Waiting to Fall

Oliver has been very clear in what he needs and wants from us. His time remaining on this earth is nearing an end. Matt and I have been harmonious in our decisions, allowing each other to come to agreement before taking the next step. We find ourselves waiting. Waiting to see if each rise of his chest will be his last. Waiting for an hour to tick by before another dose of pain medication can be administered. Waiting for the clock to pass midnight onto another date.

We are waiting for death. And it is awful.

We have created cozy corners in our home to change scenery and positions. Candles are lit. Flowers and balloons can be seen from every spot. I have a rotation of soft blankets. He is wearing his most favorite Hanna long johns and fuzzy socks. Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is playing whenever he is awake. He still brings his hand to his mouth to chew on Waverly's Cinderella doll.

I have periods of exhaustion mixed with bursts of energy.

I have been keeping up with the laundry, aware that Oliver's jeans and tees will not be worn again. I put his backpack in his room, knowing he won't be carrying it to school anymore.

I am in transition. I want to keep things as they are and I want to throw away everything that represents illness. I want to refill the dwindling supply of diapers in his bathroom, but I know an opened package cannot be donated. Two sweaters arrived which will have to be returned, because he won't have a change to wear them.

We have been surrounded and supported. There is a steady ding of alerts on our phones, friends want to say their goodbyes. Our fridge is full of food. Tomorrow Christmas lights will be hung outside by friends who want to help in a tangible way. 

Oliver is known and he is loved.