Our Last Conversation
Estimated reading time: 8 minutes, 51 secondsOur World Changes Quickly
“We are very concerned about you,” Jon said. I started to speak, but no words left my mouth. April had arrived without showers. Instead, it brought changes that shook the foundation of my world. Carole King may have felt the earth move, but I felt the entire universe shake and rattle my body and soul.
Within thirty-six hours of our last conversation, Jan was hospitalized, and within a week of our pillow talk, the doctors told us there was nothing they could do for her, and she came home for hospice care.
“Jon and I are losing our Mom, but you are losing Jan,” Mike spoke clearly and calmly. “Both of us are worried about how you will handle such an enormous loss.”
It was April 22nd, my sons and I were walking.
Standing on the first bridge over the Rahway River on Eastman Street, we stopped to talk about the inevitable truth we did not want to accept.
Tears welled in my eyes, but I could finally speak.
“I share your concerns, as does Jan.” I provided a sanitized version of the last conversation Jan, and I had.
“I will do what she asked except for one thing,” I said.
Both boys simultaneously asked what I was not doing.
“I will not re-marry; I never will.”
“Everyone probably says that to their spouse,” Mike said.
“Mike, can you help me find a therapist?”
“Yes, I sent your names. Elyssa and I also ordered information from a group called SoaringSpirits that does grief groups,” Mike responded.
“Thanks, I may have missed it as I rarely look at my phone. I also got a flyer at the hospital about CancerCare that does grief groups as well,” I said.
We chatted for a while as the river slowly flowed beneath us.
As we started back, I mentioned I would like to plant a tree in her memory.
“We talked about that as well,” Jon said. “Mike said they can plant one at their home.”
I stopped by the front entrance when we were about to go back upstairs.
“I can never thank you enough. Without the two of you, along with Karen and Elyssa, I could not have made it through this month. I will need your help even more now,” I said as I held back tears. “I promise I will try to be there to help both of you cope.”
We embraced and then walked upstairs.
Last Conversations
Jan and I had little time to speak at length after the last day of March. We were rarely alone with doctors, nurses, and family caring for her. Like the final kiss, no one ever knows which conversation will be the final one.
The conversation we started the night we met lasted for a lifetime.
Love never dies; it only grows stronger every day!
These are some recent posts that may be of interest.
- Was Jan a Humanitarian?
- Will You Marry Me?
- We Are Getting Married!
- Jan’s Still in the ER!
- What About the Kids?
- Shadows from the Past
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
After almost 48 years, I recently lost my wife, Jan Lilien. Like The Little Prince, Jan and I believed that “The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.” This blog is a collection of my random thoughts on love, grief, life, and all things considered.
