Capt, my Fella, the second man I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with, passed away in my arms, surrounded by family he loved dearly. His sister had a beautiful song playing....I wish I could tell you the name of it but honestly right now i can't tell you the color of the sky. Capt, however, had blue eyes
I am so sad right now, of course I am. Not for him. Oh no! He got the best part of the whole event. He gets to spend eternity with the One he loves best of all.
Capt was an interesting bird. He was very loud and opinionated. And when I say loud, I mean window-rattling LOUD. The first time I watched a football game (ALWAYS University of Alabama. He loved his Crimson Tide) and they scored a touchdown, I thought the room had exploded and the windows were going to fall out. He balled up his (very large) paws...I mean....fists (if you'd ever met him, he had enormous bear-paw hands) and pumped the air, jumped up and danced, booming ROLL TIDE. watching football with him was always an exuberant experience. He was contagiously joyful. Especially when they won. But he was a gracious loser, very Presbyterian about it..."Oh well, they didn't play as well as they should have so they lost. It was meant tobe."
He was not a man of half-attempts. Whatever he did, metal working, ironworking, his career in the wood products industry, scuba diving, cooking for people...he did with complete dedication to the craft. He did nothing halfway. He knew I loved flowers. So he planted a hedge of roses across the front of the house, and every year would get me a couple more fancy hibiscus (hibiscuses? hibiscusi?) and large colorful talavera pottery pots for them. I had told him once. ONCE....that I like hibiscus and thought they were pretty. So he had to get ALL OF THEM for me. Same with roses. Next thing I knew, I had a gorgeous rose garden. A humongous greenhouse, because I opined once that would be a nice thing to have some day. and so on. Every single thing he did, he did it the best and most way he possibly could.
One of the most important things I learned from him was how to really LIVE. I was, when we met, a bit of a mouse. I tended to be quiet and conservative with everything I did. I worried about what other people would think. I wanted to be approved of. He showed me how to enjoy, how to give myself permission to try new things like oysters (um...ok), lobster, scuba diving, parties...how it was OK to want something and get it for myself. An embroidery machine. A great truck. Clothes that fit.
When I first met him...we met October 14, 2017....almost exactly 5 years ago. I was wearing black, because I didn't like thinking about what to wear. And everything was too big because I'd lost about 40 pounds but my mind hadn't caught up with that yet. He gently (Ha...."gentle" was not really a character quality), after a few dates, informed me that my clothes were too big and he hated black. So I cautiously bought something with some color and a bit smaller. "Better, but still too big." Oh my word, I thought....he wants me in red leggings and a bikini top. Not really....ok yes he would have been thrilled with that but no. We had to somehow reach a compromise. And we did. I now wear color, some of them louder than I'd choose on my own. I only wear black when it's the first thing I grab and he would always give me the stink-eye when he saw it. I will not wear black as I mourn. He would be deeply disappointed if I did. Not that, at this point, he would care but to honor him I will not wear it.
The last couple of years, since he had COVID, have been difficult for him. He never fully recovered his stamina, he'd lost his senses of taste and smell. For a Foodie that was pretty awful. He couldn't eat properly because many things made him gag. He was so tired. Months spent visiting doctors looking for answers found none. He started having heart issues. He had to give up scuba diving. He couldn't take his boat out and fish. He had back problems. He just...kind of...fell apart. In the last 6 months it got worse. His depression started ruling his life. He tried to live every day but spent most of the time in a chair on the front porch, cold even on the hottest Summer days. Unable to get answers from doctors....multiple ones. Frustrated and angry and wondering WHY.
Last Saturday, Oct 1, 2022, he was nauseous and started throwing up. He thought "food poisoning". Then he started throwing up blood. I took him to the ER at 7 pm and by 2 am he was in the ICU. He struggled for a week. They had every sort of tube and probe on, dialysis going daily, trying to figure out just exactly what happened. He had acute sepsis, and hepatorenal (liver and kidney) failure. All those months of feeling like shit just suddenly came to a head and blew up. Through the week I insisted they keep him sedated and comfortable. By Thursday they told me they couldn't do anything more. I had to make a decision. A dear friend came by, and she took me to the attorney's office where his advance directive was filed, and I established the DNR order. His directive ordered no life support. I'd done everything I could with the hope he could be healed but at this point only God could do that. He was unhooked from everything. He mumbled a bit after wards and I put my ear to his mouth so I could hear him. "Am I unplugged?" he asked. "Yes." I answered. "Ok good." he said. The next 2 days were spent with him surrounded by friends and family, coming in and out, sitting in his room laughing and telling stories about their experiences with him. I called all the friends in his phone so I could put it next to his ear and they could talk to him. His daughters were able to speak to him. He couldn't reply but the look on his face (eyes always closed...he never opened them after being extubated) said he heard every single call. By Saturday he was fully unconcious, but they say hearing is the last thing to go so we kept up with the laughter and stories. If anyone had sadness they expressed it too. It was hard, no lie there. But...I am so incredibly thankful for the week I had to process what was happening.
You see, this is the second time for me. The first time, my husband died very suddenly. Boom. Gone. No chance to process, no chance to say goodbye. I comforted myself by saying it meant no suffering for him. This time, Capt suffered. A long time. I am terribly sad about that. However, now he isn't. I am joyfully, eternally grateful for that. I am grateful for having the time to tell him goodbye properly. I had my arms around his shoulders and head on his chest as he breathed his last. I got to thank God for taking him, and praise God that Stephen knew Him and was finally free from the very difficult life he'd been enduring.
Am I sad he's gone? ABSOLUTELY. We had plans! But you know what they say...If you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plans. That's ok. The last 6 months Stephen seemed to know he was dying. He told me how to do everything except change the bushhog to the auger on the tractor. He made sure all of his affairs were in order and I had access to his phone and computer, all the financial stuff, everything. I would get annoyed because I thought he was being morbid. Now I am grateful because I know who, what, how, when, and where. The only thing really undone is the irrigation in the greenhouse and at least he got a faucet in there. He did teach me how to build the irrigation system so I can do it. Thank you, honey.
This week, I'm not doing much. There's a service to get ready. His sister is handling that. I have a little bit to do but...once the dust has settled and his body is planted where it's going...I'm going to spend a few days probably binge-watching something, reading, drinking coffee, and just....remembering. We packed a lot of life into 5 years. Probably more life in those 5 years than I'd lived in the last 30.
What a man. Good lord, I'm going to miss him.
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