Last minute and first step

Remembering the transition- 1 year later.

Since the phone rang at 5am to now, nearly noon, it had been very very busy. Now, the room was silent. Not deafening silent but peacefully silent. His brothers, his best friends, his doctors, his in-laws and his sweet sad daughters had all said good-bye. Now, he had no tubes, no humming of machines….peace.  The nurse had done “this” many times and assured me he is comfortable. Her name was Laura. The doctor in the room had very difficult conversations with me in the last 24 hours. Her name was also Laura. In the previous year, I had been all of these people- nurse Laura, Dr. Laura and wife Laura. And on this day, our last day, we were 3 different people and it was my time to only be wife Laura. Sounds strange but…..well, it is. I was next to him, divided between giving him permission to let go while I desperately wanted him to stay. In the silence Dr. Laura whispered in my ear. “He’s going to die soon”. I whispered back, “What do I do?”. “Just sit here with him”. “Will you sit here with me?”. She pulled up a chair.

Then he took his last breath.

……..After…..

Just like that, I took a step from one world to the next. From a life so familiar to me, even when it was difficult it was all familiar…..to one completely foreign to me. “That’s a wrap”. That’s what I said- seriously….for real...who says that?! The first thing I say to the body of my husband is “that’s a wrap”? But it was. We had such a tremendously good thing. We demonstrated true love, appreciation for life and respect for each other to our girls. We did this well. We were such a good team. And now it was over. Done. A wrap.

I then said “I don’t want to touch him”. I am not sure if it was Dr. Laura or Nurse Laura who said, “you don’t have to”. So I didn’t. I replay that over and over again as well. Should I have? Should I have held his hand after he left it? I didn’t want to have the last time I hold his hand to be lifeless. I wanted to remember his firm grip on my hand, how I held it when he was sick, how he held mine when I needed it, how we held each others when we both needed extra strength.. I didn’t want to finish those memories with a lifeless, empty hand. Whether I should have or not- I can’t change it. It’s gone. And for me, I remember the firm, supportive hand holding we had for 23 years. I don’t want to change that.