LEWISTON – Bob Morin said “tree” instead of “three,” “lobster shelf” instead of “lobster shell.”
His special language – a combination of French and English – used to drive his wife, Jackie, crazy. She corrected him every time, knowing he’d never change.
On Tuesday morning, Jackie and her children laughed as they tried to remember every quirky pronunciation. Gathered in a private room at d’Youville Pavilion, the family decided to compile a dictionary called “Bob’s Language.”
Jackie lowered her head and started to cry.
“Yup, that was one my pet peeves,” she said. “It seems so frivolous now.”
Bob, the man who asked her on a date 57 years ago after watching her do the twist at a community dance, was lying in a hospital bed in the middle of the room.
His eyes were closed, his mouth open, his chest rising and collapsing as he struggled to breathe.
His cardiac doctor had visited in the morning. She predicted 24 to 48 hours.
Bob didn’t wait that long.
A promise
The 76-year-old retired millworker died Tuesday, more than two years after he was assigned a hospice team and given six months to live.
He wasn’t at home in Sabattus, as he had hoped. A fall on April 22 left him with two broken vertebrae and the need for 24-hour care.
Jackie tried to convince her six children that she could handle him.
She reminded them that she had made a promise to their father two years ago when his heart and lungs first started to give out, and they signed up with Androscoggin Home Care & Hospice.
She promised that she would do whatever it took to keep him in their house until the end.
“I said to my kids, I don’t need any help. I have hospice. That’s all I need,'” she said.
Her children supported her decision until it became unreasonable. Then they gently overruled her. They assured her that their father wouldn’t want it any other way.
“But I broke my promise,” Jackie said earlier this week as she stood at Bob’s bedside.
“Mom, where is home?” her youngest daughter, Linda, asked.
“I know,” Jackie said. “Home is where your heart is.”
“That’s right,” Linda said. “Your heart is here. His is here. And ours is here. We are home.”
Jackie smiled, wiped her eyes, then rearranged the rosary beads wrapped around her husband’s hand.
Salmon pie
Bob didn’t spend a minute of his last week alone.
Jackie spent most nights on the couch at the edge of his bed, and at least one of her children was with her at all times. They took turns watching the clock, making sure to press the button that delivered his pain medication every 20 minutes.
He also had his hospice team.
When Bob was admitted to d’Youville Pavilion earlier this week, Jackie was sure that Androscoggin Home Care & Hospice would terminate his services.
But that’s not how the agency works. His stay at the Lewiston nursing home simply became part of his plan.
“It doesn’t always work out the way we plan it, but we make it work,” said Karen Flynn, Bob’s hospice nurse. “We follow our patients.”
Aside from the location, nothing changed. The health aides who spent the past two years bathing, shaving and dressing Bob showed up every morning.
Judy Deabler, the first aide to visit him in March 2003, fed him his last meal Friday – a piece of salmon pie that Bob described as “OK, but nothing compared to his wife’s.”
Later that night, the hospice chaplain, Kitsie Claxton, read to him from his favorite Catholic prayer book. Bob’s eyes opened for only a second, but Jackie knew by the way his breathing slowed that he was listening.
Last shave
Bob’s health continued to decline over the weekend.
His children and grandchildren came and went. They kissed his forehead and whispered in his ear.
On Monday, they plugged in a small stereo so they could play his favorite Gene Autry albums. In between albums, his children tried to remember the lyrics to a song he made up years ago about pumping his well every night.
Jackie went from laughing to crying then back again – over and over again. She hated seeing him so pale, so weak.
She tried holding his hand and telling him that it was OK to let go. But, after 56 years of marriage, she knew.
The man who insisted decades ago on making extra money to support his young kids by mopping the floors at Marois Restaurant after a 10-hour day at the Bates Mill would go when he was ready.
And not a minute sooner.
That time came Tuesday at 12:55 p.m.
Flynn, his hospice nurse, was there to disconnect the tubes and remove the needles. Steve Rogers, another aide, was there to give him his last shave.
Then they joined his family in a few prayers and one last song. Flynn played the guitar as Jackie sang her husband’s favorite, “One Day At a Time.”
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