Sam's Final Days

In last month’s newsletter I described events leading up to Sam’s hospitalization on May 9th, 2024. He had been home five weeks and five day. We loved having him home, but it was daunting taking care of him as he could not walk without support and there were so many tasks to complete each day—breathing treatments, medications, exercises, bathing, nebulizing, eating. External ventilation at night. But was still Sam in his hospital bed in the living room. Still with us. Alive. Breathing, though with effort.

While he was still in the emergency room, we learned that despite all our efforts, his CO2 levels were higher than measurable. In that moment, we knew what was wrong (at least one thing!) and we believed that with time, he would come home again. We (me and my two youngest children) (my two youngest children and I) were also exhausted.

It was almost a relief to have Sam in the hospital where we knew the doctors and nurses would take good care of him. For the first six days, things seemed to be going along as planned. Sam was on IV antibiotics and steroids. He was using a much more efficient hospital Bipap than the small one he had at home. Doctors began talking about releasing him to rehab. There was no more talk of bringing him home. Each subsequent hospital stay had weakened him. He needed more support than we could offer at home. We were sad at the thought of him in rehab, but he said he understood. Always so kind, even at the end.

Then suddenly his oxygen saturation plummeted. Eight hours later his heart rate raced up to 160 beats per minute. Then his oxygen dropped again.

He was no longer stable, and his health continued to decline.The doctors told us he would likely die in the hospital. He was too unstable to transfer. Hospice was not an option because he was on external ventilation. To enter hospice, they would take away the ventilator and give him morphine for comfort.

Sam was very anxious. Who would not be anxious if they could not breathe deeply?

In the early years of his illness, going back to late 2016, when I would ask God to heal him, the Lord would tell me, Pray for the whole man to be healed, not just his body.

For years I had been praying for all of Sam. I had seen him grow closer to God. Since late December 2020, he had been leading Daily Connect. I saw him grow spiritually, emotionally by the daily practices of Shalom for My Body, Lectio, Immanuel as well as sharing life with a loving group of Daily Connect regulars.

In recently months when I prayed for Sam, the Lord impressed on my mind that he was taking Sam home.  I wondered if Sam would pass in March.

But he did not. He lived at home for nearly six weeks. I expected him, at first, to recover in May. But he was very week. He could not do the occupational therapy and barely do the physical therapy. Then he began to refuse to eat, only wanting liquids, if anything. Then refused to eat at all. The Bipap, meant to be a support, became a life line.

Two nights before he died, he called our daughter Sarah at 9:30 PM and asked her to come back to the hospital. That night she curled up at the bottom on his bed and reached her hand up along the edge of his bed to hold his hand to comfort him in his anxiety. She was glad to do so. Glad her dad had called her. Glad she could come. 

The next night, May 21, Sammy offered to stay with his dad.  He was up much of the night with Dad.  At 4:00 am, Sammy was up with Sam, holding his hand.  Sam was in distress over difficulty breathing (perhaps his doubts and fear of death) and gestured towards his lungs for prayer.  Sammy prayed for Sam and told him through tears that Heaven is coming, heaven is coming. . .

In the wee hours of morning on the 22nd I got up, as old women do, then returned to my bed and worshiped while sitting on the side of the bed. I heard the Lord say, Today is the day. Though he did not explain what he meant, I knew what he was saying. I considered getting dressed and driving to the hospital, but what would I do with my puppy sleeping at my feet? Could I drop her off at my neighbors at 4 AM? Besides, Sammy was sleeping in Sam’s room. I considered, then laid down and went back to sleep.

I was awoken at 6 in the morning. Sarah reported that Sammy had called. Sam’s heart rate was very high. Sammy said, “I think Dad is going to die, maybe in the next hour.”

I dressed in a frenzy. Texted my neighbors to see if they could take Olivia and raced off—so rapidly that I forgot to drop off Olivia at first and had to turn around and retrace my tracks back to their home.

When I got to the hospital the lights were out, the shades drawn and both men were sleeping soundly. I sat and waited.

When they awoke, I held Sam’s hands and told him, “Not much longer.” He nodded. A couple times he had asked, “What if it is not true?” To which I told him, “It is all true. I have seen it.” I shared again about the vision of heaven I experienced in January. It felt as if God had given me that vision to comfort my husband. “It is going to be wonderful.”

Within hours he was in deep sleep, yet one time rallied to answer the doctor’s question. Sammy, Sarah and I were sitting on the edges of his bed, holding his hands. 

Anna was on her way. Her flight was delayed.

We noticed that the Bipap was initiating some of his breathes. We wanted to support him, not hold him back.

Then we got a text message. Anna was on the ground at Reagan in DC. We called. “Did she want us to wait?” She did.

When she got there, she joined us on the bed. She played a recorded message for her dad from her husband and two little girls. Pema sweetly said, “Good night, Grandpapa!”

We were ready. Gently we took off the Bipap, that had been covering his nose and mouth. So sweet to see his face!

We sang softly. Hymns. I’ll Fly Away. We told him we loved him and that he could go to Jesus. We thanked him for being a great dad and husband.

For about 37 minutes he continued to breathe. Then he stopped breathing. We waited.  There were no monitors, only silence.

He started breathing again.

Five times he stopped then resumed breathing 4-10 seconds later. I could see his weak pulse right where his left collarbone hit the soft skin at the base of his neck.

Then he stopped breathing for longer than before. I looked. There was no heartbeat visible.

“I think this is it,” I said to my children.  We waited. He did not resume breathing.

It was finished. Sam’s hard labor was finished. He had entered into his rest. We called the nurse who confirmed that he had died. She called the doctor who verified the time of death. May 22, 2024, 3:46 PM.

Oh the glories my sainted husband was experiencing in that moment!