I cherish the happy days with my Love, but the sad memories do not leave.

 Looking back on my last 12 days with Gerard, I think of him lying on that bed in the ICU, intubated, with the ventilator, monitors and machines all around him, tubes in his nose and mouth, tapes stuck on his neck and his face, holding the tubes in place. The monitors beeping in the silent ICU. The smell of  medicines and  hand sanitisers, and on some days, a dialysis machine next to him, while I stood there and watched his blood flowing through the tubes. A blown up purple medical glove on his chest, to prop up all the paraphernalia that needed to be held in place. Doctors calling me into their rooms to give me updates and reports that I barely comprehended.

He had to have the restraints removed from his hands to write things he wanted to tell me. The last time he probably smiled was when I spoke to him about our two girls and was imitating them, in the middle of the ICU.  When I told him that I loved him, he pursed his lips to give me a kiss, even with the breathing tube going into his throat through his mouth. Two sights I will never forget.

Standing at his bed, holding his hand as he briefly opened his eyes and looked at me as soon as he heard my voice, every time I was there- somehow seeming grateful that I was. Watching two tears flow from his eyes, wondering what he was thinking or feeling. He knew I was there, but no last words were spoken. Just a few words written on a piece of paper - asking about our girls, and then writing that he loves me.

The last 4 days in the hospital, I got the feeling like there was really no hope left, and I knew that if he did pull through this, he would have a very difficult and painful life ahead of him. I knew I had to let go. If he did live, he would have said to me, "Sugar, you should have let me die." 

The morning of the 9th of October, when the doctor spoke to me, I knew it was time to let go.  And the last time I spoke to my husband, a couple of hours before  he left, I told him to show me a sign as I didn't have the heart to make the decision on his behalf. I thought that when I came into hospital the next morning I would be telling the doctor to take him off the ventilator. Then again, I would have to think of what kind of life he would have had if he did pull through. From being such an active and crazy, fun person to being sickly and lying in bed most of the time.

I still believe that he had to let go. He would not want to make me go through making that decision on my own. And although this is something that no wife can get over, I am glad he left without me having to make that decision, which I would have done, no matter what anyone said (And yes, I know that may seem very cold and heartless). It would have been incredibly painful to do that. 

I am also glad that I did not take our  girls to see him in hospital, because almost 8 months later, there hasn't been a day when the memory of him in that hospital bed has not crossed my mind at some point in the day. And it is a painful and depressing memory. 

Strangely, the first 5 months after he left, were sad, but I coped. (or thought I did). 6 months on, it just seems more terrible, and this does not get any easier as time passes. 

Time does not help to heal. I think each day is still a challenge, and some days are better than others. But the pain, the sadness, the memories and the love just keep taking turns to creep into every day.

I hope you continue to watch over us, my angel.