This past Tuesday, March 19th, marked the day three years ago that Brian fell, ended up in the hospital, and came home on Hospice, dying just three days later. It was a short journey, but none-the-less, one that seemed like it was the longest of my life up to that point. I know I had that day on my mind this Tuesday, as I woke up early and the significance of the day was the first conscious thought that crossed my mind. Even though I knew I shouldn’t do it, I let myself go down the “What if” road about the part I had played in what happened that day:  What if I hadn’t left him in the care of his helper and gone to check out a care facility for possible future options if he required a level of care I could not provide? Would my being there have altered the course of the day enough that he would never have taken that fall? If it had, what difference would that have made in the big picture? Would he have still died sooner rather than later, and perhaps from a fall that was some freakish accident where he split his head open on the garage floor like he narrowly avoided doing when we first moved here five years ago? Or maybe fell somewhere and lay there, suffering because I didn’t find him until later?  

Of course, I will never know the answers to those questions, nor do I really want to. Even though when I’m tired and sad, my brain sometimes tries to convince me otherwise, I know deep in my heart, it was not because of poor care or negligence on my part that he fell that day. And, yes, I could possibly have altered the course of events that ensued, but there is no guarantee that anything I’d have done differently could or would have made enough difference that he would have had a good quality of life. He may have lived longer, but the disease would still have kept rapidly progressing. It happened, and that is it. I never neglected to care for him in ways that preserved his dignity the best I could and that provided as much autonomy in his daily life as possible. Everything else was in God’s hands, not mine.

Rest in peace, my dear Brian. You lived a good life and touched so many lives in your journey here on Earth. God spared you from the situation you never wanted to find yourself in – living with no quality of life, which you said many times was something worse than death. Wherever your spirit is now I know that you are more than “fine” – you are free. And as for me, I’m learning to take all that life and you have taught me, working hard at moving forward with my life now, just as I know you would want me to, and I’ve come a long way from June 5, 2022, when I wrote the following prayer: 

Hi, God. It’s me again. I know you see me struggling, trying to deal with all that life is throwing at me right now. Thanks for still believing in me and being patient as I muddle my way through this. I know that I can’t dwell in the past and wish things had turned out differently. Neither can I worry about what might or might not happen in the future. While I’m not doing a very good job with any of that right now, I know in my heart that you have a plan for me, and despite my doubts, it will all work out. Help me to have the patience and trust to wait for that. Mend my broken heart and restore a sense of order to my messed-up life. Provide me with the direction I need to find my way forward, writing new chapters in my book of life. Put people in my path that will help me in that direction. I don’t know how I’d make it through this without you. Thank you for making Brian a part of my life. It truly changed me, and I feel much more equipped to continue authoring my book of life because of that.
                        				 Amen.

So, today, as I remember Brian’s journey homeward, I’ll shed some tears for what I’ve lost, but mix them with a smile for having had the opportunity to know and love him, not just as a beautiful, caring person, but as a loving husband as well. In my grief work I’ve read a lot of great advice, and this quote seems fitting to end these thoughts with

  “Though no one can go back and make a brand-new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand-new ending.”
                                  Carl Brand

I hope the next chapter I write in my book of life makes me as happy as this last one was.

                 Here’s to precious memories and new beginnings.