My Ruth
by Nikki, Australia
Personal Carer, Aged 34
My partner Ruth, the love of my life, died of AIDS two years ago. Her health had been declining over the last 18 months, and we had talked about numerous issues as we began to prepare ourselves for her death. One of them was discussing her wish to die at home. I fully supported this, as I wanted to be the one taking care of her, nurturing her and loving her. Our home was our comfort, our safe space, a place that we had created together. I felt completly at ease with this decision, and in the months preceding her death, I often rehearsed the 'death scene' in my mind. Creating scenarios, and thinking of ways to deal with things that may arise as i tried to prepare myself for what was inevitably to come.
A couple of weeks before Ruth died, she had significant behaviour changes due to dementia. It was then that I knew it would not be long before death came to claim her. She often saw children around her, at the foot of our bed, sitting in the lounge etc. At first I tried to convince her that there was no one there, but she insisted, and I thought "well if that is what she is seeing, why argue". I was struggling to grasp the reality of her impending death, so by challenging what she was seeing I was attempting to get things back to some form of normality. Then I thought "who knows, maybe there are spirits aroung us to guide us in our dying, and indeed our living".
Two days before she died our friends and family had been coming around to be together, to share stories, to cry and to laugh. And to say goodby to one they loved.
At the time our dear friend Penny was 8 months pregnant, and Ruth and I were to be the Godparents. Ruth was so excited about the impending birth. As Penny's pregnancy progressed, Ruth would sit beside her with a stethoscope attached to her ear, trying to hear sounds of the baby. It was as if she drew strength from the new life forming and growing.
The day before Ruth died, Penny had come to see her. I took Penny into the bedroom and left her alone with Ruth. A little while later, I walked into the bedroom to see Penny lying quietly on the bed beside Ruth, and time seemed to stand still. For there I saw a life ending and a life beginning. There was my Ruth, thin and frail, with no colour in her face, struggling for breath, and there was Penny, snuggled up next to her, radiating health and vitality, vibrant with the growing life inside her. There was such a feeling of peace in the room, and I felt that despite all the pain and sadness in death, there was joy and promise in new life. If I were a painter, I would have loved to have captured that moment.
Later that evening most people had gone, and I was exhausted. A couple of friends were staying the night, and my sister was there. The four of us sat on the bed and gave Ruth a sponge bath, then massaged her frail little body. This was done with such love and tenderness. We cried a little, laughed a little, but mostly just allowed ourselves to be in the space together. At this point I turned to my sister and said "Isn't it amazing how I was there for the birth of your children, and here you are for the death of my loved and cherished partner". Another one of life's little moments.
The next morning, I awoke next to Ruth, remarkably having had a few hours sleep. I left the room for a few minutes, then came back and noticed quite a change in Ruth's appearence. I called in the friend who was there at the time, and we just sat with her. I had told her the day before that it was okay for her to go, but at that time I didn't really mean it. Now however, I was able to say it with strength and certainty. I told her that it was time to stop struggling, that I would be okay, and she could let go. After two more breaths, that was it. She died. I just stared at her, crying, wanting and hoping that she would breath again. But she didn't. That was it. 8.45am Thurs 2nd Nov 2000.
When the funeral directors came to collect Ruth's body later that afternoon, I asked them not to cover her face. I couldn't bear to see her completly hidden. They shrouded her in a white cotton sheet, thankfully not a plastic one, and lifted her onto the stretcher. I kissed her at the doorway, and walked with her out to the hearse. I watched as they loaded the body of my dear sweet Ruth into the car. I was shocked and stunned. And then I watched as the vehicle drove away.
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