I asked everyone to leave the room.
They said that we only had an hour left and I wanted the last hour to be ours.
I got into bed with her and slowly put my hand on her arm.
I was scared.
I remembered that day just over eight years ago when I touched my dad’s deceased body and it was cold.
It freaked me out.
I didn’t want Michelle to be cold.
With that memory still fresh in my head, I slowly, gently and cautiously put my hand on her arm.
Still warm.
Thank goodness.
Feeling more at ease and knowing that the clock was ticking away I wrapped my arms around her in a full cuddle, just as I had done so many times before. All the while realizing that it would be for the very last time.
I started with the basics.
I told her that I loved her, over and over again.
I told her that I always had.
And that I always would.
I talked to her about our past.
The teenage love that ended too soon and the fairytale reunion that would take place eight years later.
I talked to her.
I forgave her.
I forgave myself.
For anything. And everything.
I talked to her about the good times that we shared before she got sick.
And I talked to her about the horrific times that we experienced during her two and a half year battle.
I told her that I didn’t know how I was going to do it.
Survive without her.
But then I promised her that I would I would figure it out.
I promised her that I would be ok.
Somehow. Someway.
For her.
For me.
For hers, who I loved as mine.
And then I told her about our future.
The one that I know we will share.
I told her that she better be waiting for me with open arms, and then I reminded her of the pinky swear that we had agreed to the week prior.
That pinky swear in which we promised each other that in our next lifetime down here together we would get our fifty years.
Fifty years of health, life, and love.
And then.
I laid with her.
And I cuddled. And I cuddled hard.
And I stared. And I stared hard.
And yes, I cried. And I cried hard.
‘John, it’s time,’ they said.
Family came back into the room and finished emptying out the place that had been our home for twenty-three life altering days.
It was now time.
Really time.
To do what I had never done before.
To leave her.
I asked everyone to give me just one more minute by myself.
‘I have to go now Michelle. I have to go. I’m so sorry. But I have to go,’ I said over and over again.
‘I have to go baby.’
‘I’m so sorry. But I have to go.’
Tears flowing down my cheeks, as I cried so hard I was convinced I would never be able to stop.
Leaving her.
For the first time, and for the last time. All in one time.
Having no choice, but to go.
It shattered my heart to pieces.
It devastated my soul.
© Copyright 2017 John Polo
About John Polo
John Polo is a widower and step dad to the world's coolest girl. He also is a small business owner, author, blogger and speaker. His beautiful wife passed away at the age of 30 on January 22nd, 2016. They fell in love in high school and separated for eight years before they found their way back to each other. Shortly after, she was diagnosed with an extremely rare and aggressive cancer. Somehow, through the loss and horrific tragedy that was, John found a better him. His goal is to help others through their grief.
His website is as follows: www.BetterNotBitterWidower.com
I just found your website yesterday and I’m so glad. You’re an smazing person to help others when you have your own grief.
I lost my husband of 18 years to brain csncer, just 2 months ago. For 2 years I was his caregiver, and I too remember that last hour with him. Telling him I loved him and that me and his daughter would move forward.
We knew he was terminal and we planned and talked and loved and planned. But when the day comes for you to have to let go and say see you later. You’re never ready.
I went to school to my amazing littles one Monday morning and came home to find my 39 year old husband on the floor. No warning, no second chance, just gone. It’s been 3.5 years and some days I still stop in my tracks as the pain hits fresh as it did that day. I don’t know if I would have been strong enough to watch him suffer as you did. Sometimes I think God did me a favor so I didn’t have to make unimaginable choices. I just found your blog this week and it is helping already. Thank you for sharing your story.
I’m so sad for your pain, and your loss.
My husband of 35 years died last October with me on one side holding his hand and our daughter on the other.
Thank you for your courage and beautiful words, born of your grief. A grief that is difficult to describe in a culture that wants to deny death and cut short the aftermath.
Here, on the other side of our computer screens, we understand your grief.
Thank you so much for writing about it and giving others a forum to express theirs in.
Hugs to you.
My beloved Husband died in his sleep, no warning. I used to wish I could have said goodbye but that would have possibly meant he would have suffered with an illness. I’m grateful he didn’t suffer, it’s the only silver lining in this tragedy.
I am very sorry for your loss. Your writing is beautiful, straight from your heart and soul.
Your blogs are. Eautifully written. My husband died 15 months ago here at home in the room next to what is now my bedroom. We were able to get him home with help from Hospice on Thursday night. He died Friday morning at home, surrounded by his family with me holding his hand. I was playing his favorite music and he looked peaceful. I will always be grateful for that Saying a final goodbye was heart wrenching. Ut I am grateful that I could.
In Feb. my husband of 35 years died in his sleep. No warning. No illness. I tell everyone that I’m fine, but sometimes the pain is so overwhelming that I can’t breathe. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I keep trying to go on, but it is so hard.
Yes…that breathing next to you in the dark…that’s music…
I wish I had a chance to say goodbye. Doctor said they were doing their best but it turned out to not be enough. I got to see him after he was gone I held his hands An asked him to keep fighting An come back. We were married 28 years An never apart for more than a week once a year. It’s been so lonely.
This is beautiful my husband died suddenly in the middle of night so I didn’t get to say the good bye that I would have liked to was sudden and unexpected as he was recovering from surgery and all doctors said doing well so my good byes are after especially when missing him
I remember as if it were yesterday, lying my head down on my husband’s chest after his passing, willing his heart to beat again. I just laid there until my family told me that it was time for him to be taken away. That moment when you realize that you will never be with your soul mate in the familiar surroundings of your earthly home. I am so greatful to know that this is not the end of our relationship, but we will be together again in a far better place. However, the pain of grief that has become part of my everyday life is sometimes almost more than I can bear.
I wish I had had that time to cuddle to say good bye. You were so blessed to have that. My first time of seeing him after my husband was killed was at the funeral home, after making the arrangements. Then I asked if I could see him. She said give me a minute, we haven’t done anything with him yet. When I was ushered into the room with a trail of family, he was lying on a gurney, body bag unzipped, shards of glass littering his clothing, his legs at awkward angles. I hugged him and cried and wanted to crawl up there. He was cold and hard, but there was a look of peace on his face and that gave me comfort to know he was at peace. 6 years, it is still hard and sometimes I still find it hard to believe he is gone. We were married for 36 years, he was my best friend and I can’t wait to be with him again someday. Yes the nights are very hard!
I understand not sleeping. Nights are the worst. The quiet- the deafening quiet without their rhythmic breathing beside you.
I enjoy your blogs. Someday I hope I can get to that level of catharsis. But for now I just relate.
Hugs and prayers.