leader tried to find out what went on before she came home and all the woman could say is that it is a fog.
Her feeling of helplessness lasted only a short period, yet that is what she remembers the most.
No matter what she did or what I did could change what happened. I no longer dwell on the frustration of not being able to make things right, that is fix things like I always was able to do, because there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop the disease that was consuming my wife.
The sad memories I have are those of watching her waste away. I remember when she could no longer feed or dress herself. I remember when she could no longer walk, even assisted. I remember when I could no longer get her to the bathroom, because she could no longer tell me she needed to go as I remember when she stopped talking. I remember when she stopped eating and drinking. I remember when she no longer moved her arms and the wiggling of her toes stopped. I remember turning her every two hours day and night. I remember when she slept 24 hours a day with her eyes half closed and her mouth partially open. I remember moistening her mouth and putting drops in her eyes. I remember administering the morphine to make her breathing easier. I remember holding her when her heart stopped.
I know when my wife died, but I am not sure when she left me. I know on the Wednesday before her death, I was so proud of her sitting up in bed unassisted with her big wide happy smile. Then on Thursday she would not eat, on Friday she would not wake up. On Saturday she stopped moving, just her breathing told me she was alive. This went on until Monday at around 8 pm when she died.
My sister-in-law and I prepared the body and changed out my wife's night cloths. I tried several times to close my wife's eyes until finally successful. Then we waited for the undertakers to remove her. During that time I sat and caressed her head and cheeks until I could no longer contain myself as she was going cold. When my wife's body was removed, I asked to see her once more and kissed her good-bye.
I could go on and on, but I have probably gone on too long.
The last three or so months we were together had some good moments, even some triumphs, but living each day knowing what was to come, watching the disease slowly take your loved one away is hard to put aside.
All this said, I am not telling you my grief is more or less then yours, because I am not. What I am saying is that for me to move ahead, I need to put these memories into their proper place or perspective so that her suffering (and yes mine) are no longer consuming my thoughts.
There is one thing that I am grateful for and that is she and I had enough time together in the end to not have unresolved issues, or things we wanted to say to each other that went unsaid before she was gone, and that is a blessing.
Ray