morrowlife

Here are my beautiful wife Shannon and me back on March 22, 2002. I’m not sure, but it looks like we’re standing in front of our camping trailer. Which is a bit strange, because we don’t look like we’re dressed and groomed for camping. Shannon always looked wonderful, but she looks especially beautiful in this photo, doesn’t she?

We had another pleasant day today. Besides just hanging around, I went upstairs with Katie and Melissa and we went through Shannon’s personal things. I gave Katie all of Shannon’s jewelry, per Shannon’s request, and they both received a few other clothing items and other things they wanted. I kept Shannon’s wedding rings. The rest of her clothes and personal things went into boxes. I’m not ready to let things go yet and I don’t know when I will be, so I’m keeping everything in boxes for now. I’ve reached out to Shannon’s sisters to see if there’s anything I can share with them and I still need to see if Mark, Andy, and Paul would like anything to remember her by.

Of course, many more of Shannon’s personal things are everywhere in the house, so I’ll be finding them and trying to decide what to do with them for quite some time. It both breaks my heart and makes me feel so, so close to her.

The closet is half empty now, which is also a heartbreak. I’m writing this in bed and the closet door is open and I can see at least a part of the void. I need to fill it before long. Maybe I’ll move some things from the closet in the spare bedroom. Maybe I’ll spread my clothes and personal things out a bit. I can’t fill the incomprehensible void in my heart, but I can at least make the house look populated.

It occurred to me today or yesterday that I’m living in Shannon’s house. I need to (and will) take ownership of it eventually and be responsible for making decisions on what goes where, when it’s time to get rid of things and change things around, and of course keeping everything clean and in good repair. I’m grateful to have a wonderful cleaning service for some of that last part, but I dread making design decisions. I don’t know how and I worry that any effort I make will just turn things from beautiful to ugly, from tasteful to tasteless. The place is so nicely put together right now that Shannon has given me a great head start, of course. I just need to finish painting the stairwell and bathrooms (using paint she already bought, by the way). I really don’t think it needs anything else. But the time will come when things need to be replaced or updated. Then what?

Another troubling thought of the day: did I give Shannon a sufficiently comfortable life? I’m sure I could have done better. I could have sacrificed more so she could have nice things. She has told me repeatedly that she loved her life and felt like we lived very well. But couldn’t I have done more to make her comfortable? Answer: of course. So many regrets. But I’m once again grateful for the year we’ve had together to talk about things like this. Not all that many people get such a chance to apologize for wrongs and give forgiveness for slights.

Paul, Melissa, and Andy are here for just one more day. I’ll miss them when they’re gone. Their presence has been a great comfort to me and I know it was a comfort to Shannon. They’re managing their loss so incredibly well. They give me great hope. They’ve all managed to change their return flights to depart from Las Vegas instead of Los Angeles, as we originally planned to be there for much longer. That’ll make for a shorter day for me on Saturday, but I was kind of looking forward to the drive over there together and the drive back on my own. This will be much more practical, though.

We went to a Brazilian steak restaurant for dinner tonight to spend the Christmas money we received from my mother and Shannon’s dad. We ended up spending substantially more than  our budget, but we had a great time together and it was worth it. There were eight of us! What a wonderful family I have.

Speaking of which, did I mention that Katie and Cliff told me a night or two ago that they’re engaged? I’m so excited for them both! We’ve loved Cliff for a long time and have considered him a family for a long time, of course. But now it will be official. I think the wedding is scheduled for a year or two in the future, so there’s no rush to get ready right now. Congratulations, Katie and Cliff.

And that’s it for tonight. The blog will be returning to normal over the coming days as my heart and mind return back to normal again. I’m tempted to feel that it would be a betrayal of Shannon’s memory for me to start living normally again, but I know that’s exactly what she wanted for me. So I’ll do my best to do that.

See you tomorrow.

Here’s the oldest digital photo I could find of my darling wife Shannon. It was taken March 29, 2002. Isn’t she beautiful? This picture was taken in the breakfast nook of our house in Stafford, Virginia. Our first brand-new house. We loved that place. I don’t know, but I believe that left arm may be me. And there’s our cute little dog Belle in the background.

I’m working on picking out a few pictures of Shannon over the years to feature here on the Morrowlife blog. Andy, Mark and I reviewed a bunch of them this evening and there are some real treasures. I’m excited about this project.

It was a pleasant day together with all the kids. We didn’t really do much other than be together. We had some nice meals – especially the chicken mole enchiladas Katy made this evening – and really enjoyed each other’s company all day. There are things we need to get done soon – things that need to be sorted, gifts that need to be given to the kids, and bills that need to be paid. So we may want to get busy tomorrow with those things.

It’s been three days now since Shannon’s passing and I don’t think the reality has set in yet. I think I’m most keenly aware of the fact that I can’t talk with her, I can’t call her, I can’t text her. I can never do those things again. There are things I want to tell her and I can’t. I never will. We’ve been apart for a month or two at a time, but we could always talk with each other nearly every day. So I feel alone right now. I suspect that will get worse for quite a while before it begins to heal. I don’t suppose it will ever be okay.

The kids have been great. I can’t believe how well they’re all taking their own loss. We’re limping along together, but we’re making it. We had a genuinely nice evening tonight.

I’ve spoken during the past couple of days with just about everyone in my family. I’m so grateful for my parents and my brothers and sisters. I love them dearly. I also spoke with Shannon’s dad today. My appreciation for him has grown greatly over the past year. He cared for Shannon’s mother tirelessly during her extremely long, debilitating illness. He never wavered. Then when she finally died, he grieved, but he continued living and continued being happy. I want to be like him.

I’m feeling scattered, so I’ll end tonight. Lots of feelings I’m not used to, but I’ll ride ’em out and be fine.

See you tomorrow.

My beautiful wife passed away today, February 2, 2014. Above is one of the last pictures I took of her prior to her diagnosis with Acute Myeloid Leukemia. She was such a wonderful person, so full of love, and we were so in love with each other. What a wonderful life she has given me.

I just want to republish the note I wrote to my family today:

Dear family,

By now I believe everyone has heard, but I need to let you all know that Shannon passed away peacefully at 9:37 AM on Sunday, February 2, 2014, in our room at the City of Hope Village.

I woke up at about 7:00 or so after a long night of being as vigilant as I could and discovered that she was still breathing, although it had become more labored than before. Each breath was very shallow and they were spaced about 3-5 seconds apart. I snuggled with her again for a while and then got up, sat next to the bed, and spoke to her about our family and our life together. I picked up the book she’s been reading and read her a chapter. Then I put it back down and just talked to her and stroked her skin for quite a while.

Company was coming, so I got up and cleaned the apartment a little bit, ate some cereal for breakfast, and then sat back down close to her to wait for her brother and sisters and their spouses. Robin, Carol, Candy, Melanie, and Ken arrived at about 9:30, as I recall (not all of today’s events are exactly clear to me, so I hope you’ll forgive any inaccuracies), and I stepped outside to call the hospice people to see if they could give me further guidance on her care in this new situation of unconsciousness. Very shortly afterward somebody came out to get me and tell me the end appeared to be coming. I came inside and she breathed her last. Our children started arriving very quickly and we watched her gradually grow cold. In time, people came to take a report and other people came to take her away.

She’s gone. The love of my life, the mother of my children, the lovely woman who shared everything with me is gone. I’m beginning to feel the permanence and the separation already. The family has rallied around to keep my mind occupied and that has been very comforting, but it’s quiet and late now and I feel very alone. All the kids are coming to Nevada this week and my mom is coming next week and the company will be helpful, I expect. But I also know this next little while will be excruciating. But I’ll survive it somehow and so will the kids and other family members who love Shannon.

I got her computer out this afternoon and logged into her Facebook account to let her many friends know what was going on. I’d like to share what I wrote here:

— Start of Facebook quote —

This is Shannon’s husband Michael.

I’m devastated to announce Shannon’s death this morning from acute myeloid leukemia. She passed away at 9:37 PST this morning, February 2, 2014, surrounded by her siblings, our children, and me.

Shannon spent the last year fighting this difficult disease. She was diagnosed on February 21, 2013. We spent the majority of the year at the City of Hope in Duarte, California, where she received a stem cell transplant in May. Unfortunately, her leukemia returned in early August, and she spent the remainder of 2013 receiving regular chemotherapy treatments to keep her in remission while we waited for a second stem cell transplant. She was hospitalized again on December 26 with pneumonia. After a few weeks of treatment near our home in Nevada, she was once again transferred to the City of Hope, where we learned this past Wednesday that the leukemia had spread from her blood and bone marrow to basically fill her body. At that point, our fight was over. She was put into hospice care on Friday and she passed away peacefully in her sleep today.

Shannon was a gifted person in many ways. She loved and was loved by all. She befriended those who had no friends. She served those who needed help, no matter who they were and no matter what they needed. She dedicated her life to caring for others and she has accumulated a large group of lifetime friends everywhere we’ve lived. The people who love me do so because they first loved Shannon.

We celebrated 35 years of marriage this past December 28. Shannon was the finest wife and mother and the sweetest companion I could have ever wished for. Her dedication to service started in her own home. She spent her life making our children and me happy in every possible way. I have lived a life of great contentment because of her.

Our past year has been one of happiness and joy for me as we have been privileged to spend all our time together. She took my hand and walked down the difficult path of the cancer patient without complaint, without showing the true level of her pain, and with complete devotion to me. Some of the sweetest moments of my life have been spent here on the hospital grounds during her attempted recovery as we walked hand in hand through the gardens, talked about everything under the sun, and just enjoyed being together and in love. She continued to love and serve me to the end and her calmness these past few days about her imminent death has given me the strength to accept what had to be.

Per Shannon’s request, there will be no funeral services. We were blessed to be able to spend time with our family over the past few days to say our goodbyes and express mutual love. Extended family and friends are spread out all over, making it difficult to gather in one place to pay respects. I request that, instead of attending a funeral for Shannon, her friends honor her memory by befriending someone who needs a friend, serving someone in need, and expressing your love for your family in word and deed.

Many thanks to the numerous people who have reached out to us during this difficult trial. We love each of you and hope you join our family in finding peace and happiness in the memory of this wonderful woman, Shannon Morrow.

— End of Facebook quote —

I’m spending one more night in the Village. Tomorrow morning, we pack up and head home without Shannon. I hope the children are okay. They’ll always be our children, but they’re not children anymore; they’re adults who are standing right beside me as we grieve the loss of their mother. Each one has spent a significant amount of time comforting me and holding me. How I love each one of them. I haven’t lost everything. Together, Shannon and I brought these four wonderful people into the world, did our best to teach and train them and make them feel loved and cared for, and then let them go to amaze us with their talents, creativity, and capacity for good. Each one is a wonderful person and all will carry a part of Shannon with them. They’re a living tribute to her goodness and love.

This will be my last daily update. Please remember Shannon in your hearts. She is worth remembering. Personally, I’ll never move on, but I will move forward and keep my commitment to her to live happily. I invite each of us to make and keep that same commitment. I love each one of you and treasure the support and love you’ve given us both during this past year.

I love you, Shannon Morrow. Please be mine forever.

Love,

Michael

Thank you, Shannon, for everything you have been to me. I’ll miss you terribly. I already do. But I promise to be happy and to love you forever.

Things continue to go downhill for Shannon. Here’s tonight’s letter to the family:

Dear family,

Today was a trying day. It started out wonderfully – Shannon and I got to spend the night together for the first time since Christmas. It was wonderful to cuddle up and hold each other and just be together. We were able to sleep quite late – we both woke up at about 9:00. That may be the latest Shannon has ever slept!

The day started out with a bit of difficulty, though. Shannon was having trouble speaking and she was very lethargic. I got her out of bed, cleaned up a bit, and dressed. She even wanted to wear her shoes and the pretty scarf the nurses gave her when we left the hospital, and she looked wonderful. However, she struggled to get even two or three words out at a time and she frequently lost her train of thought.

They instructed us to go to the clinic every day to have blood taken and platelets transfused if she needed them, so after I showered and ate breakfast, we got her loaded up on her new wheelchair and headed over. She seemed to be doing just fine and we had a good experience at the clinic, although she was still very tired. While we were at the clinic, Mark went and picked up Andy at the airport. Andy joined me at the clinic just as we were ready to head back to the Village, and we decided to take the long way home with a detour through the rose garden. That’s a place Shannon and I frequently visited together when we were here last year, and it’s beautiful and peaceful. We found all the rose plants trimmed back for winter and the garden empty, but we were still glad we went there and we enjoyed the walk.

When we got back to the Village, I helped her get from her wheelchair to one of the recliners. She sat there quietly and rested while we waited a few hours for Paul, Melissa, and Heather to arrive. Shortly before 4:00, Julie, a nurse from the hospice company, came to check on Shannon and help explain the hospice service we’re getting. She checked Shannon’s vitals, which were good, although her blood pressure had dropped a bit. She went through the booklet/chart they leave with their patients, and she went to check on Shannon again.

Shannon had fallen asleep, and we weren’t able to wake her up. After Julie and I tried for a few minutes, Shannon briefly regained consciousness, but she was unable to speak. Julie explained that this might be because Shannon was simply exhausted from the morning’s outing, but I think we all knew better. The nurse stayed with us a while and then left, promising to call tomorrow and come over if we need her.

Through the rest of the day, Shannon only regained consciousness when Paul and Melissa came, long enough to hear that they love her and to tell them she loves them. Then she was back asleep.

We had a wonderful evening with all the kids and their partners. We chatted, laughed, talked about everything, talked about Shannon, and mourned and cried some. Katie and I held Shannon’s hands for quite a while, as did others before us. At about 11:00, I asked each of the kids and Melissa if they wanted to have a private moment to say farewell to their Mom. It was a beautiful experience for all of us. Then we all hugged and kissed each other and we jointly carried Shannon from her chair to the bed. Everybody but Katie left and she and I helped Shannon change clothes. Shannon had brief periods of semi-consciousness during all the jostling we put her through, but she never really woke up. Then Katie said goodbye and Shannon and I were alone, just as we started out together.

It’s now about 3;00 AM and I’m up long enough to finish writing this. Shannon continues to sleep peacefully. I stayed awake as long as I could and hugged her and felt her wonderful, warm presence and talked to her about our amazingly happy life and told her over and over again that I love her. At maybe 1:30, sleep overtook me for a while. I’ve been awake about every half hour since and she continues to sleep peacefully. I think her breathing has slowed down and it has become more labored, but she’s still alive as I write this. There’s just no sign of consciousness. This is the way Shannon wanted to leave this world, and it’s been peaceful and sweet and awe-inspiring.

I have no idea if she’ll make it through the night. I told her over and over again while we’ve been lying together tonight that our children and I are prepared for her to leave us and that we want her to go knowing of our love for her that will never end. I don’t know whether she heard me or not, but I do know she knows we love her and always will.

I’m pretty much all cried out. I know the tears will be back after she’s gone and that’s okay. I now know for certain that I will survive her death. I would give anything to have circumstances be otherwise, but that’s not possible and I will survive.

Robin, Carol, Candy, and Melanie are all scheduled to visit us on Sunday. I don’t know what the circumstances of those visits will be. I don’t know whether Shannon will ever regain consciousness. I don’t know how long she can live in her present state. I can’t give her any medications. I can’t get her to the clinic. I could summon help, but they will heed her Do Not Resuscitate order. So I think the only thing to do is to continue to hold her and tell her I love her and wait for the end.

I can’t believe the end has come so quickly. I know a quick end is what she wants, so it’s now what I want too. However much time we have left, it’s not enough for me. But it is enough for her, so it’s enough. How I wish she could still talk to me and hold my hand and kiss me and tell me just one more time that she loves me. She’s told me thousands of times, but I would give anything for just one more.

My wish to make video recordings of Shannon with each of the kids wasn’t fulfilled. I did get to take a few pictures of Shannon and me together this morning and I captured a few seconds of video of her telling me she loves me while we were in the clinic. That will remain precious to me for the rest of my life.

It’s nearly 3:30, so I’ll end, get this note sent, and cuddle up next to my wife once more. I love each one of you and can’t begin to thank you enough for the support you’ve been to us both and for the outpouring of love we’ve felt as we’ve lived through our ordeal and that we continue to feel today.

Love,

Michael