Posted Feb 03, 2022 9:01PM UTC
My partner Al died Tuesday morning. He went through two more hospitalizations since this all started in October, and the second was a particularly rough stay. Because of COVID restrictions, he had to sit alone in a room for twelve days. That's disorienting for anyone, but at 84, it really knocked him for a loop.
He came home a week ago today. We had a hospital bed and oxygen ready for him, and after sleeping most of a day, he came around and was more like himself. But he still couldn't catch his breath. I learned to grab bits of sleep when I could, since he got me up several times a night. The last night, he couldn't stay in the bed anymore and couldn't even lie back in the recliner. I took the bed next to him, and he sat up, trying to find a position that worked. Around 6:30 in the morning, his breathing took on a gargling sound, and then he stopped responding to me. I called his adopted son next door and told him to come right over, then got on with 911.
The next part of the story is disturbing, but I want to share it for anyone who's in the same situation or may be in it someday:
The 911 operator tried to get me to drag Al to the floor and perform CPR. I wouldn’t, but when the paramedics came, they did it anyway. Al’s son had medical power of attorney and tried to stop them, but they explained that if there's not a separate Do Not Resuscitate order, the law requires them to try to revive for 30 minutes. They apologized, but they went on, much too long.
I just share this to urge everyone to triple-check that you and your partner have all the necessary paperwork on hand. I thought we were covered; I thought the power of attorney was all we needed to make them honor Al's wishes. If we'd had a DNR form stuck to the refrigerator, we'd have been spared this extra frightful memory. Take a moment to check the requirements where you live. It will pay when you can keep a peaceful passing peaceful.
I met Al in 2003. My partner Glenn and I went to Camp Ramblewood with a gay group each summer. That year, I looked over at the new attendees playing an ice breaking game by the pool and said to myself, "Who's that cute guy in the hat?" I brought him over to meet Glenn and ask what he thought of the two of us going off together for a while. Glenn looked at Al and said, "You can play with him, but you can't take him home."
The three of us became fast friends and palled around for the next five years. Al lived several hours from us, so we lost touch when Glenn became ill and I cared for him, then moved back to West Virginia to care for my parents after his death. I reached out to Al when that turned grim in 2014. We went on a cruise to give me a break, then started meeting wherever and whenever we could. When I was free again, I wanted him, but it was hard for him to give up 77 years in The Closet. Gradually, as his friends and family started to see what was happening and he saw that the world didn't end when they did, he came fully onboard. We lived together openly, the people who loved him were glad I was there, and home was years of quiet happiness and contentment.
Those of you who met him over the years know what a kind, funny, and gentle soul he was. I’m so glad we got him home and I was holding his hand when he went. Last weekend, we had the biggest snowstorm Al had seen in 50 years of living here. If he'd not come home just before it, he could have gone sitting alone in his hospital room. I'll be ever grateful that that wasn't our last memory.
When we were talking about becoming a couple, Al said, "You'll end being a caregiver for me, and I don't want that for you." I wanted it, and I don't have a moment's regret.
Thank you to all of you who reached out over the last few months. Your support and encouragement sustained me through some very hard days.
We'll bury him Saturday. You can read his obituary here: