And so I sit, the dutiful wife, watching as my husband’s chest rises and falls as he takes his last breaths. Dutiful, I say, tongue in cheek. For already I am counting the times I was less than I would have ideally wanted to be. Self absorbed too often, complaining again too often over trivial matters.

But I am doing my best to come through now, now when I am told he can still hear me. Private thoughts of course. But my overriding tone is one of reassurance as I pivot from self pity to boundless love. “Don’t worry,” I say. “I will be ok. I will be joining you at some point, a front row seat for a play you will be directing for the heavenly assembly. Your place is secured. Mine, slightly more in question. But I will pray for forgiveness so we can be together for all of eternity.” Something like that.

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Condolences on the loss of your beloved husband.

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