“There is your life before the death of your beloved spouse and your life after.
The pain never fully goes away.”
Well, celebrated is not quite right, though we certainly tried.
After checking in with her doctor, I took her in a wheelchair to the garden to drink it.
It was the sunny Friday of a warm Labor Day weekend.
I know, but youve had a rough couple of years, too.
Nothing compared to you, and youve said all of this!
Rebecca had actually told me all of this dozens of times.
Wed recently gone to MD Anderson in Houston for a second opinion.
When asked about potential treatments, the experts there said there was nothing on the horizon anytime soon.
Wed been married in Houston at the Rothko Chapel, and we stopped there after the appointment.
We sat silently together holding hands.
The great artists haunting purple canvases had been part of the happiest and most difficult days of our lives.
Now, we both knew that this was our last anniversary together.
Rebecca was just 53.
Sorry, but I feel guilty about putting all of you through this, she said.
She took a sip of her wine and put her arm around me.
Guilty for being sick?
Youll find someone new, but theyre losing their mother.
She had a determined look on her face and moved her arm away.
Even if you meet someone here at the hospice, stay open to it!
Just find someone the girls like.
Damn it, stop!
I said, raising my voice a bit.
It was all too much.
Rebecca had gotten so thin that her skin took on a white and shiny porcelain look.
Later, she worked for the U.N. in Rome and consulted in Africa and South America.
Then she saw her reflection in the mirror.
Do you see how sick you are, honey?
She nodded with sad recognition, and I helped her back into bed.
The next day, she agreed to be briefly admitted into the inpatient hospice center for pain relief.
She smiled, and we got back to our wine.
She teased me about my red wine mustache and about the cheap green suit Id worn to our wedding.
We toasted our years together.
Oh, excuse me, I said to Rebecca, pretending to recognize the woman.
Thats my new special friend, Bernice!
Rebecca let out that honest, earthy laugh that I loved.
It was the last time I heard it in all its glory.
She struggled through one more month.
After days of incoherence, she startled me by suddenly observing, Thats not deodorant I smell!
Youre right, thats the Vera Wang I got you for Christmas, I told her.
That was a winner!
Those were her last words to me.
We briefly held hands and closed our eyes.
It was a discordantly beautiful October afternoon.
The bench was beside a briskly bubbling creek with stepping stones to cross above a manufactured rapid.
We sat silently for a few more minutes, each lost in our thoughts and searing memories.
The sun glowed through the fall leaves above the peaceful creek setting.
Rebecca had picked the perfect spot for just this moment and many more in the future.
We pulled off the complex memorial service, which Rebecca had planned in considerable detail.
The bright sunny days of October turned into the gloomy gray skies of November in Wisconsin.
I was in our house alone, surrounded by Rebeccas things and all of my memories.
There were stacks of medical supplies, suddenly both conspicuous and useless; there was that tragically powerful hairbrush.
I learned a lot about grief.
The tears seemed to come from some inexhaustible spring.
Several sad months passed.
Those few who did see me were kind and supportive.
I missed Rebecca terribly, but the girls and I made it through our longest winter.
Even after she was gone, she was still finding a way to show me how much she cared.
She taught me so much about courage, compassion and love.
For her, love was a form of generosity.
Theres a profound truth in that.
The pain never fully goes away.
I still miss Rebecca.
The storm clouds always have a name and face.
Its been 10 years since Rebecca passed.
Jeffrey D. Boldtis a graduate of the University of Wisconsin and its School of Law.
After a career focusing on environmental law, Boldt received his MFA in Fiction from Augsburg University in 2019.
Boldts short fiction, poetry and essays have appeared in numerous literary journals.
His next novel, Big Lake Troubles, is a sequel forthcoming this fall.
Learn more about Boldthere.
This article originally appeared onHuffPost.
