And so it comes to this.... you have suffered enough.

I have been planning on writing this blog for months.  I have also been avoiding writing this blog for months. I have written about death before. I have written about my belief, or lack there of, in a God before, and most importantly, 

I have written about my friends before. But this is the one blog entry I did not want to make because once made, a door would finally closed never to be opened. I don't like closed doors. They cut you off and shut you out. They hide secrets and keep things from you. My workplace has a long hallway and nothing is more depressing than walking down that hallway with all of the closed doors. It makes you small, and isolates you. Its reminds you of all the things that are going on that you are not part of. Each door is a place you are not welcome or wanted. When I was more important and had my own door I had a window cut into it. I wanted my office to be a place of warmth that was open even when it was closed. The hallway upstairs could benefit from that. I hate closed doors.

The door I am speaking of is of course, the door on my friends life.  My friend J.C. passed away aprox 0500 on the 2nd may 2017.  I, we, (my close group of friends - see post above)  knew it was coming, shit, we helped plan it. Yes, I said we planned it. We planned it because we loved him. We discussed it and we planned it as a group,  though one of the guys had to put it all into action and had to do the heavy lifting  - which he did without complaint or expectation of reward because J.C needed it. 

 Multiple Sclerosis. It is a horrific disease. It killed my mother and afflicts others in my family. It over time made my J.C. a prisoner in his own body. It started simply enough. One day he noticed his vision blurred. Went to get it checked ...nothing found. Months later he discovered he was having some balance issues. Again nothing found. Later he was having strange sensations in his fingers and limbs and that is when they started to figure it out. Eventually his balance was so bad a cane was needed to walk. His vision got so wonky that driving was impossible. His speech started to slur. ("Hey that guy is drunk" ...) So now his movements were  difficult, and communication was limited. He lost the use of his legs. His arm, both arms.   J.C was only actually diagnosed a couple of years before my wedding. At my wedding he was able to stand (only for short periods) with the use of a four point cane. I wrote this description of his daily routine some years ago;

 Just imagine for a second you wake up. You can't move so you lie and wait, looking all around you. You can make some rudimentary movement but it is exhausting, so sitting up would take all of the good out of you so you wait. You wait, wait for someone to come and help you up out of bed and get you dressed.

They put a shirt you hate on you and when you try and explain you don't want it they assume you are talking about something else.  It doesn't get changed. Your stuck in it. You want to watch TV but they cart you off to breakfast. Your not in the mood for breakfast. You see and notice everything going on around you but are powerless to move, speak or communicate with the people who are trying to help you. You cant share or make them aware when they hurt you when their in your way. You are moved about and shifted like a chess peice. And there is nothing you can do about it. Nothing.  
 
Now imagine it for every day,  for the rest of your life.

 In the intervening years since my marriage J.C became locked inside his own body with no way to even share or discuss his joys, pains, concerns, or frustrations because it was not possible, too painful, or just too exhausting. 

In the past couple of years J.C. had to be washed, dressed and fed and eventually have a feeding tube inserted because he couldn't chew and swallow his food properly without getting particles into his lungs. Particles which caused infections that put into ICU on a number of occasions. Each time it happened we would rush to the hospital and each time while there, hooked up to all kinds of tubes and IV's, he would get a little better, regain some of his color, only to be released and be back at the ICU again weeks later. His immune system after years of different drugs and a lack of physical activity was just simply whipped. He became prone to sickness and infection, all of which would land him back in ICU. And it all invariable caused him pain,  always there was pain, pain from the coughing, fevers with aches and pain, and from just being moved because his limbs were locked in position. 

So recently J.C. made a decision with regard to what he was and wasn't wiling to be done with his body in efforts to treat him and if it came down to it to keep him alive.  

Tough decisions. Decisions that were literally show stoppers. He was scared. He was frightened. But he was tired and he was aware he was fighting a battle that could not be won. We respected his decision. We made sure he understood the ramifications of his decisions. We told him we would abide by his decisions. So we honored his choices and we swore to make him comfortable no matter what. 

Our friend would not suffer. We supported each other as best we could as always.  J.C. would not suffer in pain and he would end his life peacefully among friends. We were going to see to that. And we put into place all of the things we could think of that were needed to make him comfortable and make that happen. We consulted with experts and professionals. It was painful for us but we would not let him see our pain or know that it was tough on us. We stayed positive and upbeat for him because that's what we all were to him and that's what he needed of us. 

We were always his link to a happy vibrant world he could not be a part of in the way he used to be. And despite his decision, his fears were still present. He even told us,  "I don't want to die",  but he never wavered in the choice he made. He undertook the most courageous decision an individual can ever undertake. The one decision no one can reverse, or change, or go back from, and he never faltered. And for three weeks, we took turns individually, and collectively, waiting and watching as our friend slowly, very slowly, died.  And now despite knowing it was coming, and despite participating in it, and despite helping to bring it about, our hearts are broken. Not just because we will miss J.C. , but because we know we are all feeling and suffering the same heartbreak and pain,  and there is nothing can be done to ease that pain....

.... except share it.