What a good thread....
Last Christmas, my husband and I talked seriously with the grown, married kids and with each other about what we wanted when it came time for us to leave this life.
So, on March 18, when we first saw the x-ray that told me he had cancer and it was terminal, we knew what we would do. We told his doctor(s) and it was done.
He spent his illness at home, with me (and hospice) taking care of him, and we had a wonderful time. All the family came to visit, and as many friends as could, and we spent many nights holding hands. When he could, we went out and sat on the deck and watched the sun set on the pond, listened to the frogs, talked about what he wanted to eat, or do.
When the last day came, and I knew it, our priest (who had visited him before) came and gave him the last rites, and stayed and talked with the grandkids. At 11:30 p.m., with me, the children, and grandchildren around him, my husband died. May 1 of this year.
We called hospice, and the nurse came, and then the funeral home came and picked up his body. He was gone, but he was still among us, no other way to explain it. We sat up and talked about him, mostly laughing about old family stories...
I’ve only just been able to return to mass. Not from any problem with the church, but because I like my grief private, and didn’t want to be a spectacle...after 37 years, every time I turn around, I miss him...
Death foreseen can be a blessing, it gave me time to tell him how much I loved him and would miss him, let me reassure him I’d be okay, but would grieve. He told me to remarry, “Wife is what you do best,” he said, smiling. I will never forget that...
One thing: everyone came in hushed and nervous, when they came to visit before he died—and they left laughing. “Why won’t anyone tell me a joke? I’m not dead yet!” he would say.
Six short weeks, then into eternity. I intuit that he is somewhere, healing, with wonderful angels-lovers-spirits keeping him company, the Great Physician making him finally whole, and finally at home.
And in grieving, I am not unhappy. Doesn’t make sense, here on a page, but it is true.