Post by nightowl on Apr 21, 2021 10:02:45 GMT
After more than 20 years together, my wife died a week ago Sunday (April 11).
We were living in an apartment building for independent seniors and differently abled people.
We both had health issues, but it didn't stop us from functioning on a daily basis.
I've been a musician for almost 50 years now, from childhood; she was a former teacher and retail worker.
I was doing housework that day, as we had planned, but she was quite groggy and sluggish. I attributed that to the heavy day of shopping and laundry we'd done the day before.
I didn't realize that she was suffering from the effects of her chronic COPD, as well as pneumonia she'd been fighting since Christmas, and the interactions of her prescription meds.
She was also a smoker, and had been abusing pain medicine that she was also prescribed (Percocet).
She used to drink wine with the neighbor, who had no idea she was so sick, and who was unaware of any of her other meds.
She was asleep in the easy chair in the living area, snoring, until I had trouble waking her up for her afternoon meds.
I fed them to her by hand, and gave her sips of water from a bottle. That was her last act as a living person.
After getting a sore back myself from the housework, I sat on the loveseat across from her and watched her sleeping.
An hour or so later, I tried to wake her up. She didn't respond.
I tried again. I started slapping her bare legs, shaking her, nothing. I called the emergency number (911 here in the States), and fire and ambulance both came, but it was too late.
She was declared DOA at the hospital down the road from us. She died in our living room, right in front of my eyes.
I can't help but wonder if I was responsible for her death, by giving her those afternoon meds.
Maybe I could have called for help sooner; maybe I should have gotten off my butt instead of resting on the loveseat.
Maybe if I tried harder to keep her away from the pills and wine she abused, she'd still be alive.
I don't know if anyone will ever write back to me here, since there's no widowers on this forum.
I feel so alone.
I stay awake nights because if I try to close me eyes, I can still see her face -- discolored from her lack of oxygen, as the paramedics worked to revive her. Oh, God, her face...
This is after being in the hospital myself for an abdominal/digestive issue a year ago March, just before the governor of my state imposed the quarantine, and my wife having to ask permission to give me the news about my father dying.
I've got to settle her financial affairs, with no will, and I'm finding out about debts she owed but never told me. My bank account is down to $30.
I can't go on like this. For the love of God, someone help me.
We were living in an apartment building for independent seniors and differently abled people.
We both had health issues, but it didn't stop us from functioning on a daily basis.
I've been a musician for almost 50 years now, from childhood; she was a former teacher and retail worker.
I was doing housework that day, as we had planned, but she was quite groggy and sluggish. I attributed that to the heavy day of shopping and laundry we'd done the day before.
I didn't realize that she was suffering from the effects of her chronic COPD, as well as pneumonia she'd been fighting since Christmas, and the interactions of her prescription meds.
She was also a smoker, and had been abusing pain medicine that she was also prescribed (Percocet).
She used to drink wine with the neighbor, who had no idea she was so sick, and who was unaware of any of her other meds.
She was asleep in the easy chair in the living area, snoring, until I had trouble waking her up for her afternoon meds.
I fed them to her by hand, and gave her sips of water from a bottle. That was her last act as a living person.
After getting a sore back myself from the housework, I sat on the loveseat across from her and watched her sleeping.
An hour or so later, I tried to wake her up. She didn't respond.
I tried again. I started slapping her bare legs, shaking her, nothing. I called the emergency number (911 here in the States), and fire and ambulance both came, but it was too late.
She was declared DOA at the hospital down the road from us. She died in our living room, right in front of my eyes.
I can't help but wonder if I was responsible for her death, by giving her those afternoon meds.
Maybe I could have called for help sooner; maybe I should have gotten off my butt instead of resting on the loveseat.
Maybe if I tried harder to keep her away from the pills and wine she abused, she'd still be alive.
I don't know if anyone will ever write back to me here, since there's no widowers on this forum.
I feel so alone.
I stay awake nights because if I try to close me eyes, I can still see her face -- discolored from her lack of oxygen, as the paramedics worked to revive her. Oh, God, her face...
This is after being in the hospital myself for an abdominal/digestive issue a year ago March, just before the governor of my state imposed the quarantine, and my wife having to ask permission to give me the news about my father dying.
I've got to settle her financial affairs, with no will, and I'm finding out about debts she owed but never told me. My bank account is down to $30.
I can't go on like this. For the love of God, someone help me.