HOW CAN MY HEART NOT MISS HER?

A letter from Duane Kimbrow tells the story of his wife Barrie's loving gifts in the last days of her life here.

22 January 2006/5 April 2006

Dear Ann and Stan,

I was surprised when I began writing this letter shortly after getting home from the Sacred Art of Dying Workshop at the Warm Springs Reservation in central Oregon. I had to take some time to think about what to say about my dear wife and friend, Barrie, particularly in relationship to what you shared with us at the workshop about coma states. I am sending you a brief rendering of Barrie's awakenings from her coma during the last week of her life.
This time still is such a profound experience to me, and this will always be so. Her illness took us by surprise in its seriousness, intensity, and ultimate devastation. In spite of this, Barrie was always courageous and positive, just as she had been her whole life.

She was ill for about six months, and we did not have a diagnosis until the last two months, glioblastoma grade 4, a very aggressive brain tumour. Barrie entered into a coma on 4 October and passed away in the early afternoon of 18 October 2002.

Caring for her during those last two weeks of her life was a privilege, even a gift. The most outstanding sense was that I felt in the presence of something very powerful, very old, primal, and Divine. Time seemed suspended, yet there was an unalterable movement toward that final earthly demise that left me and all of us bereft of this lovely soul. There was a grace in our home and in her presence. Perhaps, it was due to the altered state and circumstance; there was a palpable essence beyond words.

Nevertheless, it was a loss, and one from which I am still emerging in many ways. The intense sadness hits me at the most unexpected moments, more in the early mornings when the world is dark and quiet, and the busyness of the day has not distracted me from poignant memories. There are times when I question whether any of my 23 years with her were real. Yet, I know that they were very real.

Barrie awoke from her coma two times during the last week of her life. These were such profound experiences for me, each time a gift in itself. It is clear to me now as it was then, that she was very present with us until the end.

The clinical aspects suggest that she emerged from her coma as her brain shrank from dehydration, as she could no longer drink nor eat. We had stopped intravenous infusion, since it would have only painfully prolonged her final days. The things she shared at each emergence were startling and profound especially since we believed that she could no longer communicate with us.

The first emergence occurred when students from her high school came to our home to say goodbye. One young man whom she was concerned about, because he had lost someone dear to him several years earlier to cancer and had many fears, spoke to her. “Hello, Barrie. It's me.“ We were all amazed as she actually woke from her coma. Although she was partially blind, she looked up at him, and mouthed, "How are you?” with such a wonderful smile on her face. Previously, when fully conscious Barrie could barely speak.

During the last week, she slipped deeper and deeper into coma. The last time she emerged was a few days before her death. It was late evening, dark outside, and friends were having dinner in the kitchen. She and I often would sing together when she was well, and I continued to do that during those last two weeks. This evening, things seemed very different. It was clear that she was preparing to leave. I was sitting by her side, singing, "Scarlet Ribbons" when she suddenly woke, looked toward me, and earnestly said, “Duane, I love you so much. You mean the world to me. I want you to know that everything will be all right.” She mumbled a few more sentences, earnest and excited. Then, she said clearly, “I wish that you could see what I see. It's so wonderful, so beautiful . . .” And she trailed off.

I was in such amazement, realizing that she was concerned about me. It was like being loved and forgiven and touched by some miraculous embrace. That she reached out to me was so wondrous, as I thought that she would never be able to communicate with me again. There is no way to adequately express, especially in words, this profound experience. I can only say that it gave me peace, at least in part.

She was a lovely woman, a great teacher, a fine singer, a talented artist and gardener, and such a friend. It’s easy to say all of the good things about Barrie. Most importantly, she was real and lived her life fully, with no holding back. She had her flaws, yet she was truly such a gracious soul. And I was fortunate enough to call her my wife, companion, and friend. And you know, she used to say to me when we were at last in bed, laying her head on my shoulder: “Duane, this is the best part of the whole day.” How can my heart not miss her.

Love to you,
Duane Kimbrow

Copyright 2006 by the author
Used with Permission

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