How do we spend the last days of our lives? My husband is eating ice cream and calling the mortuary to tell them when to expect him

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It is Wednesday morning and Kira and I are sitting on the big blue couch with Michael, who after weeks of no appetite has decided he wants nothing more than a 6-inch Subway tuna sandwich and a 6-inch salami sandwich for later. 

He also has requested a malted milkshake, but no one seems to have that on the menu, so he has decided to settle for a coffee-mint chip-shake and an Oreo sundae from Bruster’s ice cream. 

He is dozing off and on and every now and then falls into a deeper sleep, which at first glance looks a little like he may actually be gone. But then his eyes open and he is Michael.

He is more relaxed today because we have put a plan in place. We have ordered his end-of-life medicine and it will arrive within 24 hours. The power is fully in his hands to decide when he has had enough. 

Kira takes off to pick up his food orders and I call Michael’s brother Larry and Larry’s wife, Donna, to tell them that Michael would love to have them come here and to bring Michael’s mother, too. He wants family to surround him on what will be his last day. 

They are not shocked, but are very aware that the clock is running out faster than any of us had thought it would. We got the cancer diagnosis two weeks before Christmas, when Michael thought he had pulled a muscle in his back. And now, here we are. 

It’s hard to understand. 

But, we are following Michael’s lead. They will fly in from Florida on Thursday night and stay until Tuesday.

Back with the food, Kira and I sit with Michael as he enjoys his sandwich and milkshake while discussing when he will leave us. A most bizarre experience. 

He is crunching on potato chips and munching on the tuna sandwich with all the fixings while we choose a day and a time to die. 

The Oreo sundae is tucked away in the freezer, perhaps for dinner. Again, his choice. We will just try to meet his needs food-wise as well as his  emotional and physical needs.

And we watch Judge Judy. The old ones. The ones with women with really big hair. People suing each other over dog bites and dish throwing and too-loud music – and we laugh. Actually laugh out loud at how Judy smacks them all down.

There are details to manage. Airport pickups to arrange. Places to stay for the out-of-towners, oh, and we need to call the mortuary to tell them when to expect Michael and what he would like done once he arrives.

So, after finishing his lunch, Michael places the call himself. 

He explains the situation and tells the mortuary when they should expect him. They quote us a price. It can be put on a credit card. I will get Southwest miles. So far I have no real feelings about that other than where in the world will I be going alone?

Kira and I have to have a talk with Michael about his phone voice. And the way he speaks to visitors when they pop in. He is ever the optimist, the positive spinner. But it throws people off. 

He has pain which reaches level 10, but tells his visitors or folks on the phone it is a 2. He doesn’t want to complain. But we explain to him that if he continues this charade, we are afraid his friends will think we just decided to “take him out.”

He understands. Then a friend calls and he does it again. 

It is hard to change your personality at the age of 65. And we love him all the more for it. 

One thing that is giving him comfort is that after a life of no spiritual beliefs, he now is soothed by the thought of seeing his best friend Eddy, who died in June. And his friend Tom, who died just three weeks ago. That also gives me comfort. 

And so does the fact that Eddy’s wife, Becky, and Tom’s wife, Lindsey, will be here with me. We have all been close for many decades; our girls grew up together and now they will console each other over the loss of their fathers. 

But for now, we are just trying to make Michael as happy and as comfortable as is possible given the circumstances. And we are so very proud of him as he begins this transition. And I am so grateful to have been able to share all of this with all of you. 

I’m going to take a break from writing for a bit. Please excuse me while I try to catch my breath. Please tell the people you love how much they mean to you. 

Please know how much you all mean to me. And thank you for coming along for the journey of a lifetime.