A friend of mine is watching his father fade away, and more than likely, today will be the day his dad's body gives up the fight and his soul passes on. My heart is so sad for him, sad beyond words.
I buried my dad.
But more than my friend, I am considering his mom, the wife who has claimed oneness with this man for nearly 60 years. I cannot imagine the strangeness of home for her, the too quiet rooms, the bed that is so empty even a toe slipped a few feet away only finds coldness not the warmth that has been there for decades.
I cannot imagine fixing meals on her own, the ones she know longer knows if she likes or she just makes because he likes them. They are all the same now.
I cannot image not finding whiskers in the sink after all these years or his suit set out for church on Sunday. I cannot imagine not needing to iron the white button-down shirts he has worn virtually everyday since they were first married.
I cannot image not having the hand so familiar that it forms around her own or the breath in the quiet darkness that soothes her to sleep.
My heart aches for this precious woman who has begun the journey she promised to take nearly 60 years ago should God deem it her road...
...the hardest journey one takes as a wife...
...the one she is required to take as a widow.