the boat

These photos don't really do justice to the beauty of the scene here, but for those of you who can't be here in person, I wanted you to see.

november 1

I awoke early this morning so tired, and sad with the awareness that I didnt' think I could do justice in writing to the beauty of yesterday. I checked my email and found this! Here, for you:

november 1

cold november morning

day after the first snow

bare ground

most of the leaves now fallen

finally a few, quiet last breaths

he had stopped struggling

no more moving or trying

all done.

after the weary wives had spoken

and one slept and one left

there was eating and drinking and a sigh of relief

that he was peaceful.

some quiet moments to spend by the still body that lay quietly

by the candle to guide the soul,

time to think thoughts or say things to his still hovering spirit

that were unsaid before this time.

decorate the barn, the women did, as only we could.

with old sheets and fabric the wooden barn became a fine parlour,

a place for him to rest and have his goodbyes.

then the boys came with their beautiful box of pine,

a pine boat cushioned with sweet fir boughs

a fine double ender, no less.

the vessel for the next leg of david demere's last great adventure.

then, the candles were lit

and the sea river water was gathered in glass

warmed on the stove and scented with rose oil.

the women, sons and father gathered together around his fine body

and spoke and remembered and honored and wept and laughed and cleansed his body

with the water from the sea river.

we had no plan of how to,

we just did, and it was... perfect.

he was then dressed in his finest garb

and we put him in the pine boat built by his fine sons.

he rests sweetly upon the fir boughs

and fit just right.

he looked good there.

then carried by the strong boys,

the boat, the man, followed by singing bowl

and women and father

and lots of love...

into the barn parlour in candle-light

all of old wood, looking very much like a sanctuary.

we said goodnight/ goodbye,

(not really feeling very ready to say good bye,

but we may have to say that several times before we really mean it)

candles burning to guide the soul,

a lid placed atop him in his boat,

a candle in a jar on the boat

in the cold barn,

barn door shut.

one by one, as ready,

we retreat into the warm house

to start over.

Joanne Moesswilde

visits welcomed Tuesday, Service Nov 20/21

We are welcoming visitors in our barn (bring your jacket and hat) Tuesday Novemeber 2, all day and into the evening, if you want to say good bye in person, or add a special little object or note to David's casket. Our address is: 125 City point Road Belfast, 2 miles exactly from Alexia's pizza toward the movie theater, out High and then (same road) City Point, on the right.

He will then be buried at Seth and Tyler's farm by a small group of family and friends.

We are planning a memorial service for the weekend of November 20/21. Date and time to be determined.

9:45

David took his last breath at 9:45 this morning with nurse Kathy, mother Margaret, Tara, Lauren and Elsie by his side. Chris and his children arrived shortly after, and everyone is here together now.

hours to days

The nurse came this morning, listened to David breathing and looked at him. She then shared that she thinks we have hours to days till he makes his transition.

Also this morning I received by email a poem that Joanne Moesswilde wrote after being here Friday night. David had just heard that Lucretia was in labor, and the baby was on its way. Joanne stood David up to help him to the commode, and what ensued was a beautiful exchange of two people who have loved each other a long time, and danced many many dances together. I'll let the poem tell the story. Leave it to David to dance his way out of this world!!

when bed to chair transfer becomes a dance

your bony arms resting on my shoulders

as you use my body to stand up

on your thin legs.

going from bed to chair, now a long process for you.

we stand face to face

your lost eyes look for an answer;

i say, "like we are dancing, david."

and then comes a smile so big on your now thin face

your eyes light up in focused gaze,

we are dancing on the wooden dance floor again;

a little tune comes humming from your dry and frail lips

now brought back to life with laughter and a playful click

your left hand takes my right

in proper ballroom style our bodies sway

and every dance we ever had is repeated and recalled

here in this 90 second dance

as we transfer from bed to chair

Monday 4am

Hi all,

So I'm here in the living room with David. Joanne is here too, but since she has work tomorrow, I'm the point person, and she's my backup. It's a good system, at least one of us gets a little sleep, and noone gets burnt out. So far there have been 5 or 6 people who've spent the night in this way, and we're getting better at it. Last night two friends where here, Susan and Chris, and they took turns being point person in addition to having me as back up. They managed fine, gave meds in the night, and then at 4 when David said "I really have to go!!" they rang the bell and I came downstairs to help. I had had 6 solid hrs of sleep.

We worked together to get David out of bed and onto the commode next to the bed. He isn't able to stand on his own now, and so needs full b0dy holding and support. Chris was wonderful moving David. When I showed him how to put one foot between David's feet and hold him close he said, "Oh, the tango, I can do that!" So Chris did a very slow tango with David and managed to move him the 12 inches need to line him up with the commmode. One person in front and one behind, we helped him to sit down. BTW, I found the commode seat is very sharp!! One of our support people taped a small folded chux pad over the edge, and that makes it much safer. I scraped David's back one day "helping" him sit, and that really sucked. Back to yesterday morning, David sat for a bit, us trying the tricks we know to help someone pee; water sounds, fingers in water, a psss sound, all to no avail. So back to bed for all of us.

At 7am I called the on-call weekend hospice nurse and asked about a catheter for David. At that point he had not peed since 11 am the previous day, despite repeated attempts. She agreed and said she'd be here at 9. Karin had already arrived and I was getting ready for work. The nurse checked in with us, told David what she was here to do, began undressing him in preparation for the catheter, and he responded by peeing a large amount of light colored, totally normal looking urine!! The nurse joked that this was his way of being clear he didn't want a catheter!! I'll admit I was glad for a reason not to have to change a whole wet bed and person, and to leave David in capable hands. As I was about to leave, I heard the nurse say tenderly "You're welcome, David." She told me later that as soon as she had gotten all the wet clothes off, and dry ones on, he turned to her, opened his eyes and said clearly "Thankyou."

Today there is a plan for Lucretia to visit with the new baby, along with Minh, Oai, and probably Tyler, Seth, Anna, Ada, etc. I talked with the nurse about how to give David the best opportunity to be alert. We agreed to decrease his meds a bit, essentially waiting till he clearly shows he needs them before giving the next dose, as opposed to giving it on a schedule. Also, come morning, to give smaller amounts and see if they are adequate. David is on liquid meds at this point, so they act pretty quickly. It's an experiment.

All that as a preface to the morning that we're now in. Joanne and I decided last night that it made sense to give the full pain med, and a 1/2 dose of the anti-anxiety med that David has normally been taking, as I have wondered if that lasts longer as a sedative. Joanne is also a nurse and said it's usually given every 4 hrs and she didnt' think it had lingering effects, but we're erring on the side of alertness just in case. David has begun to have very wet sounding breathing, and some blood in his mouth again the past few days. He's coughing quite a bit I think in response to the gunk in his throat.

It's 4:30 now, pitch black out, a few lights on inside. I turned on James Taylor about an hour ago when I was feeling lonely. The cat is asleep at the end of my little bed. David is a few feet away, bed tilted up high to keep the liquid down in his lungs, and he's gurgling away, sounding pretty uncomfortable. The little hospice end of life book says that gurgling isn't necessarily uncomfortable, so I'm trying to stay relaxed about what this is like for him.

The past few days I've had the sort of shocking realization that he's not coming back. You know, there's a way that I could almost believe that this isn't really David. David is away somewhere, and one day, he'll come home, his vibrant, loving self. The first time it happened I was at his folks house and saw a photo of him a few years ago. There he was smiling and bright, and it hit me, I'm never going to see that David again. He's been such a source of healing, connection, and support the past 2 1/2 years and now with this hard thing, he's not here to help! Funny, wierd, impossible, and I notice sometimes I think he should be here, or I wish he was. Now who's having a hard time letting go?!!

Anyway, I slept a little between 10 and 2, and have been awake since. I rested till 3, got up for some cereal, repositioned David a bit to see if I could help him be more comfortable. He's often hot and responds best to just a flannel sheet over his midsection, feet and chest exposed. Finally at 4 I figured I'd write, since I don't seem to be sleeping. I'm feeling a little raw, and like my brain isn't working very well. Yesterday at work, I could do most things, but when it came to being patient and having perseverance with a customer who was looking for a wedding outfit and didnt' like the 30 or so things I'd brought so far, I asked a coworker to step in because I could feel that I didnt' have any more extra resources or creativity available. It's great to be in a situation where everyone understands that this may happen for me, and is willing to step in. At my work, we have this kind of supportive commitment to each other, and it's especially helpful at times like this.

David's approaching death is intense for everyone so all the relationships are being challenged. I am happy to notice that I am staying pretty clear. I am in an amazing place in my life right now. After many years of internal work to get "healthy and happy", having not started my life in situations I would label that way, I am very glad to be having the internal experience that is here now. And I'm indebted to friends who remind me when I forget how to reconnect with my essential self, and be here. All that work is definitely showing itself during this time. I have had a few difficult conversations with family members, and each time, I notice I'm showing up pretty fully. Often I pray before and during, to be the open channel, and I'm thrilled that I can mostly stay with myself, be kind to the other and at the same time clear, and breathe and be, in the midst of the challenges. I can feel the strength building in me, as I enter these conversations with an open heart, courage, and love for self and other, not shrinking away out of fear.

Byron Katie says "Everything happens for us, not to us." I can find that here. As mind-blowing as that can sometimes seem, I'm finding that it's true.

One last thought, yesterday was the first day David stayed in bed all day. I feel sad when I write that. No going back, you know? I miss him so much.

Tara

sweet and hard

Hi All,

I want to share a couple of the stories of the past week before they become ancient history. The first is Tuesday Chrissy and 2 yr old Theo were going to visit. Chrissy and I talked in the morning and when she hung up she and Theo had a conversation that went like this. These are Theo's words. "That Tara? David ok? Tara's ok. David ok. Tara sad. Tara's ok." This is the baby that was born two days before David and I got married. Chrissy showed up here with eyes in big wide circles, amazed at what she just heard from her little boy! And that was just the beginning of the fun.

David and I have been looking for a rug for the living room for many months. It is an old wooden floor and we wanted to be able to sit, roll around, do yoga, etc. on a comfortable surface. We had many conversations about what exactly we wanted to put there. So, last weekend when I was in Portland, I looked and found a very pretty soft wool rug with perfect colors for the space, yellows, reds, blue/greens - it complements everything and doesnt' even clash with the funky green couches!

Lauren arrived too, and while we were all here, I asked if they'd help lay out the rug. David was alseep in the room, we moved out some of the bulky furniture, and he kept sleeping, Theo was playing cars on the floor, David still slept, I told David I was going to roll his bed out of the room so we could put down the rug. Still sleeping, we rolled him out, brought in the pad, and the rug, got them all to fit well, rolled David back in, over the bump of the new rug, and still he slept. And then Theo stepped on the rug, wiggled his little toes in the soft wool, started to dance and make joyful sounds. Someone said, "Oh, it's the happy rug dance!!" and David woke up. He sat up in bed, looked at Theo and smiled. He looked down at the rug and made some approving comment like "mmm, pretty, yea nice." Theo said "Stand up David," in the vibrant way two year olds can, and David did! He squished his toes in the rug, interacted with us, and was alert for the next 20 min or so.

This was the first time I realized that even now, David loves fun, and may respond to jubilant energy from people, and so not to keep that from him. We had been mostly solemn and silent in the room with him. Good to know!

So, Wednesday night when I came back from a Come Boating! meeting, I opted to share exuberently the topics of the meeting. It was a recap of the past year, and part of that is that Community Sailing which was started by David in 2009, grew this year to 7 skippers and 100 or so people out on the water who wouldn't otherwise have had the chance. Also, youth rowing which David and Cameron started together in 2009 has grown to 1-2 boats each week, 30 or more kids rowing this summer, and one boat continuing to go out even now at the end of October!! When David heard all this he said "mmm, cool!" and some other appreciative bits. We could tell he was taking in the impact he's had, and hearing me when I said "David, you will live on in all of this. We will think of you, and appreciate you for years to come. You are such a wonderful youth sailing instructor, adult instuctor, and rowing cox for the children, always making it light and fun!!" It was beautiful to feel him shining hearing those words. (If you don't know about Come Boating!, it's a group that helps to provide public access to the water here in Belfast, and is what we were up to the day he first asked me to dinner!! Check out comeboating.org if you want to know more. There are some great photos!!)

Thursday my father came to visit at the same time Gary and Glennon were here. First we talked in the kitchen for a bit, and then moved into the living room where David was. David wanted to get up, and we had the thought to take him outside in the wheelchair as it was beautiful and sunny. Gary and I were trying to figure out the best way to help David, who's legs are weaker every day, into the chair, and my Dad stepped in. He said "Stand behind him, and lower him into the chair, he'll feel safer sitting down that way." That took two of us, but was the perfect thing. Then he started explaining how to place his feet for comfort, and to drive backward for safety through doorways, so I said, "Dad, do you want to wheel him?" and he did. I asked my how he knew all this, and he said he didn't know. My family had cared for my grandmother when she needed it, but he said it wasn't from that. We spent a sweet warm half-hour outside, listening to Gary play, and then it seemed time to come in. My Dad again wheeled him in, helped him to sit on the side of the bed and then did something I've never seen anyone do. He wrapped his big strong arms around David, one behind his back, and one gently under his knees, and as easy as could be, he layed David back in bed with not even a grimace. Now, I have never seen my father do anything like this before, and was pretty much in awe of the whole thing. In the next room, I hugged my Dad and thanked him, and we cried together about how amazing it is to care, together, for this most wonderful husband of mine. The other thought that came at that point for me was, "I've never seen you, Dad, do a nurturing thing in your life." That felt pretty intense, and I wasn't sure it was true, and it certainly didn't feel kind or helpful at that moment, so I chose to keep it to myself. But as I thought my Dad was leaving, I made my way to the kitchen, sat in the corner curled over my knees, and cried.

My Dad and I have never been super close. I know he loves me, and will be there for me in a crisis if I need him, but mostly he's always been absorbed in his own life, often overwhelmed, and not very available. So I cried about what I think I've missed not having him closer, and I cried in gratitude for the crack that David's dying seems to have made in so many people's hearts, the crack that lets the light in. There is so much love available here, and connections that David would be so happy to know are happening here because of him. Thankyou thankyou to all you open hearted amazing people for loving the way you do, and showing up for this cranking open of our hearts. And thankyou Dad for showing your tenderness and your strength, in a way that only you could do.

love to all,

Tara