IN 17 HOURS/15 MINUTES ... WHERE ARE YOU CHRISTMAS

Today, last year, I was standing by Bob’s bedside at OHSU, watching his labored breathing. The edema had not abated despite the massaging leg cuffs; and the excess water weight was not draining fast enough despite the water reducing medication they had him on.

Edema was pressing on Bob’s vital organs and lungs.

Bob had not been allowed even a tongue-wetting sip by mouth for days. No ice cubes either. Bob was trying to say something to me, but he could no longer talk … his tongue had swollen, cracked, and split due to dehydration despite the saline drip. I almost lost my lunch when I saw his tongue – I called a nurse in and brought it to his attention, and the nurse said to me … “Oh that: I’ve seen worse with cancer patients after radiation treatments.” I just stared at him and stare-shamed him about his callous remark.

I didn’t want to know what I already KNEW: my husband was in the end game of his life.

I remember standing there, holding his hand, looking out the window into the glooming darkness, and thinking that all over the city below the hospital on the hill, life was going on full force … streets and homes would be hung with holly, wreaths, and brightly colored lights. People would be rushing to and fro; visiting friends & family, packing Malls: and constantly on the go.

But for those of us, here at OHSU, trapped in a nightmare before Christmas, it did not feel much like Christmas today, last year.

17 hours and 15 minutes was the timeline allotted to us as time started ticking down and memories kicked in: not a lot of time to cram a lifetime of memories into. Memories of me first seeing Bob and falling head over heels in love with him. Memories of hearing he had gotten married and being crushed. Memories of me trying to move forward by dating - and knowing I could never say 'I love you' to anyone but Bob: so, I didn't date a whole lot; there was no point. Memories of meeting a soon-to-be-divorced Bob face-to-face, thrilled beyond measure that he was noticing me and talking to me. Memories of Bob making that first phone call to me and asking me out on our first date ... and being with Bob constantly after that; spending every moment together we could between my school and work hours, and Bob's work schedule. Memories of making love for the first time and crying because it was so perfect: we were perfect together; Bob took time to make lovemaking perfect and special for me. Always. Memories of Bob wearing me down, and me agreeing to marry him. Memories of pregnancy confirmation, and Bob being so happy to have a baby daughter. Memories of Bob holding our newborn granddaughter, Alyna ... and 18 years later, holding our newborn grandson - Alyna's brother, Azariah. Memories of Bob as a wonderful husband, father, grandfather. Memories of Bob smiling that sexy smile aimed at me. Memories of Bob's twinkling eyes when he was teasing me. Memories of Bob's gentle voice and gentle touch. Memories of Bob laughing, speaking, making that throaty growl like Roy Orbison when he was in a playful mood. Memories of us traveling to various States, and building a life in retirement that allowed for more traveling. 

Memories of a life well lived, well loved, well spoken of.

Memories of a lifetime wrapping up to fast.

Me loving Bob so much it was choking me with the intensity; and me wondering how I was going to live without him when he left my embrace for Yeshua's embrace.

Me loving Bob so much that I steeled myself and prepared us both for his journey to the Home we both looked forward to - our Home beyond the clouds, in that parallel world where real life happens: no more pain, no more sorrow - only joy, peace, and love eternal.

Bob was ready to leave.

I readied myself to let him go.

Everything, as I had known it; everything as I had always hoped it could be - and Bob went out of his way to make sure things went that way - until, even that, was out of his hands - ended.

And, today – this year, I am trying to {keep it together} knowing that in 17 hours/15 minutes … I will mark my first year as a Widow.

My heart has hurt all day long, it has been hard to breathe all day long, and the tears have begun to flow.

And, also like today, last year, I am asking today – this year: “Where are you Christmas?”