It’s been less than four months since Mike died. I’ve made a few changes. I canceled the satellite service, and his phone. I’ve donated some of his clothing. I’ve taken over his desk. 

I can’t yet delete his email address. 

I don’t know what I’m waiting for … he never sent an email in his life, although he knew how to check it and read them.

How much longer will I continue to unsubscribe from all the political and medical subscriptions he’s still getting?

In the optional box marked “reason for unsubscribing,” I type DECEASED. I seem to want this pain.

Mike was sick for much of the last three and a half years of his life. There were some good months. Many, actually, and much hope. But, in the end, esophageal cancer usually wins, especially if one isn’t a candidate for an esophagectomy.

Mike wasn’t.

Last September or October, I happened to see the word ‘palliative’ on his chemo order. We thought more chemo meant more cure. I tracked down his doctor, who kindly told me they were “keeping him comfortable.”

More chemo really meant more sickness, in the end. And less quality of life. 

Why make him sick when he's dying?

Mike and I often talked about going south during the winter. Not the whole winter – he was a little too anxious to leave our property for more than a week or two.

We never did that. Prior to his mother’s death in 2019, she needed his attention. He was diagnosed that year, and travel was limited to one trip to Kitty Hawk for a long weekend in May, 2021, for my 70th birthday.

I just returned from our winter road trip. Georgia, Florida, Tennessee. Cousins, friends, dogs. Restaurants, shopping, trivia! An unforgettable trip. 

How I wish he’d been with me.

You won’t find Nancy of Madam’s Creek (referred to last week) listed with other Christian mystics. As Mike dove deeper into his spiritual life, he needed to talk about what he was reading. A discussion group at our church provided an outlet, and Deacon Nancy (now Sister Nancy, our priest) was the conduit.

The words of the mystics became as familiar to him as passages from Shakespeare, which he often quoted. He asked me to print many of Rohr’s daily meditations, for later study.

Nancy introduced him to Julian of Norwich. In the end, “all shall be well” came true.