“Just One More Time”
Margaret was a petite lady. While I never measured her height, she was (probably) no more than 4’10’’ tall. She weighed less than 90 lbs., soaking wet with a pocket full of rocks. I worked with her husband, Owen, admitting her to the long term care facility within my first month of employment there. She had Parkinson’s disease; resulting in her being non-ambulatory. She was stiff and rigid. Her major “movement” joints (feet, ankles, knees, hips, hands, elbows, shoulders, neck) were contracted. Owen had taken care of her at home for the ten plus years that she had been dealing with this illness. He was a big man; more than six feet tall, stout, with very little excess weight. For the five years prior to her admission to the facility he had been lifting her in his arms as needed to provide for her care. To make things more complicated for both Margaret and Owen, Margaret had been diagnosed with dementia, probable Lewy Body type. Reluctantly, very reluctantly he was admitting her to the nursing home as his doctor and son had said, “It’s time”. While Owen and I did the paperwork necessary for the admission, he paused (frequently) to wipe away the tears from his eyes and cheeks. Time and time again he said, “I don’t want to be doing this. I promised Margaret that I would take care of her.” I did my best to console and reassure him. To me, it seemed as though my best was not enough. During our time together Owen told me that he had married Margaret 64 years ago.
The staff of the facility helped get Margaret settled in. They did a very good job of taking care of her. For more than five years, after her admission, Owen drove to the facility daily in order to visit with her. Many times I saw him enter her room; always extending his hand, tenderly stroking her cheek, speaking softly and quietly, and bending over to kiss her lips. He would, often sit for hours beside her bed, holding her small hand in his very large one. At times, she was alert to his presence; occasionally speaking with him, but most often she just lay silently starring at him with a sweet little smile on her face. While she had moments of lucidity, most of the time her speech was jumbled up words (Often clinically referred to as “word salad”.). After a couple hours of visiting Owen would stand to leave. He would call her name, bend over and gently kiss her as he told her of his love for her.
Upon my arrival to begin my day of work one morning I was greeted by one of the staff members with the news that Owen had suffered a severe stroke the evening before. He was in the hospital, in very critical condition. I asked the staff if anyone had told Margaret. It seemed as though no one had. I went to her room, got her attention, and I told her that Owen was sick and would not be able to come to visit with her for a while. I was not sure that she understood me, but I thought she deserved to know. She was silent for a few seconds. She then looked at me and said, “I will see him again.”
I went to my office and contacted the medical center where Owen was a patient. After speaking with the nursing staff I spoke with the person responsible for discharge planning; alerting her that if/when Owen was able to be discharged from the hospital the facility where I worked would have a bed for him. Owen’s condition improved and in a few days he was transferred to the nursing home. Upon his arrival, I went to Margaret and told her he was there. She asked if she could see him. Several staff members helped me get her to his bedside. I placed his hand in hers and watched in amazement as he grasped her hand in his. (You see, according to the reports from the hospital he had shown no voluntary movement since the time of his stroke.) Margaret stayed a while and then was returned to her room. This pattern was repeated for several days.
After about a week of Owen being in the facility I was notified by one of the nurses that it appeared as though Owen was in the process of dying. I went to his room and observed his labored and erratic breathing. It was obvious he was dying, soon. I asked if Margaret had been told. When no one indicated that she had been, I went to her room and said, “Margaret”. As soon as I spoke her name, she opened her closed eyes and said, “He’s going, isn’t he?” I said, “Yes. He is going.” She said, “I want to be with him.” I told her I would get some staff to take her to him.
I pushed her wheelchair into his room, right up as close as possible to him. I started to turn and leave, allowing them some place. However, before I could leave she said, “I want to be up there (motioning toward his bed) with him.” I assured her that the staff could make that happen. She was placed beside him. Before leaving the room I asked her if that was what she wanted. She asked if he could be turned in the bed, facing her. The staff made that happen. She then asked me if I could place one of his arms around her. I did so. She then asked if I get her as close to him as could be. The staff and I did that. Needless to say, we were becoming overcome with emotions by this time.
As we stepped away from her bed, Margaret began to speak to Owen in a clear and completely understandable voice and manner. (While I wanted to leave them alone, I could not as I felt compelled to stay.) She began to tell him how much she loved him. She told him how proud she was to have been known as his wife for all these many years. She spoke of her son (Who unknown to her was now standing behind her in the room, tearfully listening.). She talked of things from their shared lives for which she was grateful. She thanked Owen for providing for her every need for all of the years they were together. She told him that he always caused her to feel as though she was the most beautiful and desirable woman in all the world. She recalled the times of sitting in the Sunday School class, listening and learning from him as he taught the lessons. She spoke of the times she heard his voice as he prayed such beautiful prayers. She expressed her appreciation for the ways he had helped her deal with the health issues for the past several years. She affirmed his decisions related to her living in the nursing home. And, finally, she gave him permission to go, because she knew he was weary and ready. Margaret then motioned for my attention. I stepped her near her. She said, “I want to kiss him ‘Good bye’.” With her son Tom’s assistance we moved her close enough for her to kiss Owen. As she moved away she said, “Tom, I just had to feel your Daddy’s strong arms around me this one last time”. The staff assisted her from the bed, back into her chair. I prepared to move her back to her room. She indicated for me to stop. She said, “Will you tell him I’ll join him soon?” I said, “Certainly”. When I turned to Owen, he was gone.
The staff and I took Margaret back to her room. As they prepared to return her to her bed she said, “He’s gone.” I shook my head and said, ‘Yes, he is”.
In less than an hour after that the staff had gone to Margaret’s room in order to provide care for her. She was gone. A sweet little smile was on her face.