My life in Jacksonville, IL -- 30 years later

I am assailed by memory in this town. Everytime I turn around or drive down a street, I think of something in the past. I first came here in 1981, a full 30 years ago, at the end of a long motorcycle trip, and at the beginning of a relationship that would result in marriage, children, and a whole lifetime of memories.

And here I am again, adding on more memories for the future. I am a witness to my father-in-law's final journey, the last step of an 80-year life. Bud and I have always had a "prickly" relationship. His lifestyle and attitudes are so antithetical to what I believe, it's not been easy to forge a friendship with him. But I am here, the adult in the room, so I will get the job done with a clear conscience as my husband's proxy.

Yesterday, the Hospice nurse told me that we are very close to the end. She now knows the "how" of his dying, though not the "when." She is seeing visible signs of arterial degradation. With the cancer in his neck and jaw growing wildly, the inevitible end will come when the carotid arteries break down and rupture. He will bleed out rapidly and expire within 1-2 minutes. The nurse has begun preparing the entire staff with a plan for when this happens. As of last night, he is being given a mild tranquilizer morning and evening. When the rupture occurs, he will quickly get an injection of Versed (a fast-acting sedative), and go to sleep. There will be no pain or panic as he bleeds out.

This is really tough stuff.

In the meantime, there is the accumulation of a lifetime to deal with. Bud moved to this apartment last year. 380 square feet doesn't seem like it would hold much in terms of cubic storage space, but I can tell you that it holds about 100 garbage bags worth of paper. I have come across Christmas cards from the 1960s to the present. Birthday cards, Mother's and Father's Day cards, get-well cards, bank statements for the last 30 years, magazines, news clippings, letters and postcards, and about 2,000 solicitations for charitable donations. Thankfully, Bud didn't respond to any of these. Unhappily, he never threw any of them away. Just when I think I've reached the end of the paper, I find another bag, box or barrel chock-full of more. Last night, I found neatly tied plastic bags under the sink, full of bank statements from the 70s, 80s, and 90s.

I'm going to say this once again: Seniors, please don't do this. My new motto is "If in doubt, throw it out!"

Today is Yard Sale Day. I have decided to flaunt the apartment complex rules and have a yard sale anyway. What can they do? Throw me out? Please.

Last night, I sold the washer and dryer. Today, hopefully the rest will go in bits and pieces at pennies on the dollar. Whatever is left will go to the homeless shelter early next week, into storage, or the dump, later in the week. If I sell the sofa today, Ozzie and I will go to a motel. I'm planning on loading up my truck (I love my new truck!) a week from today, and heading home, back to my real life.

There is still the cleaning of the apartment to be done (which will be easier when the stuff is out), and some details to attend to. Bill's relatives are starting to flock into town for their last goodbyes to Bud. Aunt Millie and Cousin Roger are coming today from Alton; Cousins Shelley and Bob from Indiana are coming Monday or Tuesday. People need connection with each other to process. They'll need to be fed. I am the hostess at this impromptu, lengthy wake.

Selfishly, I hope that Bud departs from this life peacefully and soon. He has fought for so long, and if he continues to fight, he only prolongs his pain and suffering. In his dying, he has shown so much courage--more so than in his living, I dare say. He deserves a serene and swift conclusion.