I looked down at the clock on my computer and am drawn back to the events of February 17, 2014. What was I doing that day? At 7:59am, I was taking the girls to school. We were running a little late that day so I’m guessing we had not yet made it to the Sunnylane exit by this time. But everyone was in fairly good spirits. I never had a true peace that morning about leaving John. But fear of having to call in “sick” again convinced me to go. As it turns out I would never actually make it to work. My step mom called around 8:30am. I could hear John moaning loudly in the back ground, almost screaming. I instructed them to call hospice and I headed for home my heart filled with fear.

I will not include most of the events of that day at this time. It is a day that still now replays in my mind. I shoulder much sadness, confusion and guilt over the events of that day. I will simply leave you with this: at 11:57pm he was gone, essentially 15 hours after I got back to the house and exactly three minutes before his daughter’s birthday. Even in death, he was a good daddy.

All the relief that I thought I would feel over him no longer being in pain was missing. It was not relief I felt. It was great sadness. My husband and best friend was gone. There was no longer any hope of God’s miraculous cure. Just loneliness and sadness and a huge sense of ‘what will I do now’. Everything finally settled about 3:30am. Friends, family, nurses, even the funeral home folks had come and gone. I thought I would sleep from pure exhaustion but I could not. All I could think about was that he was gone and I was alone. It was not fair. One month later, this is still my primary thought: He is gone. I am alone. It is not fair.