Our Last Conversation

Estimated reading time: 8 minutes, 51 seconds

Love Never Dies; It Lasts Forever

“I don’t want to die,” Jan said as tears flowed down her face. I reached out to hug her and kiss her. I struggled to find words that would reassure her and calm her nerves. Speech evaded me, so I hugged her more firmly and whispered, “I love you, Jan!” These were the only words I knew that might soothe her anxiety.

Jan had been home for two days. She had been in the hospital for seven weeks except for four days. It was the last day of March 2021. It had been the most intense and complex time in her fight against Lymphoma.

In addition, because she had COVID, I had been unable to visit her, which exacerbated our fears, especially Jans. Once, the doctors got me in because they were concerned about her mental health.

My speaking ability returned as I sat on the squishy brown chair’s ottoman.

“You have gone thru a difficult period, but I am confident we are entering a new healthier period,” I told her. It is what we both believed on that Wednesday evening.

“I want to believe that. But I can’t.”

I hugged her and kissed her lightly. I recounted how her mother had gone thru a tough year and then got better.

“But she died….”

My mind was devoid of words of wisdom to share.

“We have a good medical team. Let’s trust the doctors.”

She raised doubts, and I tried to reassure her as I attempted to shift the conversation.

I am so delighted you are home,” I said as I held her hands.

Jan smiled at me. I wanted to be home for your birthday.”

We had celebrated by Zoom the night before with our sons and their partners.

Now we can start planning for your birthday,” I said as I reached over to kiss her.

Not yet,” Jan said with a frown. “It’s still March.”

We both laughed.I avoided my birthday but always liked to celebrate hers.

I helped her up so she could get ready for bed. While she was in the bathroom, I got her favorite nightgown with the cows on the front ready for her.

When Jan exited the bathroom, I held her by her waist and guided her to the bed.

I may need help getting into my nightgown,” Jan said with a smile. I hope you don’t mind helping me?

The grin on my face was so large that it hurt my jaws.

When I got her into bed, I kissed her and said I was going downstairs to clean up and get her ice chips and water glass.

Richard W. Brown

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.