For a little while this afternoon I sat out on the deck that was built for us by friends to make Larry's getting in and out of the RV easier. Adjusting to the fact he will not be coming home. That as of April 27th, 12:18pm, I am a Widow. There’s four words that will really change your life. No matter how well you have prepared yourself in advance. I felt desolate, yet also very relieved he is no longer struggling for every breath he took, especially at the end. Fortunately, the end came quickly, and by then he was no longer struggling. We called Hospice, with his agreement, when it became clear how fast he was failing. Unfortunately they did not make it time.
He fought a valiant fight, right up until the end. I held his hand, told him I loved him, and that everything would be okay. Watched him take his last breath. Later, this evening as I sat here alone I told him again I loved him. That I wished more than anything that things could have been different. That he could have had more quality time to enjoy his golden years. I know he heard me.
I have had time over the past few months to prepare myself for this. It is not a shock, but still very hard to really grasp it at this moment. I am so very fortunate things have gone the way they have. I am here among friends who are a wonderful support group. I have a place to live and a means of paying the rent. I have relearned how to drive. And with him in and out of the nursing home and hospital so much, I also got used to being by myself.
It’s not going to be easy. There are still many tears ahead. The road is still a long way from smooth for me. But, I am going to continue this journey with as much grace, dignity, and style as I can. I have a son, daughter-in-law, and 3 of the cutest grandchildren on planet earth to do that for. I am going to spend time doing the simple things that I love doing. I am going to find solace in long walks and hikes. Let Mother Nature wrap me in her loving arms, help me to heal, and show me how to continue this new journey I’ve begun called Widowhood.
