Power of Attorney

Getting Bob's signature for the power of attorney was an act of will, defiance, and mercy. I needed two witnesses so I called our family friend, Mike Kavanagh. He and his father came to the bedside. Mary Loyola, my friend and spiritual advisor, was also present. And standing by was the social worker from the hospital with the paperwork. Bob was incoherent. I spoke to him clearly and slowly and desperately about how important it was for us to have this paperwork in order to take care of his medical needs. With doubt in her eyes, the social worker said she wasn't sure Bob was capable of understanding.

"Bob, do you understand" I asked. He nodded slightly. "He understands," I said, utterly desperate and determined. I put the form in front of him. I jammed a pen into his hand. The pen waved wildly in the air. I looked up at the group assembled around the bed, feeling helpless and panicked. Mary Loyola, calmly and steadily, said, "He only needs to put an "X" on the signature line."

I grabbed his hand. The social worked watched with a look of concern on her face.

"Sign here, Bob," I directed. I pushed the pen against the form and guided his hand to make a faint, scribbled "X" on the line.

The social worker didn't say a word.

It was done.

Bob was released from the hospital to our care on May 23, 1994 - one month to the day after his admittance.

The day before, the infectious disease doctor, Mom, and I had stood in Bob's room. I had asked the doctor what the next step was. He'd taken me into the hallway away from Mom. "Take him home," he said.

"Home?" I exclaimed in horror. What do we do?"
"Nothing," he answered.

I glanced back through the door of the room. Mom sat in a chair looking at Bob. She had not heard my exchange with the doctor.

He then said the words that changed the course of my thinking and altered my understanding of life and death forever.

"If God would be so benevolent to take him sooner than later then that would be merciful."

I stood there, still not fully comprehending what he was saying to me. Finally in that hallway outside of room 603, I said, "You mean, take him home to die."

And the doctor nodded.

Then he proceeded to tell me about hospice and that the social worker would be coming in to see me about making arrangements. We would order a hospital bed. There could be in home care. Home hospice.

I took notes.

(Aria - A Sister's Journey With AIDS to be continued in next post - The Den)