A Family Reunited One Last Time
by Barbara Kelly

An Excerpt from Tribute Magazine, Fall 2006

A year ago at holiday time, I faced a diagnosis of ovarian cancer.  It was December 7 to be exact.  We started the fight immediately at Martha Jefferson Hospital, and my dear husband, Richard, took leave from his job to be at my side, and to take care of me as only he could.

While I was undergoing treatment, Richard felt some pain on his side.  He couldn't really describe it.  Cancer has a pain all of its own, and I got a whole new type of sick feeling.  My intuition had been correct, only it was impossible to be prepared for the extent of Richard's condition.  He was diagnosed with advanced multiple myeloma.  That's a cancer that attacks the immune system, and there is no cure. 

Now, we were both in for the fight of our lives.

Fortunately, I was doing better and had resumed driving, so I was now the one to bring us in for treatment.  And it was a good thing, because my husband's health began to fade immediately, and we were coming in literally every day. 

Throughout the pain and struggle, Richard held onto hope and faith, and together with my younger son Jeremy, we refused to give up.  He said more than once, "If you take away my hope, and if you take away my faith, there is no tomorrow."  But the inevitable time came, and the doctor told me and my husband that he had only hours, or maybe a couple days, to live.

The doctor asked my husband, "If there is one thing I can do, you tell me what that is and I'll try to make it happen."  Richard had one simple request.  He said "Bring my oldest son home, so he can be with Barbara when I pass."

My other son, Jay, was on his second tour of combat duty in Iraq.

The doctor said, "You and I will call the Red Cross, and we're going to get him home."

The clock was ticking, the nurses were counting the hours go by, and my husband was hanging by a thread.  There are 6,310 miles between Charlottesville and Baghdad, and my son was using about every mode of travel possible to cover the distance - helicopters, planes, trains and automobiles.

What seemed sure to be our last weekend was coming to a close, and I had just about given up.  On Monday night, I was lying in the hospital bed with my head on my husband's chest, just to hear his heartbeat.  Exhausted, I was passing in and out of sleep.  I heard a rustle and looked up.  Our wonderful nurse was looking at me with a tear in her eye, and she was pointing.  My son Jay was next to Richard on the other side of the bed. 

Richard passed away Tuesday morning.  Our family was reunited for a whole night, one none of us will ever forget.  It was truly a last wish, and one that seemed next to impossible to grant.  As we all know, life has to go on.  And as I come up on the anniversary of my diagnosis with ovarian cancer, I feel fortunate, as hard as that might be to believe. 

We're taught to think that healthcare providers don't take a personal interest in their patients.  We are so lucky to have a place like this to call upon in our community.  I can't even be in the neighborhood without stopping by the 3rd and 7th floors of the Hospital to visit the nurses and doctors.

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