And Then...

                                                                                                                           

March 23, 2026

Dear Friends,                                                                                                                 

My husband passed away yesterday, March 22, 2026, at 7:09 officially, but it was really about 7:00 pm.  It was unexpected and while the weekend behind is still fresh in my mind, I am writing this post.  It will stand alone for the final post of March and then I will go on with life as per usual, because that is what I need to do, what he would want me to do.  But life will be forever changed.  There is no denying that.

John didn't feel well Saturday.  Not well enough to go lead worship which he considered a privilege as well as a duty.  He didn't shun duty.  But he didn't feel well enough to go so he called and cancelled at the last minute which he loathed doing.  

John didn't believe in 'giving in' to being ill.  That was his approach for all of the years I knew him and it remained strong on Saturday.  But very quietly Saturday evening he asked me if I'd take him to the hospital.  "I think it's going to be a long night, and I might as well be there."

I didn't rush out the door.  I calmly went about shutting shades, turning on outdoor lights, a kitchen light so when we came home in the dark, we'd have light to see by.  I got myself a bottle of water and calmly walked out to the car.  

Was I alarmed?  Yes.  Was I worried?  Oh yes.  But I played true to a paramedic wife's knowledge of the rules.  Rush frightens people who are already suffering.  Hurry.  But do it calmly.  

I drove to the hospital where John asked to be let out at the door.  He walked in.  He didn't look ill.  He didn't walk as though he felt ill.  The monitors and labs told us everything.  He was having a heart attack.

John knew one of the medical staff and talked and talked and was himself.  They prepared him for a transfer.  He knew the lead paramedic whom he'd worked with in his days as a medic.  When he arrived in CVICU, he knew an RN who had formerly been a Paramedic as well.  Familiar faces and names were a comfort to me and to him.  That he ran into so many he knew in such large county and then metro areas six years after his own retirement from a very rural far away county was extraordinary.  They were Godsends.  Not because they did anything super heroic but because they eased what was frightening and made us feel he was in good hands.  And he was.  

That was Saturday and early Sunday morning.

The damage was too great.  They could do nothing in the end, but what is called comfort care.  John understood everything and was fully awake for it all.  Friends and family gathered in CVICU to be with this man as he made the transition from earth to heaven.

He gave us the most awesome day of his life.  He gave to us at the end instead of asking anything of us.  He talked and laughed until he was intubated and when he couldn't talk, he wrote notes.  Towards the end of the day, they removed his breathing tube, and he talked to each of us all over again.   He encouraged and comforted and witnessed and loved on each of those privileged to be part of his last day on earth.  We laughed and cried.  We laughed more than we cried. Staff came into the room and were encouraged and comforted and witnessed to by this man who had just hours of his life left.  They laughed with us.  And they cried with us at the end.  Because John showed them a side of the living/dying equation that they'd never seen before.  Joy all the way. 

I have laughed more than I've cried.  But I have cried.

The stupidest things really have nearly been my undoing.  His shoes sitting at the backdoor.  The bathroom counter with his side and her side. The two towels on the towel bar. His empty side of the bed. 

The pile of laundry on the bathroom floor that I need to attend to.

Does that sound fussy and petty?  That pile of laundry that was mostly my own things?  Do you know why it was an undoing moment?   Because for the past 34 years the only laundry I did was seasonal stuff when he wasn't home and once John retired, he did it ALL.  He bought himself a new washer and dryer before he retired and he didn't want me to touch them.  "I don't touch your dishwasher.  Leave my washer and dryer alone."  So, he did the seasonal laundry, too, from that point on.

I realized that I hadn't a clue how to operate the darn machine...Nor what setting John used for drying.  And though he's gone, thirty-four years of being married to him made me hear him fussing in my head, in words he'd use and that made me laugh all over again as I turned dials and pushed buttons trying to get the machines to do their jobs.  Because John, who pushed me to do hard things to make me stronger for when he wasn't here to do them, had failed to realize that I wouldn't know how to work the washing machine or the dryer.  

Eventually I got it done.  

I'm being looked after by my kids.  JD came to stay with me last night. He's gone home to comfort his kids.  I haven't cooked a meal yet.  I'm not really eating but I'm trying.  Sam came over and made breakfast for me.  He had me come to supper tonight. Katie was here today and asked me to come stay the day with her and have lunch and supper with her tomorrow. 

My Amie is coming home to me next week and bringing Lily and my two teenage grandchildren I've never met.  Her mother-in-law is funding the trip because she told Amie that I needed to see her now of all times.   I am humbled by this woman's thoughtfulness.

There have been phone calls, messages, texts from so very, very many people.  

There is so much kindness abounding all around me.  I am so grateful.

I know that this short season ends.  That these are momentary and loving kindnesses but then others forget, as they ought to do.  They have their moments of grief to face.  The texts and calls and messages will end.  That's as it should be.   Then I will need to navigate life on my own without John.  And that might be harder at times.  

John left me with a few requests to fulfill.  He was very specific and you can read the more personal ones over on my Fresh Season blog.  I plan to do my best to honor him in those things.

John asked that we have no funeral.  And when I pressed him about a Memorial service, he said, "Terri look around!  THIS is my memorial service."  And every one of us in that room stopped and nodded.  It was.  It was a celebration of his LIFE and he was there to see it.  And he enjoyed it.  

For months now, John has been doing so much to ensure that I had as few issues to deal with as possible.  The cars are in good repair, I have access to our finances so I can take care of bills and living expenses until the dust settles; the house is in good repair.   

Life here will go on.  I'll still be a homemaker but learning to make my home a home for one.  I'll still be a writer and attempt gardening and will do all the sorts of things one does in a home.  I'll still be living in the country.   I'll still have grandkids and children about me.  I'll master the damned washing machine.  And my life will go on, aware that John is just gone ahead.

I'm going to end this month here. I plan to return to writing in April.  But I've shared so much of what mine and John's life were like here that I wanted to share what his passing was like as well.  

Love to every one of you, 

Terri