just want to be here together without the conversation of what’s to come.”
“I know. I want that to. I just have to make sure that you’ll be okay when I go. You will? Right?”
“I’ll be okay,” I choke out.
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“I love you, Jax. Thank you so much for loving me.”
Tears fall now as I hug Stella against my chest. “I do love you, Stella. I do. I would do anything for you.”
“Despite everything, I want you to know that this has been the best year of my life.”
“Oh, Stella.” I cry as I hold her to me. “I wish I could change things.”
“Me, too. But we had this year, and we fit a good ten years of life into this one. I’m blessed.” She chokes on her words as she cries.
More words fail me. I can’t speak as the tears silently fall down my face. I embrace her, absorbing her warmth. My hand on her back counts her heartbeats, and her warm breath heats my skin—all signs that she’s still here with me, all sensations I want to hold on to for when she’s not.
We fall asleep, wrapped tightly in each other, both soothing the other’s broken heart. We don’t say another word—including good-bye. Yet, as I drift off to sleep, I can’t help but feel that a good-bye was exactly what this was.
Stella died today.
She was gone when I woke up this morning. Just like that, she was here yesterday and doing okay—not the best, but she was alive—and today, she’s not.
I should have known it was coming. She had spent the majority of the past two weeks sleeping, but I had held out hope that she had more time.
About a month ago, Stella had finally told her extended family and friends. I suppose the revolving door of visitors into our home and all the tears that had been shed as everyone said what they wanted Stella to know should have been another indication that the end was near. But still, I had waited—for what, I don’t know. Maybe more time or a miracle.
I’d known what I was getting into, coming into this—at least as much as one can truly understand what they are getting into. I’d known when I married Stella that, barring a miracle, she was going to die. I’d known. In my mind, I had. But there was no way to prepare my heart.
We’d made arrangements. Together, we had written her will. We’d discussed what she wanted after death. Did she want to be cremated? Did she want to be buried? Did she want an open or closed casket? What kinds of flowers? Did she want a memorial fund set up? What scripture or poem did she want to be read at her service? What did she want me to do with her stuff? Donate it? Give it to family? We’d planned it all out. We had been prepared. We’d figured it all out, every detail. We’d had a plan.
Yet I’ve never felt more lost in my life.
There is no preparation for losing someone you love.
How am I going to get through this day, knowing that she will never smile at me again? She will never hug her family again. She will never light up a room with her infectious personality again. She won’t do anything…ever again. Never. She gets no redos. She gets no more tomorrows. She is just gone.
I don’t know what to do. I only know that she wanted pink roses on her casket. She wanted the quote, “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened,” on the memorial service bulletin. I know she wanted a closed casket with a photo of her before she was sick displayed next to it. I know all the details. I understand all of her wishes.
But I can’t figure out how to stop this ache in my heart.
It is a pain that is so suffocating that I’m struggling to breathe. I’m drowning in my sorrow. I’m trying to claw my way out, but it’s no use.
Where is the plan for this? How do I make this hurt stop?
More than anything, I’m just so pissed. I’m so mad that this happened to someone as wonderful as Stella. I can’t get over the fact that she won’t have any more days on this earth to spread her joy. It’s not right.
Why her? Why now?
She had so much to live for, so much yet to do. It was too early. She didn’t deserve the hand she had been