Russ and I had our own version of 'warriors'; he the warrior dealing with a degenerative disease and me the warrior making his fighter journey as peaceable and comfortable as possible. I never wavered in my prayer for a soft landing.
Again and again I reflect on his patience... in everything! By his last week I basically did everything for him except feed him. And yet, he only showed grace. He made his days of sitting in his recliner seem effortless, he made those around him see only comfort. And now I know... that wasn't the truth. It has been nearly 9 months since he slipped away into the night, leaving only his whisper for me to connect with.
In that time I have 'visited' with him in every space in our home, in all the places I scattered his ashes and relived our memories in those places, in all the documents, photos, letters, and files I have poured over. I have built a binder of all the mechanical parts to our house that he had always taken care of, had meetings with the principal players and tried to understand what needs to be done in what season. I have tackled deferred maintenance and hired help where we never would have before. But most importantly, I have forgiven him and forgiven myself for the pieces or decisions where we might have fallen short. As amazing and wonderful and loving as our marriage was, there were blips in the road, but in the end it was Linda and Russ, warriors involved in life and a long good-bye. Linda and Russ.
In real life, certainly for me and I suspect for Russ as well, a feeling of deep sadness dwelled, changing how we saw the world, a constant update to our changing relationship. Somehow Russ' calm numbed my pain. Nine months later with a million shared memories breaking my heart, I understand that his acceptance took great courage and generosity of spirit. He wanted to show me a living example of love, patience and compassion. He left me alone, but with the kindest gift ever. He showed me how to heal. He taught by example: never lose hope, even when everything else is gone. Hope is what makes us human and without it there is nothing. He always wanted me to have hope. Up until his last day he worried about my end days and would I have what I needed. He did not want me to feel broken, but to carry with me our journey together as I transitioned to a life without him in his chair, smiling. He truly wanted me to find the 'me' in 'us'.
I continue to wonder how I will do this for a lifetime! I will take him with me of course, his smile wrapped in my heart, not forcing it away, but cradling it close. Linda and Russ, together.