We’re also coordinating with the Supervisor of San Francisco’s office to look into erecting a memorial bench deep into the highest hills of SF.  I love the idea of providing friends and family a way to experience a visceral reminder of what it was like to try to keep up with him and his zest for life. 

Once we have his remains back, we’ll be gathering to commemorate his short but rich life on November 19th at 1PM at the Petaluma Women’s Club at: 518 B St, Petaluma, CA 94952 

For those interested, I’ll share more details around his final days. 

Auden’s Last Meal:

They say glioblastoma is a disease where you mourn the loss of your loved one a million times in a million ways.

Although it was excruciating to witness the person I love more than anything go from running marathons and doing backflips off random structures to struggling mightily to roll to his side, I did my best to embrace the advice of a dear friend and try to remain present and open (without judgment or resistance) to anything and everything that surfaces in each moment.   

One area that proved to be especially challenging, however, was around Auden’s food consumption. Pretty much as soon as I learned that once the body’s vital organs start shutting down, people often stop eating, mealtimes became a source of significant stress for me; the potential finality of each bite felt increasingly heavy and significant.  

On the evening of Monday September 11th, Auden’s appetite had been showing signs of waning which sent me into a familiar panic.  Out of desperation, I made him an over the top dessert that I had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to turn down…

My heart felt tender and swollen as I went to work preparing a heaping bowl of his favorite ice cream (cookies and cream). I gingerly crushed and folded in a bougie brownie (which was lovingly brought by our dear friends Kyle and Park who had recently flew back to LA after visiting for a couple of hours) and two raspberry shortbread cookies from Trader Joe’s (which were gifted to us by our friends Perveen and Wiz who visited from Southern California multiple times a month for the last few months of Auden’s life). 

I topped it all with a generous assortment of his favorite nuts and a MOUNTAIN of whipped cream (which he hilariously grew an affinity for towards the end-it took him three years into a terminal diagnosis but we were all pleased he finally learned to appreciate processed sugar)!

I ran from the kitchen into the bedroom Auden had hardly left in days and gleefully presented my masterpiece to him. I saw his big brown eyes light up and, for a flicker of a second, I felt the gaping, aching hole in my heart soften. 

At some point there was so little I or anyone could do to provide him with comfort or small joys so seeing his dazzling smile felt like a momentous triumph. 

He was so fatigued and weak; he could barely lift his arms, so he let me feed it to him (which he was normally reluctant to let me do).

We were both in high spirits as I sat on the edge of his narrow hospital bed, one of my hips pressed into his warm body.  I maneuvered the spoon around the bowl meticulously compiling “PB’s” (Aka: perfect bites of food with the right mix of ingredients) for him and we kissed in between bites. 

I danced and sang the words to the music from one of our wedding playlists which was softly emitting from the portable speaker I gave to him on his 43rd birthday.

As he was chewing his final bite, I caressed his perfect, adoring face with my hand and was struck by how intensely euphoric and devastated I felt at the same time.

I placed the crumbs that had fallen onto his chest into the food tray and started exiting the room. 

Just before Auden disappeared from my view, I glanced back and noticed him softly smiling at me with twinkling eyes and a knowing expression.

I felt my heart nervously flutter in my chest and I became suddenly aware of a peculiar adrenaline induced high. It felt like I was watching the scene unfold from outside of my body; the room became brighter, time seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time and everything was almost unbearably beautiful. 

I felt a calm transcendence wash over me and became consumed by the feeling that I’d remember this moment the rest of my life.  

I stood in the doorway momentarily frozen and took in a deep, deliberate breath, never unlocking my gaze with his. I wondered how it was possible for my entire world to be crumbling in front of my eyes, in the most devastating way imaginable, yet I have never felt so alive or more connected. 

I reentered the room, gently setting the tray next to the man I wanted, more than anything, to spend the rest of my life with and I melted into him, eventually transitioning into full body sobs. 

He stroked my hair and rubbed my back as he thanked me (as he frequently did) for being the love of his life and taking such good care of him.  

There were times when talking to him was like having a conversation with Dora The Explorer but I didn’t mind. Having those gut-wrenching, life affirming, end-of-life discussions on repeat was sweet and somehow healing. 

I reminded him, for what felt like the millionth time, that it was my life’s greatest honor to walk alongside him on this journey and we stared intently into each other's eyes for a prolonged period. I wondered if he was gazing straight into the depths of my soul or if I was just imagining it.

After I caught hold of my breath and felt my nerves calm, I made a sweeping gesture to roll out of bed but he grabbed me with surprising force and pinned me back into his arms. I remained there for another couple of minutes and we squeezed each other like it was the last time we’d get to. 

I noticed Depeche Mode’s lyrics carry a haunting resonance, “all I ever wanted, all I ever needed is here in my arms” and I planted little kisses all over his face. He kissed me back slowly, one last time, like he really meant it and I somehow knew in my heart, as I believe we both did, that it would be our last, and it was. 

That night he slipped into a coma that he never came out of.

Auden’s Last Night:

One thing Auden and I spoke about extensively is the notion of “living slow and dying fast”. We agreed the idea was very much on brand for him so it’s only appropriate that when the time came, that’s exactly what he did.

The night he passed I called a hospice nurse to the house because I was concerned about his breathing. She was only there for 20 or 30 minutes when her face suddenly turned serious. In a somber, ominous tone she declared, “it’s time” and suggested we gather the rest of the family to come be with Auden.

So, his parents, brother, sister and nieces and I crammed into the small room where Auden lay in cheerful honeybee sheets, and we all put our hands on him and told him how much we loved him. 

The seconds turned into minutes and the minutes added up to about two hours before he took his final weary breath.

We played some of his favorite music, some of us read the lyrics to / sang along to, “Ripple” by the Grateful Dead. I re-read him a manifesto I wrote outlining my intentions and plans for honoring his memory and embracing our shared values for as long as I’m alive and we all cried until we laughed. 

I had both my hands firmly placed over his chest monitoring his fading heartbeat when his eldest niece, Maya, entered the room to join us in his communal goodbye. All of us anxiously and helplessly watched the time between his belabored breaths grow longer and upon minutes of Maya’s return, his heart beat for the final time and peace fell upon his exhausted body.  

I think it’s unspeakably beautiful that one of Auden’s greatest fears in life was dying alone and his death served as the perfect antidote. He may have been robbed of a lot of good years but he died in a state of total liberation, with love and serenity in his heart.

A note of gratitude to all our family and friends:

Over the last 3+ years, but especially these last couple of months, we had a remarkably high volume of visitors come from all over the state and across the country to make sure he was surrounded by love and support, and I cannot begin to express how deep my gratitude is.

Auden’s lifelong friends/brothers Simon Malone and Dan Haggard and Auden’s dad and step-mom (Tim and Camille Schraeder) in particular have been exceptionally generous throughout this journey. Not only being a central part of a greater effort to help cover the cost of Auden’s exorbitantly expensive out of pocket chemo costs but also granting one of Auden’s most meaningful dying wishes by paying for us to live in the most charming vintage home in Petaluma so our family could enjoy living on flat ground (while not being burdened with the cost of double rent and mounting medical bills).

The way our family and friends have shown up for us during this difficult time has been deeply touching and humbling-there are too many remarkable acts of kindness for me to name, but I will say it means the world to us and it’s completely transformed my perspective about how to provide meaningful support to loved ones encountering adversity.

On top of trying to get my nervous system back at a healthy baseline so I can process and heal, I’m dealing with the potentially catastrophic financial implications of an insurance issue and gearing up to transition back to work after nearly a year leave of absence, but I’m very much looking forward to soon being in a space to read/respond to all the lovely condolences I’ve received from far and wide.  

Sending so much love and thanks,

-Brieanna Schraeder-Harvey