Chapter 17:

Death

Blog post and social media announcement of Julie’s passing. I hate these photos in this section, and avoid them, except the last one. But I include them here because the are real and tell something of the sorrow of disease and the tragedy of death. This is the hardest post for me.

Dec 10, 2017

Julie Hatch, 23 Apr 1969 to 10 Dec 2017

With profound grief we announce the passing of our beloved Julie today at 1:35 pm.  We know that she no longer suffers, and this brings us comfort.  We will see her again.

Our prayer of peace and hope in the Christmas message of salvation goes out to you all.  With you we thank God for sending his beloved son into the world.

We thank you all, with deepest gratitude for all the thoughts and prayers for Julie and all of us.  When I have more time and feel less sorrow, I will finish this blog with a final post.  All our love,

The Hatch Family

Eight days before Julie passed away, she awoke at 2 AM on Dec 2, and asked to have some cereal.  The weeks before she passed away she almost only wanted to eat cold, sugary breakfast cereal.  She liked Apple Jacks and Fruit Loops, but her favorite was Peanut Butter Captain Crunch, which she and I ate as we had a nice quiet breakfast very early that morning, probably our last meal together.  

Later that day, I loaded her and the kids into the car and went to find a fresh cut Christmas tree at the garden store.  We came home, played Christmas music, and decorated the tree while Julie watched with a vacant and sick expression.  After a while she spoke out, “We need to talk.”

When the kids were away we talked.  She briefly and blankly told me that she wanted it to be over.  

During the week I continued to work some at the clinic while friends came over to be with her.  The home was peaceful, decorated for Christmas with soft music always playing.  Those who came to stay with Julie felt great peace while with her.  I regret that I worked at all, even though she was almost always asleep, I wish I had never left her side.  

A moment I have never written about that I share now, is a sample of a selfish moment that I wish I could change.  This might have happened a few weeks earlier.  One evening while Julie was asleep in the living room I decided to go on a run.  I didn’t want her to miss me so I quietly snuck out and ran 1/4 mile down the road then back (1/2 mile total) to check on her.  I wanted to run 4 miles so I did this 6 times.  Then I decided it had gone well, so the last time I ran the final mile, 1/2 out and 1/2 back.  When I returned to the door I could here her wailing and sobbing.  I ran in to her and calmed her.  She had awakened and I wasn’t there, no-one was there, and in her weak mental state her anxiety overcame her.  I soothed her and cried.

One evening, three days before her passing, I took the three boys living at home out for dinner, while Julie’s brother came to spend some precious time with her.  I am not sure I needed to do that.  I was trying to divert some of the pain of the moment and remove my boys from it for a moment.  

She stopped eating and drinking.  I was now giving her morphine and lorazepam more often to relieve pain, and anxiety.  I had promised that I would help her pass without suffering.  That promise was much easier made than fulfilled.  Still, I did my best to use medicine to ease her suffering, while not causing her to stop breathing.  

On Saturday, the day before she passed, I don’t remember much.  I have a photo of Christopher combing her hair.  She had a blank expression, and paper-thin yellow skin on bone.  I deleted most pictures like that, but kept it because of the kindness Christopher was trying to show to his mother. 

Julie slept the night in her living room recliner, and I slept on the couch off and on.  She was occasionally in distress and I would provide morphine.  By morning she did not move, and I don’t think she even opened her eyes again.  Tim and Tressa Taylor helped me move her from the chair, to the wheel chair, and then to bed.  He body was brittle, and I felt bones pop as we lifted and moved her, but she did not respond.  

She stayed in her bed the remainder of the morning.  All the out of town children we on the road traveling here to be with her as she passed.  Bryce and Lisa Burtenshaw were over and stayed to help and comfort us.  

It was after 1 PM, I was still in my pajamas and I had not showered.  Bryce and Lisa and Nathaniel were watching over Julie while I went to get showered and shaved.  I lingered long in the shower, and I was at the sink in a towel and had just finished shaving when there was pounding on my door and a call to come immediately.  I rushed to dress and I ran into the bedroom.  Julie had stopped breathing.  I check her oxygen saturations and they were low and dropping fast.  I tried to suction her airway as I had done other times that morning.  I shook her some to stimulate breathing, but she was gone.  I put my lips to her head and said goodbye.  

Nathaniel was standing by, and had a complete uncontrollable breakdown, sobbing, shaking, and wailing.  I did my best to hold and comfort him, but I was so confused, I didn’t know what to say, and don’t remember anything I said.  Bryce and Lisa stool by with melted hearts and reverent expressions, but their presence provided comfort and strength.  

They brought in Christopher and Noah, and I can’t remember much of that, but that the Burtenshaw’s were there to help.  

Ten minutes after Julie’s passing, the Children from Utah pulled into the driveway.  I met them at the door and we huddled in the entry and I told them that “Mom” had passed away 10 minutes ago.  We all met in the bedroom and cried and prayed together and stayed with her for a few hours before her body was taken away.  

I was disappointed and confused that she passed away in the small moment that I was not with her, and before her children arrived.  Such a strange thing, but the hospice nurse told me that it is very common for someone to pass away, when loved ones step out for a moment.  Different kind theories seek to explain this, and offer some comfort.  I was still disappointed that I had left her side on a few occasions.  

I know I should not be so hard on myself.  I know I was by her side through all of this, and I tried so hard to comfort her in all ways that I could.  I was aided my medical knowledge, and my faith in God.  She wrote me the most tender notes of appreciation for this.  I keep a note by my bed alway as a reminder of how infinite her gratitude, friendship and love were. Words that make tears stream down my face 3 years later. Words that make me better. God bless her loving soul!