When my Hunny left me and flew into Eternity, I wasn’t in the room. I had stepped out the side door to move our car. Only a few feet so the ambulance would have easy access. It was only a minute, maybe two before I stepped back inside. Then I looked up to see him falling lifeless from his chair. I ran toward him, but he was already gone.

I had just called the ambulance to tell them he was in severe abdominal pain. All day he thought he was passing a kidney stone. But he wasn’t. He was bleeding internally. So, when his legs stopped working, I called 911.

But it was already too late. I just didn’t know it. And neither did he.

After the 911 call, he apologized to me for being so needy and I argued that I had needy moments too. He replied, “taking care of you is nothing”.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It’s only been two days, so I’m probably still in shock, but I hear him responding to my remarks. I talk to him, and will probably never stop. We were best friends and talked about everything all day. I still feel him here with me.

Yesterday a friend asked if I prayed for life to return to him. The question gave me pause because it had never occurred to me and I wondered why. But the answer was simple. He left his body in an instant and I knew it was without hesitation. He was tired of the pain. Not just that particular day but every day.

He had a couple ruptured disks and another disintegrated disk in his back from 2 car accidents in his twenties. They had healed enough that he rarely had problems through the following forty plus years. But then the pain began.

So, I massaged his spine every night for a year with oils and prayed telling the pain and the problem to leave. An MRI showed that the disks “naturally” fused themselves during that year and he was back to a tolerable pain level.

Then gradually it grew again and though I continued the massages and prayer, the pain was only slightly less. So, this year, or maybe two or three, he suffered without getting a miracle.

He felt useless. His strength and energy faded and he became an old man. I changed my routine and sat with him throughout the day. We watched TV, listened to music, and talked a lot. It was some of the best time of our lives. But he still felt useless… and suffered.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Today I realized that when he left this world, he was probably running toward that veil.

I gave him chest compression’s and yelled at him to “Breathe!”. EMT’s worked on him for an hour, forcing weak heart rhythm 3 times without lasting success. He was gone and was not coming back.

I saw it in his eyes when I reached him on the floor. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t listening to me.

Several years ago I’d told him a story about Smith Wigglesworth restoring a dead man to life by slamming his body against a wall three times while yelling “Breathe!”. At least that’s the way I remember it. It’s a great story, if you’re interested. So, I’d told Hunny that if he ever tried to leave me, that’s what I would do. But, even though I still feel his presence with me, he slid through that veil determined not to hear me or return. He was done. Finished. It was enough.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He often told me as we sat talking, that he was the happiest he’d been in his whole life. Simply because we were together…and always in love. But he’d add that if he left, I was smart, strong, and more than able to carry on. He taught me everything about the mechanics of our property and swore that I could build a house myself. He had that kind of faith.

So, why was his back never healed? I don’t know. It wasn’t just me who’d prayed for it fervently. He had miraculously been delivered from 20 years of severe alcoholism in one night. But he didn’t get his back healed.

And now I’m here carrying the mantel of his mission…to go forward. To go down whatever path I see Father reveal for me.

My periodic leaking eyes can flow whenever needed. I will mourn my Hunny and be completely thankful for the privilege of his companionship for so many unforgettable years.

I’ll never be alone. Even when my heart aches, he’s here. My Father is here too.

Faith