On Death

This month has been awful so far, not just for me, but for a lot of people. It's kind of depressing. I feel badly because I am compassion fatigued. I was really frustrated yesterday, because I felt, I still kind of do, like I had been hit by a bus, but my family and friends seem to think this is no big deal and I am just being dramatic. "He was old." "Are we still going to lunch tomorrow?" I sucked it up and carried on for other people this month, but no I don't feel like hanging out with the girls tomorrow and talking about Christmas break. I kind of want to sit on the couch and stare at the ceiling. I don't blame people for how they are handling things, I just wish I was allowed to grieve for Max the way that makes sense to me.
Max was old and Millie was old 2 yrs ago when she died. He wanted to die. I know that. I don't begrudge Max his release from his hardships. That's not what my grief is about. It's about never seeing him again. It's about realizing that when I saw him last month was the last time I would ever see him and although I am grateful I spent that time with him, I wish I had spent more. It's about it being the last hug, the last time we looked at each other, the last "I love you." It's about Max being like a grandparent to me when all of my grandparents have long ago passed. He was so much like my Grandpa on my mom's side. He was so wonderful and loving and accepting. He was so vital, so alive, so smart, so gentle.
I don't know if anyone here has watched the movie Vertigo. It's a personal favorite of mine. You know pretty early on that the female lead will die. The foreshadowing is eerie and ominous but also obvious. And yet you want to believe that she can be saved. When we stood together at Millie's grave, Max pointed to the unetched stone below Millie's name and said, "That is where I will be." I made some quip about how that wouldn't be for a long time. We got back in the car and we started driving him home and he told us how sad he was, how he couldn't bear to be without Millie. I told him Millie was just setting up housekeeping for him, and that he shouldn't be so sad. He told us he was dying, that he had an aneurysm and that the doctor's gave him a 5% chance of survival if they operated. He didn't want that. He invited us for lunch, but I was so overwhelmed by all of this, by sadness for him, by my inability to console him in his loss that I didn't think I could eat. I felt sick. Senior Jefe saw this and said that we had eaten a late breakfast, but we could hang out for a bit.
We sat in his house and yelled at him, because he was deaf as a post, until it was his lunchtime. He kissed us and hugged us both and told us to go out and have fun. We both told him how very much we loved him. We walked out into the sunshine and sat in the car and stared at each other for a moment. We knew on some level that this was the last visit, the last hug, the last kiss, the last words.  Senior Jefe told me that Max was going to die within a year. I agreed. I felt numb and while my brain consented that all of this was the last visit, I didn't feel it. I think if I had I would have hugged Max a little tighter, a little longer and I would have stayed for lunch. Max tired to tell me. I didn't listen.
At the time all I could think about was how much I needed air, air and sunshine. I wanted to feel that I was alive and vibrant. I wanted the cloud of death to dissipate.  Now I am angry with myself for feeling that.  I am angry I didn't stay for lunch. I'm angry that I couldn't come up with something useful to say.
I love Max and I am sad that I wasn't able to be there for him as much as I should have been. Senior Jefe and I spent last night picking out funeral flowers.