My husband died at 6 am two months ago today. I was sleeping near him and was
awakened by a change in his breathing. I was able to hold his hand as his chest rose and fell for the last time. He was so peaceful and unlabored, surrounded by love and the warmth of our home. Our daughter awoke and called for me at the same moment of his last breath, and I have to believe that we both sensed his passing – a blessing from our wonderful man. He was fully himself until the last day, including his ability to speak and laugh with us.

We sat with him for two hours before the hospice nurses arrived. Our daughter was able to hold his hand and to tell him goodbye. I know she does not fully grasp the impact that today will have on her life, and we will continue to process her father’s death and absence for years to come.

Witnessing my husband’s death carried its own beauty and power. He was my best friend, a deeply devoted son and brother, and the most loving father. He touched so many in his life with his calm manner, attentive listening, and deep intelligence. He faced his terrible brain tumor diagnosis with courage, grace, and hope. His faith remained unshaken, and he faced the end without fear or regret. May we all be so blessed.

The summer I first met my husband, Patrick, I was training for a marathon. I had been a competitive athlete in college, and after graduation, I decided I was going to train for and run a race. I had a summer internship near my college town. All of my friends had left to start their lives. So, at 22, I felt like I didn’t have much else to do besides work and run. There is more to that summer to write about later.

Patrick’s cousin sent around an email last week that he is going to start training for this year’s New York City marathon; he is running to raise money for brain cancer research, and he emailed the family to see who wanted to join the team. I remember thinking after I finished my first one that I would never punish myself in that way again. Never say never. The last week has brought blizzards to our mountain town, but I am planning to strap on my running shoes! The arrival of our daughter, Patrick’s illness, work, and other excuses have sidelined my more athletic ambitions of late. Enough! Fighting cancer is an ultra-marathon! I witnessed Patrick fight so hard, give clinical trials a chance, and endure physical discomfort for nearly two years to try to beat his tumor. What is training for and running a marathon compared to that?!

I am basically starting from zero, but I’m going to start training and fundraising to run. My family, Patrick’s memory, the race, and the cause are just the motivators I need. What I hope will come is a chance to grieve, to reflect on our lives together, and to rebuild my strength. An e.e. cummings poem was central at our wedding and during our marriage: i carry your heart with me. Patrick, I carry your heart into this endeavor and into all things.