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My Person: a handful of lovely truths about Marc

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THE END

I had curled up beside him in the bed. His body still, his mouth gaping. An absence of anything fresh, anything home or cozy surrounded us there on the narrow hospital bed in the dim room with no windows.

A TV hung from the corner of room. I watched the World Series, recapped a play, as much as I could, and tried to make light of the situation. We were partners deeply entangled in love, clinging to hope that something miraculous would happen. But we both knew I would live on, leave this place. Time was cruel and yet yielding, allowing us more moments.

They say hearing is the last to go. He was listening. I was sure of it, so I rambled on about the game, laughed. Did he know he was dying? I cried silently.

Then he skipped a breath. I touched his arm. Gentler than the jabs I needled him with in the middle of the night when his nasally foghorn snores woke me. Finally he breathed. I breathed. I kept reminding him to breathe. At some point I realized I didn’t need to.

He was on hospice. No life saving devices. No sustenance.

What happened then was beautiful. No, his life was not spared but God stepped in an orchestrated the perfect end to my sweet Marco’s life.

….TO BE CONTINUED

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