Don't Lose Heart

Twelve years ago I met Dan’s cousin, Newell Fogelberg, in Tucson, Arizona.  We became friends immediately, and that friendship grew into a deep love and care for each other very quickly.

When I met Newell he was gravely ill with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease.  We both knew his time on this earth was very limited, and I knew going in to our relationship that it would fall to me to care for him through his dying and passage.  I did not know at the time what a gift that would be to me, and what immense changes that would bring to my life.  However, caring for him as he became more ill every day, and relied on me for more and more help was, although a transformational experience, the most difficult and exhausting thing I have ever done, physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually.

Preparing meals, doing laundry, arranging for nursing care (as I was also working full-time)–I remember just doing it, and thinking that I would rest “later”, or take care of myself “later”.  Newell spent the last three weeks of his life in an inpatient hospice room, as he was too ill to be at home.  That room became my world, our world, for our final days on this earth together.  I left his side briefly every few days to go home, shower, pick up mail for us, but I slept in his room every night.

When the end finally came, I simply crawled up next to him in bed and sobbed my heart out.  For so little time we had, he was everything to me–my best friend, my lover, my knight in shining armor, he made me whole when I thought that would never happen in this lifetime for me.  It took months, years even, before I felt like I was physically recovered from the exhaustion.  Longer than that before I was able to heal emotionally from the loss of him, of us.  I remember being so unwilling to ask for help, so sure I could do it all myself.  Given the chance, I would gladly give away some of that burden, so that he and I would have had more time to just be with each other.  And I would have tried to take better care of myself as I know that because I did not, my physical recovery took far longer and took much more out of me than it needed to.

A dozen years later, I hold warm and loving memories of our time together, even the hard times at the end.  I found strengths in myself that today I put to good use in doing what I can to make the world a better place–for my friends, for the homeless animals I rescue, for my co-workers, for my family.  Newell gave me more than we ever knew when we walked our path on this earth together.  But he is with me every day and I know that one day we will hand in hand again.

Carol P