Lynn’s Story

This is my story

It is highly personal and each person grieves in their own way. But what I experienced shocked me, and by sharing it, I’m hoping the road may possibly be better for you.

From the time my husband was diagnosed to the time of his death was a duration of 6 years. I took the role of overseer, researcher, protector, companion, nurse’s aide, aggressor at changing doctors and/or anything else I thought might help him.

Three years into it, he had had one of many MRI’s. We went to the doctor for the results a few days later.

He had been maintaining at a certain level for awhile, so, finally I booked a minor, but needed, surgery for myself. I had been suffering from arthritis for about 10 years in my knees and hips but there was no way I was going to have one to four joints replaced with Jerry in this condition. But I did decide to book an arthroscopic procedure for one my knees the following day.

After these years of accompanying Jerry to doctors after tests and otherwise, I was totally unprepared for what I heard. The doctor told us the melanoma had gone to his brain.

Thrown to the ground. That’s how I felt. I heard it and I didn’t hear it. I wanted to hold Jerry’s hand or put my arm around him but I couldn’t because the room was so small we had to sit on separate ends of us to fit both of us in. I despised that room. I made a mental note of calling the head of whatever to tell them this was cruel and unusual punishment and they should change it immediately, that it was unfair, unkind, unjust, and there was too much unfair, unkind, unjust in that room already.

I asked the doctor if I could take a sedative and drink the water from the tap. Why did I ask? I have no idea. I had the sedatives in my purse and who cares what the quality of the water was. After that, I asked if I could use his phone to cancel my surgery the next morning.

For the next 3 years, he was on chemo and had other unpleasant treatments and he was not the same after that. But he could still function to a degree. We still went to a few family functions but after another two years or so later we were limited in what we could do.

One day I was coming back from somewhere and there were several people in the lobby of our building, and a puppy. Not just any puppy, but a puppy who jumped straight in the air when you called him. Something like a jumping bean. And a face…and a tail … and in about 45 seconds I was in love.

I told Jerry about the puppy. And after engaging with that puppy, I could not get him off my mind. I became obsessed with getting a puppy just like that one. I did research…on breeders, maintenance, personality. One trainer described the breed (Wheaten Terrier) like a clown with wings. A clown with wings…that was just what we needed.

Except the people who owned the building in which we lived didn’t allow dogs. Except the people who owned the building in which we lived were Jerry’s brothers, and I was close with one of their wives. I called and told her about the puppy, and of our need for life around us, for our need to have something other than the threat of death around us. And somehow or another we got the okay to get a puppy.

I found a local breeder and there were 6 puppies and they were 1 month old and I could come see them, but not choose one, because they didn’t know which ones they were going to choose to be show dogs. I went, and the breeder opened the door to where the puppies were with their mom. All the puppies scattered every which direction, except for the proverbial one who came to me and started licking my fingers. “What about this one?” I asked. She repeated what she had already told me. But she said I could come back and visit.

Two weeks later I came back again. I was already transfixed on this puppy with the turquoise ribbon around his neck and he didn’t fail to disappoint. He was just as cute as he’d been the time before.

After that time I said I couldn’t come back until they made a decision. It was getting too difficult.

At 9 weeks, the puppy was ours. I named him Zacky. It fit him to a tee.

Zacky, Jerry and I. Zacky was 9 weeks old. I lost Jerry four months later.

Family would come visit us and they were in disbelief that we had gotten a puppy. They thought we were crazy. And maybe we were. It wasn’t easy on either of us, but most difficult for Jerry. I didn’t anticipate the stress on either one of us, ridiculous as that may sound.

For several months, things went along about the same. Except the puppy started to do things that would make us laugh, and we were in short supply of laughter. Having a puppy was a good thing. The breeder let me know he would start to lose his baby teeth soon, so, I started to look for them and managed to find a few to save. No point in putting a quarter under his pillow but we rewarded him in other ways. And he kept rewarding us.

One morning I was looking for him and calling for him but no Zacky. Jerry was in his bathroom brushing his teeth. For some reason he always put the shower on while he was brushing his teeth. I never did ask him why.

Anyway, I called out to Jerry and asked him if he’d seen Zacky. He called back, “Yes, he’s here”.

I went toward the bathroom, then walked in the bathroom, and I said, “Where?” He pointed toward the shower. Zacky was sitting on the floor of the shower, the water flow about six inches behind him. It was the funniest thing we had ever seen. Jerry used to come home with a few towels from the gym when he was going. We talked Zacky out of the shower and wrapped him in one of the gym’s towels. We took a picture. He looks like ‘the champ’.

Then, within a very short time, after 6 years, Jerry took a steep decline. He fell. And other things happened. And when he needed a hospital bed in our bedroom and hospice care, I knew the end was coming but I couldn’t face it, wouldn’t face it. He had hospice care, and I needed hospice care of another kind. I didn’t know they would sit with me, listen to me go on hysterically, and cry, and continue to go on hysterically, and confess to the belief I had failed him. I had gone out for several hours one day, and I couldn’t forgive myself. But she told me I was still here. Many spouses leave and never come back.

I was in the room with him when he took his last breath. I looked up at the time the way they do in hospital movies. Call it. Time of death …something, something, something.

And then I felt some relief. Or I thought I did. But now there was a funeral and reception to prepare for.

Sometime later, I looked for Zacky again. Couldn’t find him. Then I went to our bedroom. I could not believe what I saw. Zacky was sitting at the edge of our big bed staring through the bars of the empty hospital bed. It caught my breath.

I called the breeder and asked her if she could take Zacky for a few days. Then I started calling people, and along with Jerry’s son, Steve, started making funeral arrangements, calling people, the reception was handled by Steve’s then wife, Marcia.

The Rosenberg family held all their funerals at Hillside Memorial Park. Everything went off the way it should and that night I was a widow. Jerry’s daughter, Debbi, stayed with me for a few nights and I was so grateful.

My friend, Anne, came in from New York and stayed with me for a few days, and then my friend, Linda, from San Jose came in and stayed with me for a few days, and my local friend, Linda, came over and stayed for a few days.

And then my local friend, Linda, went home, and I was alone.