Several hours before Anthony died, we were all there – relatives, hospital staff, friends, nursing home staff, my mother, Ming, his partner….
…. and all of the people, including me, even including the doctor-on-call, and our own doctor, who didn’t know know Ants was dead until death.
When our doctor arrived, I threw myself into his arms in a hug of despair and grief. He accomodated this hug and proceeded into the room where he confirmed that Anthony was really dead.
I did go back into Anthony’s room several times and touched his face. I didn’t scream but I did sob because the shock was so terrible because Anthony’s death was so quick. For a year or so, I had been trying to prepare myself for this inevitability; after all, Ants had had numerous TIAs (mini-strokes) and had become bed-ridden.
The un-final scene of this kind of experience is a kind of bedlam of regret: why wasn’t I kinder, more creative, more caring, more understanding, more able to listen?
I really want to make a difference somehow but atm can’t even be bothered reading or writing blogposts – too sad. I really appreciate comments and feedback but please understand that I need a bit of time to get my heart back.
Because …. I don’t know anymore; it was an un-final scene, a mysterious legacy, the most beautiful man in the world of kindness, forgiveness, generosity. I wanted to smash the people and illnesses that attacked him but he wouldn’t let me; he just wanted peace.
Perhaps that is what bewilders me most; there was no warning that this would be our final scene, Ants, and that’s why I will continue to explore the idea of our un-final scene.
jmgoyder 
That is one of the saddest things with losing a loved one, we rarely know when it will occur. And then the what seems like endless grieving when the love is so strong, pure, and loving as yours. Just take care of you. Take good care. I hope in your time alone you feel the love that so many of us out here have for you. ❤
Understood ! Diane
of course you need time and I am sure other bloggers understand. take care of yourself first
Processing the death scene is a very integral part of grief. I still replay the ones I’ve faced over and over. It is as if it shocks me back to reality.
Julie, it’s all so hard and I’m feeling your pain. Sending you a big hug and wishing you more peace as this new reality takes hold. It’s brutal.
Oh Julie! Dear lovely Julie, the last thing you should worry about are we, your blog readers. I so appreciate the fact you are sharing your emotions and thoughts, and with that you have been helping me incredibly, to face “the facts of life” in a manner that makes it all very personal. How I wish I could give you a big hug and tell you in person how wonderful you are! I have been reading your blog for years now, and while I haven’t left many comments, other than remind you once a year that I share Anthony’s birthday, I have come to feel part of your family with all its ups and downs. Thank you for opening your heart and soul. You are helping people more than you can imagine. Take your time, dear, and come back when you are ready. Take as long as you need to live through this. With much love, Angela
So sorry that you are so cast down again, I had thought that you were starting to find some relief from your grief the last time you posted. Hope this one is the result of a ‘low’ moment.
I’ve picked myself up again today!
Sometimes accepting that our story is ongoing and unfolding, brings us peace in the present. Your heart is still healing. Sending a gentle hug Julie 💛
Take all the time you need. We are all on this journey together…lots of hugs
To me, you were always kind, and definitely creative at how you ‘managed’ each day you visited your beautiful Ant. You always encouraged Ant and listened to his stories with love and kindness. He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. X
Your heart is much more important than a blog/post. You do what you need. ❤
it is clear to me that you were all of those things that you think you weren’t – kind, caring, –etc.
Naturally your heart needs to heal and that takes time, no one can know how long it will take just know you are often in our thoughts and prayers
There is no possible preparation for the actual moment. It is always a shock and an intense loss. Continue to write; it will be good for your process, and you don’t know who else will be helped.
My mother was ten months in her last illness and I planned for that whole ten months to be by her side. When the time came I had popped to the bathroom for 8 minutes. I wasn’t there.
I still replay that last eight minutes in my head over and over. I cannot accept I was not with her. I feel that I let her down. The pain is with me still two and a half years later.
I decided not to dwell on the fact that I wasn’t with Ants the moment he died. It’s almost as if he needed me out of the way. Maybe it was the same with your mother? I hope this brings you some comfort xxx
yes i think that may be true, I wouldn’t let her leave me, so she waited until i was out of the room.