October 25, 3:25 p.m.
100 days. It has been exactly 100 days since the diagnosis.Today I lost the love of my life, my best friend, my partner, Dani’s daddy, and all semblance of a future I thought I knew. At 3:25 p.m., he took his last breath, and I felt him leave. I, always a skeptic, felt him leave. I feel empty, numb, exhausted, scared, and sorrow. It doesn’t feel real. 100 days.
Previous postings have revealed what we took to be good news—that his tumors had stopped growing. Bryce’s body continued to wither away while his tumors stayed the same. The feeding tube was something we both believed would give him an advantage over melanoma while the tumors had arrested. He started going downhill Wednesday morning, when he woke up and felt very nauseous. He was only semi-conscious all morning, requiring an increase in oxygen and moaning loudly in his sleep. During the afternoon, he threw up partially digested blood all over the place. I knew this was a bad sign, so I got the “crew” together to get Bryce downstairs, and I took him to LDS Hospital E.R. The doctor, Dr. T., decided to admit Bryce for a blood transfusion and medicine tweaking. Bryce threw up in his hospital room and aspirated some into his lungs. He didn’t have the strength to cough it out. Thus began his downward spiral. By noon today, it was apparent that the family should gather.
His last few hours were horrible to watch, as his body began to fail and Bryce didn’t want to quit. Some of his last words were, “We’re killing cancer.” He told me (mouthed to me through the oxygen mask) over and over that he loved me. Then he stopped breathing. I felt him leave. When he was gone, I called the eye bank and offered his eyes for research purposes, since nothing is transplantable due to metastatic cancer. It gives me a measure of purpose knowing that Bryce’s beautiful eyes will help develop new processes to give the gift of sight. I believe in donation, and I am so proud of Bryce.
Bryce’s dad and I will plan the funeral proceedings tomorrow, and I’m fairly certain it will be Tuesday morning in Bountiful, Utah. All are welcome to attend, and Bryce will be there also. I’ll post the details tomorrow after the plans are finalized.
I can’t even imagine that my Bryce is gone—it’s too hard and too painful to believe. As I lie here in my parents’ home, I hear the deafening silence which seems even more surreal. No oxygen machines, no heavy breaths, no Brycey. I am alone and I am so sad. Keep our families in your prayers.
Oh, my sweet Bryce We’re Killing Cancer. Forever.