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A note from Peggy:
Hello friends and family far and near.
This 18th day of January 2007 brings the nearness of death
for Tom. He, as some of you know, was diagnosed with Stage 4
lung cancer last February. Tom lived a full life through late
summer into early fall, until his cancer began to grow again
and his vital organs began to fail.
Tom has struggled valiantly to stay strong, but soon after
Thanksgiving he began to lose his appetite and by December 15
was so weak and dehydrated that Faxon and I (wives 2 and 3) brought
him to the hospital emergency room at Brigham and Women's Hospital,
the in-patient facility for The Dana Farber Cancer Hospital where
he had received chemo therapy every three weeks from early April
through the end of August.
Tom was admitted to Brigham and Women's where he stayed until
December 28. At that time, he was discharged and moved here to
44 Clinton Place where he had lived with his family until moving
to his own apartment in 2001. His intention was to regain his
strength enough to go back to his Allerton Road apartment and
to begin more chemo at some point in the foreseeable future.
That point was never reached. He regained some energy but
did not resume eating and the cancer was spreading in his liver,
his spinal bone, his pancreas, and into his brain.
Now he lies surrounded by his sons, their wife/girlfriends,
Faxon and me, and his brother Henry who has come to stay with
us during this time from his Santa Fe home. Henny (his brother's
nickname) is also a retired lawyer, now an RN and a hospice nurse.
He has been invaluable as Tom, on his oncologist's recommendation
at his last visit on January 9, entered into local hospice care
and needs close monitoring to keep his pain in check.
Now Tom lies in a hospital bed that we placed in the living
room/dining room space adjacent to the kitchen so he could always
be where the action is, something he loved to be part of during
his healthy times. We have played the guitar, sung songs, cried,
held Tom's hands, massaged his body, stroked his temples, administered
pain and other medication, and been by his side constantly as
he breathes more and more slowly and his pulse becomes more irregular
and his gaze has become distant and unfocused.
We have been told that the sense of hearing is the last to
go so we play the music and talk to him and to each other, hoping
he is listening when he wants to and that he knows how much we
love him and each other and that we will be alright when he dies,
even as we will miss him terribly, here and on his beloved Chebeague
Island and everywhere else.
Tom's many friends have visited over the months, written to
him, called him, and felt their own sense of parting. He was
loved by so many and enjoyed the company of so many in his various
homes over the years, in his Chebeague home, and of course on
his sailboat which he loved to sail in the waters of Casco Bay.
He was at peace on his boat, the Lyra, an Ensign he purchased
many years ago from an island friend.
His sons will keep the Chebeague home alive and will make
it theirs as time passes.
This is not an easy transition for his children, for others
who loved him, and, as he struggles now to let go of this life,
for Tom himself.
There is a mystery here that is beyond words and beyond prediction
and beyond understanding. There is also love, profound and encompassing,
and there is grief beyond measure as a beloved father, a dear
friend, and a compelling presence in the world for those who
knew him leaves us too soon.
Peggy
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