No one should have to endure watching their mate slide way. I love her and the kids more every day.

I finally screwed up the courage to look in Ray’s most recent journal. I have kept it, along with a few personal items, neatly arranged on my dresser like some kind of shrine. I didn’t intend it….it just happened.

Portrait of Ray and card by KAth Boake; metal flower by Kathryn Diakiw

I have touched the journal many times, wondering when I would have the courage to have a look. There are others around….written when he was more well. This was his last. I picked the book up today as I wanted to make sure this little shrine was pristine and free of dust. As I did, the floodgates opened and I wept loud and hard. I talked to Ray and I felt him trying to reassure me. I told him I missed him and just wanted to talk to him and hear him talk to me. I opened the journal.

The passages were a bit spotty, mostly how he was feeling and documenting the staggering number of interactions with doctors. On January 28, my brother-in-law, Sean (God love him) came to take Ray’s office on the main floor apart and move it upstairs to where our guest room was. The hospital bed came in the next day and it was the last night Ray slept upstairs with me. What followed was the collapse of any efficacy of chemo; daily pain readings and planning for a little shopping trip to Pottery Barn. On February 18, he wrote the quote above. It’s the last thing he wrote in this book.

I find myself looking for crumbs now. In the closet, folded and piled in haste, sits the outfit he wore on his last night, dressing up for his baby sister Savannah’s birthday party. I can’t even think of moving that. I feel like his soul is still in that little pile somewhere. This is the dilemma we face with the loss of someone so important. We imbue “things” with their essence. Their being becomes inseparable from a pair of jeans and a well-worn pullover. Rays’ hand, clearly failing over the last few days of entries, wrote those loving words to me and to my kids. It’s as real now as it was when he wrote it. It is no fainter or duller for the nearly six months that have passed. It is a message suspended in time — and it breaks my heart…again.

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