One year ago today…
The worst day of my life…
Laurin Long Bank 9/24/1988 – 10/21/2018
I got home from a conference in Oklahoma around 1:00 a.m. Laurin was supposed to drive home from her Aunt’s house that morning so we could start preparing for a two-week road trip we had been planning for months.
That morning, I woke up to Laurin calling me. She said she didn’t feel well and her stomach was bothering her. But she really wanted to get home that day. I arranged with her Aunt to have Laurin meet us in Savannah, Georgia. I had a friend ride with me, and her Uncle followed behind to drive her Aunt back home.
During the drive, Laurin was extremely uncomfortable. We had to stop several times to pick up medications and try to ease her pain. I called hospice to have a nurse ready for us at the house when we arrived.
When the nurse arrived, she checked Laurin over. Everything seemed okay, but she authorized me to start giving Laurin morphine to help manage the pain. As the day went on, it became clear the morphine wasn’t enough. The doses increased, but Laurin’s discomfort continued.
A few hours later, the hospice nurse returned to check on her. She looked me in the eyes and said quietly, “We’re losing her.”
Laurin couldn’t find a comfortable position. She kept shifting between the couch and the floor. The hospice nurse tried to arrange a facility where we could administer pain medication through her port, but nothing was available in time.
I could feel her body getting colder as I tried to wrap her in blankets, but she kept pushing them off. Then came the gurgling cough—a sound the nurse had warned me about—a sign that her body was beginning to shut down.
We had both thought we had months—two to six at least. I wasn’t prepared for this sudden closeness to the end. That evening, I spent every moment trying to comfort her. Looking back, I wish I had spoken to her more. I wish I had told her hundreds, maybe thousands of times how much I loved her, how much joy she brought me, and how she taught me the meaning of true love.
As Laurin grew weaker, I carried her to bed. The nurse told me to start talking to her, and not stop.
“I love you. I love you so much. Thank you for being in my life,” I repeated over and over.
I don’t know exactly when she passed. I just kept talking until the nurse checked her vitals and confirmed she was gone. It was probably around 11 p.m. That night, I made only two calls: one to her brother, and one to her Aunt. My Rabbi stayed with me, talking quietly until around 4 a.m., offering support in those long, quiet hours.
It was several hours before anyone could come to take her to the funeral home. When they asked if I wanted to see her one last time, I declined. I wanted my final memory of her to be her as she was—beautiful and full of life.
I somehow managed about two hours of sleep that night. The next morning, I called a few of our closest friends before sharing the news publicly. The picture I posted was the last one taken of her, enjoying a stunning Florida sunset—one of the happiest images of our time together.
Much love,
The Polka Dot Queen’s humble King
