It's time

It's time: read and see the photos of Eugenio's last day on earth

Notte

Normal night, standard, as usual.

Check and recheck Eugene, but it's all according to practice. Shortness of breath, every now and then a little apnea, I call him, shake him a little and he starts breathing again.

L’love mio dorme beato. E io con lui. Chissà cosa sogna.

Every so often he opens his eyes, opens them for a few seconds; I say to him, whispering: "come on Eugene, close your eyes, it's time to sleep!"

I get up, as has always been my habit, to check that he's okay: still short of breath, but nothing to worry about, because he's had it before, and he's always overcome it brilliantly.

I always kiss him, I kiss him. I love it, I love it.

It's heart in my heart.

Alba e la Santa Messa

At 6.40 I get up, to follow the Holy Mass as every morning TV2000.

Eugene he always has this shortness of breath, which as already mentioned doesn't cause me particular concern, but still keeps me alert. Every 5 minutes I go to him to see if he's improved, but nothing, he doesn't improve, on the contrary.

Sometimes I ask him: “do you want some water?” and without waiting for his answer, which unfortunately doesn't arrive, I instill a few drops in his mouth, from the syringe without a needle.

I really hope that these few drops will give him relief.

I follow mass, have breakfast, and at 7.30 am I go back to my bedroom to check if this breathing has returned to normal. No, nothing to do. Always the same.

Fibrillo, I recognize it, I get agitated, I worry, a lot: I don't like this breath, I'm not calm at all.

Logically (what little is left of it) I go with the oxygen: I regulate the flow at 2 litres/minute and I place the goggles in the nostrils of Eugene. We hope well.

Eugenio sta male

Faccio un controllo con l’ossimetro. La hand destra è abbastanza fredda; la riscaldo fra le mie, e provo: errore!

This makes me nervous. I try with another finger: error. I try again: strange values, busted. Oxygen at 84 in a dive and heartbeat 40: what the heck are these values?

Ossigeno

With 2 liters per minute of oxygen usually Eugene it marked 98 oxygen and 130 heartbeats. That's why we gave him a little pill to lower his excessive heartbeat. Now they are too few!

In the meantime Giuseppina gets up. I'll briefly explain my anxiety. Please send a message to Mauro di Tommaso, our doctor, to ask him for guidance on how to manage this emergency. Mauro advises us to use diazepam, the powerful medicine to be used in emergencies for epileptic crises.

In the meantime we realize that Eugene during the night he had a significant urine leakage, so we proceed with the total change, including sheets and cotton underpad.

With the usual tiring movement, I lift his legs and Giuseppina proceeds with the introduction of the diazepam rectal bulb. A handful of minutes and breathing normalizes, the frequency slows down.

But Eugene he grits his teeth and breathes all the air he can, as if it should be the last air he breathes in his life.

Ultimi respiri

I'm making this video because I'd like to send it to Mauro di Tommaso, to make him understand the problem we have, but I'm not lucid, I can't think correctly, I have a lot of confusion in my head.

It's about 10 o'clock. My fibrillation doesn't stop, it doesn't even decrease. I do not understand why. I'm nervous, I'm mad at the oximeter because it keeps giving me outliers. I ask Giuseppina to measure the pressure with the special measurer.

Anche questo ultimo, sempre ligio al suo dovere, si rifiuta e ci restituisce errore. Il nervosismo si tocca con hand, sia in me che in Giuseppina. Sostituisco anche le batterie, sperando che sia un problema di elettronica. Proviamo anche con il misuratore di pressione da polso. Stesso problema: errore!

Breathing has normalized, but now it's too short, very short, and with a very low frequency.

I'm scared.

My strength fails, but I feel inside me a particular light and a serenity never felt before.

Arrivano gli angeli del paradiso

I feel my baby is flying away, with its wings.

I keep calling his name, as if Eugene didn't know him. But I would like to make it known to the whole world, under and above the clouds, so they can welcome him as a hero of his caliber deserves.

"Eugene, Eugenioo, Eugenioo, Eugenioo…."

I don't stop calling him, but I don't hold him to me, to give him a chance to fly away, if this is his time.

I hope it's just a little passing malaise, but in my heart I know it's not. The words that were spoken to us in February resonate in my mind, when the oncologists told us that Eugene he would not have lived beyond six months.

Francesca si alza, intuisce che c’è qualcosa che non va, qualcosa di grave. Lo avverte dall’aria pesante che c’è in cameretta, dai nostri sguardi tetri, preoccupati, cupi.

She goes to the kitchen for breakfast, while grandmother Antonietta follows her and helps her, both in total, ominous silence.

At 10.30 dear Cristina arrives as every morning. As usual, she arrives at a brisk pace, cheerful, perky, full of energy. She enters the bedroom with a chocolate Kinder heart. “Eugene, good morning. I brought you….” he can't complete the sentence, his eyes widen. Her experience as a nurse leads her to a single conclusion.

I ask her, peaceful: "Good morning Christina. We have a small problem, this morning we can't take heart rate, pressure, oxygenation ad Eugene"

Il volo

She, seraphic, replies: “you cannot take any value from it. Eugene it's flying away!"

I realize the event: the angels have come to take Eugene.

I continue undaunted to call him: “Eugeniooo, Eugeniooo, Eugeniooo"

I don't know, I call him to make him hear my voice again, so he will always carry it with him.

I call him because I want so much to go with him, and I beg him to take me with him.

Intanto è arrivato il dottore Mauro di Tommaso, accompagnato dal son questa mattina; intorno a me e Giuseppina, che siamo vicino al letto di Eugene, there are voices and people but we do not perceive anything.

We are in an air bubble; we and our angel just flew away.

My desperate tears are counteracted by my wife's silence and petrified gaze; Mauro and Cristina try to shake us, they tell us things we don't realize what they mean.

In cucina ci sono Francesca e mia suocera, che hanno già capito tutto. Quando Giuseppina le raggiunge non c’è bisogno di dire nulla; già piangono.

To help us in this particular moment, Giuseppina decides to immediately call her dear friend Don Davide; only he can console us at this moment.

Con don Davide arriva una ventata di serenità, di pace, di profumo d’love, che solo la fede può donare.

La prima cosa che fa è prendere per hand Francesca ed invitarla a dare l’ultimo saluto al fratellone Eugene.

Francesca, che solo all’anagrafe ha 8 anni, segue con il cuore il volo del suo angelo custode, del suo angelo preferito, del suo angelo d’love.

Seria, serena, dolce in volto e nei modi, si avvicina al volto freddo e già rigido del fratello, lo accarezza con un love straordinario e sublime, lo bacia dolcemente, e come se seguisse il suo volo, la sua anima libra nell’aria serena insieme con quella di Eugene.

Il certificato di morte

Mauro writes the death certificate. Neoplastic cachexia.

Eugene returned to the Father.

Cristina asks us if we want to dress him, or the funeral home. Giuseppina prefers not to.

I want to dress him for the last time, as he liked, in his own way.

Eugene It will always be Eugene.

Helped by Cristina we dress him: white shirt, denim dungarees, his beloved NBA socks and his beloved white Nike Air with fluorescent laces.

Jesus, now Eugene is with You, and we are serene.