His Last Picture On this Earth....

Pictures are worth a million words, or so they say. If I had to say a million words about this picture, I probably could. I could go on and on and on about the struggle that Chris, my husband of twenty-one years, had to endure the last seven years of our marriage. Or, I could talk about the good old days, the days before the pain started, and the tragedy we called, "life," ever was even a thought in our minds. Likewise, I could talk about what a stupid picture this is for a last photo for a person to have in their life, really, what kind of photo is this? Could we not have taken a family photo, a couple photo, or even just of his smile?

This picture was taken on my 41st birthday, yes, it was spent in the hospital, just like my 40th birthday was spent in the hospital, or even our 20th wedding anniversary, or Valentines Day, Thanksgiving a couple times, oh and the whole summer last year, and part of this year. There were many days spent in the hospital, so many to count-from 2010-2017 approximately. How many miles did we log on our little van or Sportage...even my beat-up, old, red Chevrolet? Too many to count.

This day was the day, Chris and I finally gave into the system and signed power of attorney to me over his medical needs, just in case. It was again, my 41st birthday...yea, for me, and yea, for Chris, it meant it was starting to slip less in his favor.

This day, Chris was in so much pain, so much pain, he was exhausted from just coming from, yet another, MRI on his spine. The pain was so unbearable to him, but he smiled, he sang to me, "Happy Birthday Brooklyn, happy Birthday to you." We exchanged, "I love yous," and I eventually departed because it was later in the evening, and he was so tired. I would hear from him in the morning.

You never think that the last photo of you will be of an example of your pain, a tell-tell of your life the past seven years, or not pleasant, if you will.

It is nearly four in the AM for me, and I sit and try to think of a reason or good analogy I can put with this picture, but no...simply it sucks. It sucks that this amazing man had to suffer, but he rarely complained. It sucks he couldn't take care of his family the past seven years like he wanted to, but we got to spend those years closer than ever to him. It sucks that we are without him, but he is now our personal guide in our lives, as he helps us more than we know from the great beyond.

I love my Chris, and I will look at this picture fondly, as a reminder of his sacrifice for our family, and just how much he loves us, loves us, not loved...he is still here, there, out-there, teaching others, helping others, seeing with two eyes, playing that grand piano. He is happy. We aren't, but he did his part for us, we have to do our part for him, now is our time to have a trial of faith.

We will always miss Chris, until we meet him again...and this time without bruises!