Shalom:
It has been six and a half months since the passing of my best friend and big brother David Walton. It has been hard for me to really share about those last several weeks until now.
And frankly, it is still hard.
This all began the summer of 2010. David had gotten quite sick and ended up in hospital. Mark was just home from his last deployment when I received the message David was in a coma and if I wanted to see him before he died, I needed to get to hospital.
That was a Friday afternoon and all Shabbath plans went flying out the window.
But David didn't die. He recovered and gave to live with us the rest of that summer until the beginning of autumn.
Because he was doing so much better, David went back to live at his old apartment. Mark and I had prayed that David would give the apartment up and move in with one of his family members. He really needed to be with friends or family and we just couldn't afford to take care of him. Plus our apartment was so small.
But it was not to be. David chose to stay here in Virginia. His doctor suggested he apply for Social Security, since he wasn't healthily enough to continue working, but he didn't want to leave his job at the Comic Book store, a job he loved.
So his health went from bad to worse. I had my hands filled dealing with Mark, for he was in a bad way with the PTSD at the time.
We would see David from time to time, we both becoming alarm by David increasing poor health. But there was just so much we could do. Mark didn't have a job, we had little money. We couldn't take care of ourselves, let alone David, as much as we wanted to.
In January of last year, after returning home from an military event, we learn David was back in hospital. We knew this was it.
He faced so many battles; his heart and kidneys, one inflection after another. Once stable, the hospital would move his to assistance living. Once stable and against doctor's orders, the social workers at the assistance living told David, because he had no insurance, he to leave.
That was the end of May. Three weeks later, he was back in hospital, battling high pressure and again, yet another infection.
In August, our phone was turned off and we lost contact once again. We knew he was being moved to a nursing home and was planning to see him when I got word he was taken to DePaul Hospital. Here, I knew he would not only receive good care, but not get kicked out.
Mark was in school at this time, but we still made it to see him.
That Thursday morning, I received a call from his doctor, saying that they had done all they could do and were just keeping himecomfortable.
David knew he was dying. That same evening, he squeezed my hand and told me he loved. He then looked up and told Mark to take care of me.
I cried myself to sleep that night.
The next morning, I found our phone was out of minutes and when Mark got home, he hurried to the store.
It was Shabbath. Montague and I were standing outside. I looked into the sunset, feeling a peace I hadn't felt in a year.
I watched as a sudden breeze came up, playing with Monti's ear, reminding me of how David loved to play with Monti's eyes.
It was then I felt something soft brush against my cheek and somehow I knew it was David. Mark arrived home with more minutes for the phone and we went to bed.
The next morning, I called the ICU and was told that the doctors tried to reach me; that David had passed away the night before. When I asked what time and was told 10pm, I smiled through my tears. That is the time Monti and I were standing outside.
He had stopped to say goodbye and I love you.
And frankly, it is still hard.
This all began the summer of 2010. David had gotten quite sick and ended up in hospital. Mark was just home from his last deployment when I received the message David was in a coma and if I wanted to see him before he died, I needed to get to hospital.
That was a Friday afternoon and all Shabbath plans went flying out the window.
But David didn't die. He recovered and gave to live with us the rest of that summer until the beginning of autumn.
Because he was doing so much better, David went back to live at his old apartment. Mark and I had prayed that David would give the apartment up and move in with one of his family members. He really needed to be with friends or family and we just couldn't afford to take care of him. Plus our apartment was so small.
But it was not to be. David chose to stay here in Virginia. His doctor suggested he apply for Social Security, since he wasn't healthily enough to continue working, but he didn't want to leave his job at the Comic Book store, a job he loved.
So his health went from bad to worse. I had my hands filled dealing with Mark, for he was in a bad way with the PTSD at the time.
We would see David from time to time, we both becoming alarm by David increasing poor health. But there was just so much we could do. Mark didn't have a job, we had little money. We couldn't take care of ourselves, let alone David, as much as we wanted to.
In January of last year, after returning home from an military event, we learn David was back in hospital. We knew this was it.
He faced so many battles; his heart and kidneys, one inflection after another. Once stable, the hospital would move his to assistance living. Once stable and against doctor's orders, the social workers at the assistance living told David, because he had no insurance, he to leave.
That was the end of May. Three weeks later, he was back in hospital, battling high pressure and again, yet another infection.
In August, our phone was turned off and we lost contact once again. We knew he was being moved to a nursing home and was planning to see him when I got word he was taken to DePaul Hospital. Here, I knew he would not only receive good care, but not get kicked out.
Mark was in school at this time, but we still made it to see him.
That Thursday morning, I received a call from his doctor, saying that they had done all they could do and were just keeping himecomfortable.
David knew he was dying. That same evening, he squeezed my hand and told me he loved. He then looked up and told Mark to take care of me.
I cried myself to sleep that night.
The next morning, I found our phone was out of minutes and when Mark got home, he hurried to the store.
It was Shabbath. Montague and I were standing outside. I looked into the sunset, feeling a peace I hadn't felt in a year.
I watched as a sudden breeze came up, playing with Monti's ear, reminding me of how David loved to play with Monti's eyes.
It was then I felt something soft brush against my cheek and somehow I knew it was David. Mark arrived home with more minutes for the phone and we went to bed.
The next morning, I called the ICU and was told that the doctors tried to reach me; that David had passed away the night before. When I asked what time and was told 10pm, I smiled through my tears. That is the time Monti and I were standing outside.
He had stopped to say goodbye and I love you.
