Friday night I was going through the text messages on my phone. At 2 am, for some dumb reason. I had all the messages transferred from Jeff’s phone so my phone is LOADED! I came across beautiful messages of love, sadness, inspiration, grief, and support from all the beautiful ARFCOMers, and Texas Hunting Forum and Godlike Production buddies. There are too many messages to count. Each of them special and perfect. I can’t tell you, each of you, how much those messages meant to Jeff and still mean so much to me. Of course the messages brought me to tears, but the one stupid message that really did me in was a text message from him to me that was oddly all by itself: “Get taco bell”. It was December 3rd, the day before he went to hospice. We had just been given the news that there was no more chemo. No more treatment. The tumor had practically exploded in his belly. I was driving home to get some things for Jeff and a change of clothes and things for myself so I could return to the hospital for the night. I was driving El Blanco, the little white Elantra we bought when we traded in Jeff’s truck. My phone wasn’t paired with the bluetooth in the car (first world problems, eh?), so I had to look at my phone to call my daughter to see if I needed to pick her up from her friend’s house. It was just after the call connected that I rear-ended the car in front of me, so my daughter heard a few choice expletives. There wasn’t a whole lot of damage to the car in front of me and, as luck would have it, there was a policeman one car behind me who saw the whole thing. He facilitated the exchange of information and advised me not to drive since the hood was a little crumpled and he didn’t want it to fly up while driving. I told him I didn’t have far to go and drove on. A friend of ours stayed with Jeff while I made the mad dash home so I called her to let her know I had just had an accident, not to tell Jeff, and would be a little later than I planned. Jeff subsequently changed his mind on his last meal to beef and cheddar sandwiches from Arby’s. He ordered three. I knew he’d maybe eat only one but I ordered them anyway.
I spent the next day in my jammies with Jeff. I greeted hospice coordinators, the chaplain, grief counselors, friends, and doctors in my pajamas. Jeff’s spirits were up. He was happy to see his friends from Masco. He was pretty drugged and drifted in and out of sleep, but he was happy when he opened his eyes. That was really his last coherent day.
So yesterday I got up, went to Home Depot and bought paint. I finished painting in my bedroom and got the baseboards done on three walls. (Slight miscalculation on materials and I’ll have to move my heavy bed again to get to the fourth wall, but it still looks kickass.) And I feel better. The tears still come a bit easy today, but I’m better.