Peggy healing the world, one person at a time

I want to share an excerpt of a letter from one of Peg's former patients today, who knew she was in hospice but wasn't aware she'd passed.

"Your unconditional support and authenticity helped me to heal in a profoundly deep way, perhaps even more than you know. The changes that you inspired have altered the course of my journey in every imaginable way...I am so grateful for your presence and influence in my life and I feel truly blessed to have worked with you."

Suzanne, Peg's former office partner, dropped off some bagels today for Swimmer Girl and shared her experience contacting Peg's former patients to tell them the sad news. At first she wasn't looking forward to it--but when patient after patient opened up to her about how Peg had changed--or even saved--their lives, she found herself looking forward to the next call. And they all so appreciated hearing from her, not having known what happened to Peggy after she had to close her practice so abruptly in 2009.

Peg told our friend Lesley three weeks ago that any former patients are welcome to be at her memorial/life celebration. I look forward to meeting them on June 3rd as we share our collective memories of the richness and joy that Peg brought to all our lives.

Memorial services

Shooting for the weekend of June 2nd and 3rd (ironically, the weekend after Memorial Day). It'll give folks who need to travel some extra time to plan and secure tickets. We'll have a smaller gig for family and close friends on Saturday, then the big kahuna around 11am on Sunday. Both at friends' houses.

We'll have specifics after the weekend.

Zoë's 17th birthday...not as horrible as you'd think

Chris and Paul Andre, who we've known since Camille and Zoë were three, had us over for dinner and a birthday celebration. Felt like coming in from a snowstorm, snuggling together in front of a warm fire.

The girls (Zoë and Camille, 17, Marie, 13) went into silly mode. Giddy laughter is always good for the soul, especially now.

We had a wonderful birthday celebration tonight. I think Peg was wise to check out of the hotel when she did...if she was as ill and in decline tonight as she was on Tuesday, it would have been horrid. Thank you, my wise and wonderful wife.

Our sweet Peg is gone

I went to sleep around 2:30 this morning, and Jeanette and Marianne came back to the house at 4. At 5 Mer called me into the living room, where Peg's breathing was becoming labored. We sat with her as she took her last breath at 5:15.

Jeanette called the women's group, and everyone was at the house by 6:15, so when Zoë awakened there was a lot of love in the room. We were held in the deep embrace of women who love us, and who loved and cared so much for Peg. They sang "When Love Comes Home."

This is hard to write. It just seems unreal.

Thankful that Peggy passed quickly. Her poor belly was so distended that if she'd been conscious the pain would have been unimaginable.

Marianne isn't leaving until tomorrow. Zoë is home today. Jeanette is here. We're all exhausted, physically and emotionally. Today started out as a blur and it's still blurry.

I'm staring out the window, reminded of when Peg and I found out she was diagnosed with cancer, almost three years ago. She and I stared out at the world, knowing ours would never be the same.

Midnight shift

Hospice sent a nurse at 4pm, who's enabled us to focus on family time and dinner while she took care of Peg. They couldn't cover the midnight-8am shift, so Jeanette and I are on deck. I'll be up until 2 or so, Jeanette will be here around 4.

Peg is sometimes anxious and restless in her "sleep." Agitated. Calling out. Dorothy, the hospice nurse, says this is how it is at the end of life and that Peg is doing it unconsciously. Knowing that doesn't make it any easier to experience.

The drugs are starting to kick in, finally. She rested comfortably (if sporadically) for a long time tonight. Hoping she's settling in to letting the painkillers take over, letting go of the body that has increasingly become a painful burden.

Our sweet dragonfly is ready to shed her old form, rise from the water, and soar.

Coming to the end of a long road

Peg's condition is rapidly deteriorating. Her belly is distended from internal blockages, which makes her uncomfortable. Concentration and word-finding are sporadic.

Jeanette and Marianne are here. Dr. Patella just left. The goal at this point is to keep Peggy heavily sedated; there is no medication that will address her abdominal pain. If she's awake, she's in pain.

Dr. Patella has recommended that a hospice nurse be here 24/7, starting later this afternoon, so if Peg wakes up agitated, confused and in pain there will be someone watching over her and staying on top of the medication, even if it's in the middle of the night.

Peggy so wanted to be there for Zoë's birthday on Thursday. It breaks my heart to write this, but she's leaving us very soon. Dr. Patella says it's much better for Peg and for all of us that she doesn't suffer any longer.

Loves me them Smith sisters, yes I do

Marianne is here from Denver, Jeanette spent a lot of time here today, and I'm thankful. Rough seas offshore, the port shrouded in fog, no compass or rudder.

Tonight is the first night Peg's spending in the living room hospital bed. Not enough "oomph" to transition to the wheelchair, much less from there to our bed and back to the wheelchair. She's no longer taking in any food, just ice chips, and then only when she's sitting up. Noticeably weaker than yesterday and the day before.

I'm moving to the living room couch in case she needs anything. We were joking tonight about what a deep sleeper I am, and I suggested we run a string from my toe to the bed so she can get my attention (which naturally led to the possible attachment point that would REALLY get my attention). Glad we skipped over that idea--I'll just sleep with my good ear off the pillow. Dodged a bullet there...

Jeanette, Marianne and I sat on our back deck for an hour late this afternoon as the delta breeze kicked in, talking about what is and what's to come. So thankful I'm part of Peg's family and for my two wonderful sisters-in-law. 

The photo I couldn't find yesterday

Cutting our wedding cake, July 18, 1987. That's Marj on the right. Yes, that is a pyramid, and our wedding rings are Möbius strips (they only have one side, and if you were to split them they would form two interlocking rings).

The bottom layer of the cake was frosted foam core. If it was actual cake it would have fed 150 people, 30 more than the number of guests,  on its own. I designed it, created the acrylic stand, and our friend Annie hooked us up with a tattooed biker chick who was also a kick-ass baker unafraid of a challenge.

I feel like our life is turning into a broken record, but today had a rough start with a few turns into the ditch. We swapped out Peg's Fentanyl patch, but this time it snowed her so hard she had trouble with word-finding and crashed really hard for hours.

It's easy to blame the patch, but it's not the patch. Peg's body is letting go. She had some mild intermittent hallucinations all day.  Her legs are getting weaker; I have to spot her as she transitions from the wheelchair to wherever she's headed (toilet, chair, living room bed, bedroom bed).

That's her world right now. It frustrates her. She would love to spend even ten minutes in the back yard to smell the blossoms from the sweet peas, alyssum and orange blossoms. But she gets dizzy and nauseous moving from place to place, especially if she doesn't "decompress" for a few minutes in between.

Tomorrow is another day.

Wonderful day with Marjorie and Claude

Marj and her husband flew out from Denver for the day to be with us. Here are the "girls" in Baja, Mexico on a group kayak whale-watching adventure circa 1990.

Marjorie and Peg go back to when Jesus was in the fifth grade. Well, maybe not that far back...but far enough to have a rich, deep and lifelong friendship. She was Peg's maid of honor at our wedding. Wickedly outrageous sense of humor, muy, muy grande heart. Today was special in any way you can imagine and three others besides.

I took Claude on an 18-mile bicycle ride on the American River Trail. He was riding Zoë's recumbent (which adjusts to larger riders) and we had a blast. One of those stunning Sacramento spring days when everything is so green it almost makes your eyes hurt. Plus lots of orange poppies, purple lupen and the smell of orange blossoms and backyard barbecues wafting over the trail.

When you're measuring time by the day– or half day– receiving a fulfilling one like this is a real treasure.