Three years ago today.
There was a blizzard in New York (where I was living at the time). I lived in a town called Sleepy Hollow, which was about 15 minutes from my parents’ house in Dobbs Ferry. Even though I had my own apartment, I decided to stay with my folks during the storm. I didn’t want to be stuck alone in my apartment if we lost power, especially heat. I figured it was a Saturday, so I’d stay over at their house and spend some quality time.
My boyfriend (Mike) came over earlier in the afternoon and all four of us cuddled up on the couch in our living room to watch a movie. Honestly, I can’t remember what movie – but I know it was an action-packed one.
While we were watching the movie I was texting with Jim (Jana’s husband). Jana and I had been texting and talking every day since her diagnosis (we talked a lot before she got sick, but obviously the reality of her situation made our communication even more important). Looking back at our texts, for some reason we didn’t exchange any messages on February 9.
Jim texted me. He told me that she wasn’t doing well. I knew this already. But I guess we didn’t realize what it really meant.
We texted back and forth during the movie. I whispered to Mike that Jana wasn’t doing well and he squeezed me in for a big cuddle-hug.
When the movie ended Mike walked home (too snowy to drive) to have dinner with his folks. Luckily, our parents live on the same street!
I remember Jim texting that they were going to the ER because she was having trouble breathing. I think we talked on the phone briefly and he told me that I should come down (to Texas, where they lived). I went into the kitchen and my parents sat with me as I cried. I felt helpless. I wanted to be there. I wanted to fix it. I felt so much.
My parents helped me realize that there’s nothing I could do, even if I was there, except to love her (which I was doing as hard as ever!) They said I could plan another visit if I wanted. Once the blizzard was over I could fly down to see her.
Texts between Jim and I were bouncing back and forth. He was updating me. They were at the ER. She needed oxygen. They were putting her on oxygen. She needed a breathing tube. They were giving her a breathing tube.
I went to the bathroom. I brought my phone with me. After I washed my hands I splashed some water on my face to freshen up from all of the crying.
Jim called again.
I answered.
“She didn’t make it.”
What the fuck!? What does that mean? What did he mean? They must be wrong. She didn’t make what? where? how? why? What the fuck?
We cried on the phone for about a minute together. Then I said I’d call him back. I looked in the full-length mirror in our bathroom and all I could see was Jana.
I opened the door and said in my weak, sad, shocked voice: “She died. Jana died.”
My parents embraced me. None of us thought this was happening now. The doctors never said anything about 1 month to live. They never made any of us feel like this was a death sentence. They were so hopeful, optimistic and playing the long game. No one was prepared. Not her husband. Not her daughters. Not her sister. Not her friends. It was the worst moment in my life so far (and I’ve had my share of bad moments.)
That was the end. The end of hearing her laugh. The end of texting silly photos to each other at 4am when we couldn’t sleep. The end of our incredible reunion and magical relationship. The end of our adventures and stories. The end of my trips to Texas and her trips to New York. The end of exploring our similarities. The end of our hugs. The end of our Lifetime movie marathons. The end of her relationships with my family. The end of an incredibly beautiful, loving, hilarious, special woman.
The End (of her life).
But, thank you God, not the end of her memory.
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