Homecoming: Memorial Re-Union
Death, the most dreaded of evils, is therefore of no concern to us; for while we exist death is not present, and when death is present we no longer exist. It is, therefore, nothing either to the living or to the dead since it is not present to the living, and the dead no longer is.
Epicurus
“I’m coming, Pete,” Eileen proclaimed in a whisper while clasping the photo of her lost love. From late 2020 into early 2021, Eileen held onto the photo with a sincere personal belief in a life after this life, an afterlife. A hope of a reunion with her only, her everything, her someone: The One, to her. A slow slide into a psychogenic cessation of life guiding her.
On December 20, 2017, Peter died. His body destroyed itself in an autoimmune attack. He was knocked out. Doctors connected him to an assistive machine. It kept his body alive, while ‘asleep.’ His lungs filled with fluid. They needed draining by the machinery of plastic, metal, and electronics.
Loved ones gathered around. They knew. It was time to begin the end. His body shut off between the morning into the early afternoon with the closing down of the machine keeping his unconscious body alive.
Death, to not be; Pete met the proverbial scythe of the unending eternal. Weeks passed to months and then a few years. Eileen couldn’t manage the pain, the void, the vacuum of Pete’s memories in her. More than 60 years of the union met as a singlet, a widow.
All unions meet the inevitability of an end with the ever-present two-word question, “Who first?” No matter the depth of the love, the thread-count of the connection, the amiability of the friendship, or the years built after one another. Death cares not for these; lovers do.
In this sense, lovers represent life, itself.
Holding onto a photo of Peter, Eileen met with family members in the early and early-middle parts of February 2021. To reconcile, to meet, to discuss life and love, while drifting in and out of consciousness, she was probably undergoing a psychogenic death.
Little sleep, no eating or minimal food intake, barely sipping water, the implosion of the self over a bond broken. “I’m coming, Pete,” over and over again. She just wanted to be home because her current house was a stranger’s abode, lonely and alone.
February 14, 2021, Valentine’s Day – poetically, Eileen Jacobsen died. Maybe, she met her valentine, maybe not. A Sunday departure from the stage. The Thursday before, some grandchildren visited her.
She turned to one and said, “Oh, hi, Scott.” A greeting meeting the last visit before the final, “Bye.”
Opinions and Perspectives
The progression of her decline is heartbreaking but somehow beautiful too.
The way she whispered I'm coming Pete reminds us that sometimes love transcends our fear of death.
Fascinating how she maintained such clarity about wanting to join Pete even as she was fading.
The reference to the proverbial scythe feels a bit cliche, but the rest of the writing is so genuine.
That last goodbye to Scott shows she was ready. She'd made peace with her choice.
The story captures both the universal nature of loss and the deeply personal experience of it.
Reading this made me hold my loved ones a little closer tonight.
Anyone else notice how the machines kept Peter alive but couldn't save him, while Eileen chose her own time?
The way time is marked in the story from weeks to months to years shows how grief changes but doesn't end.
I keep coming back to that Epicurus quote. Easy to philosophize about death until you lose someone you love.
The poetic justice of her passing on Valentine's Day wasn't lost on me.
The description of their bond as the thread-count of connection is such vivid imagery.
The writing style shifts beautifully between philosophical and deeply personal.
I've seen this happen too often. One spouse passes and the other follows shortly after.
The metaphor of the house as a stranger's abode perfectly captures the alienation of grief.
It's beautiful and tragic how she held onto that photo like a lifeline to him.
This story challenges my views on assisted dying. Is choosing to stop eating so different?
The contrast between machine-assisted death and willing yourself to die is striking.
The way she slipped away feels almost peaceful despite the sadness. She made her choice.
That universal question of Who first? haunts every long-term relationship.
Lovers representing life itself while simultaneously choosing death is quite the paradox.
The concept of psychogenic death is intriguing. The mind-body connection is more powerful than we realize.
I disagree those clinical details help ground the story in reality and make it more impactful.
The medical details about Pete's death feel unnecessary to me. The emotional core is what matters.
I'm curious about the title Homecoming. Is home where Peter is or is it death itself?
This story beautifully captures the double-edged nature of deep love the joy of connection and the pain of separation.
The final greeting to Scott feels like such a gentle goodbye. She knew it was time.
I'm struck by how the story challenges Epicurus's view. Her experience suggests death very much concerned her while living.
The description of her house becoming a stranger's abode really captured the essence of loss. Everything familiar becomes foreign without your person there.
Not everyone has that choice. Sometimes the heart just knows it's time to go home.
Actually I found it quite disturbing how she essentially willed herself to die. Surely there was more life to be lived?
The way it's written actually gives me hope rather than sadness. Their love was so strong it survived beyond physical separation.
That line about death caring not for the depth of love or friendship hit hard. It's brutally honest.
I find it fascinating how the author weaves together both the physical and emotional aspects of dying.
The clinical details about Peter's death from autoimmune disease make it feel so real and relatable to anyone who's lost someone in hospital.
This reminds me so much of my grandparents. When my grandfather passed, my grandmother followed within months. They just couldn't be apart.
Interesting contrast between the philosophical opening and the raw emotional story that follows.
The part where she keeps saying I'm coming Pete just broke me. You can feel how much she missed him.
Anyone else notice how the author captured the slow decline through Eileen's behavior? Not eating, barely drinking water it's a documented phenomenon called give-up-itis or psychogenic death.
The timing of her passing on Valentine's Day feels like more than just coincidence. After 60 years together, their bond transcended even death.
I have to respectfully disagree with the Epicurus quote at the start. For those left behind, death is very much a concern and present reality.
Such a moving story about love and loss. The way Eileen held onto Peter's photo until the very end really touched my heart.