In this life, shit happens. Shit like parking tickets, annoying relatives arriving unannounced, rained out picnics. The really bad stuff happens to someone else.
Sometimes you get reminded that to the rest of the world YOU are someone else. So it is with a terminal illness. First there is the shock as if someone has kicked you in the gut. You hear the Doctors words and they just echo through your entire being. "Her condition has worsened, it is terminal. She should be moved to Hospice" You just want to push the words right back out of your ears. But you can't.

I guess it should have come as no surprise. I had already been caring for her full time for two years through the drug treatments, hospital stays, and the surgeries. I was witness to her becoming more confused, more tired, and I watched helplessly as she became painfully thin. I had always had hope though. She could get on the transplant list. They could find a suitable Liver for her in time. She could recover some of her own liver function. I even offered them my own. I wanted her to live and would have it no other way.

I did not get my way. Instead, I got those words. A week later our 33 year life together ended. I was there at the end. I looked into her eyes, Touched her cheek, and told her that I loved her and it was OK. Then she was gone.

People write lines like that in books and movies. It sounds romantic. I used to think that too. It is not.

Pain and loss became my World. Retreating into that world, I went through the motions of living. I also began to try and drown the pain anyway I could. With the path I took, this should really end right around here with my obituary. It would have. but for a friend.

That voice in my ear was patient. She refused to give up on me even when I had. She helped me collect the broken pieces of myself, then provided a shock to my system.

Like Frankensteins monster. I was reborn.

Where the future leads me I have no idea. But I am looking for it now. I am looking for it with her.
It's a whole new ballgame.