January 31, 2018: In The Moment

January 31, 2018 marked Matt’s fifth full day in hospice. Five days of sitting by his bedside, of measuring breaths, of helplessness and hopelessness, and waiting to wake from a nightmare. Five days of reflecting on all the things we had done and all the things we hadn’t had a chance to do. Five days …

January 30, 2018: Without The Glow Of Hope

The letter I wrote to Matt on January 30, 2018 was short, a scant six lines and ninety-seven words. And every time I read it, my heart hurts for that last year version of myself. Because I remember too well the moment that sparked this letter and I remember too well the way the sound …

January 29, 2018: Quiet Hours

January 29, 2018 marked my first quiet morning with Matt. I’m not sure exactly what I did while I sat with him for those hours. The next five days are a blur, one day fading into the next. Sometimes I played music—our wedding song always at least once—sometimes I put on an audiobook for us, …

January 28, 2018: Strength of Conviction

The day was full of family. By early-afternoon, Matt’s room was awash in light and love and even a little laughter. In addition to me, G, and H, Matt’s parents, his sisters, his old family friends all came to sit with Matt for a little while. And, though we’d been holding off on allowing visits …

January 27, 2018: Small Hopes and Delusional Hopes

January 27, 2018 marked Matt’s first full day in hospice. The night before, after that hard conversation, after tucking G and H into bed wondering whether they’d get any sleep overnight, I wrote. But this time, the letter that I wrote wasn’t to Matt. This time, I wrote: to friends—Matt’s college friends, high school friends, …

January 26, 2018: Regret

One year ago today, Matt left Columbia by ambulance to head to the hospice in New Jersey. Days earlier, while I’d debated between inpatient and home hospice, Matt’s father and I had visited the location. It was quiet and peaceful, and the people were kind and warm. It would be the place where we (G, …

January 25, 2018: Last Words

The choice that I was faced with on January 25, 2018, and the decision that I made, was nothing short of a choice between two jagged halves of my cleaved heart. Inpatient hospice or home hospice? Every piece of my heart wanted Matt home with me, wanted Matt to spend every single one of his …

January 24, 2018: Weeks

One year ago today, with hope all but burned away, Matt’s dad and I drove to Columbia to meet with the doctors, to see the final MRI, and make our last decision about treatment. Matt slept through most of the day, waking only long enough to take a pill. We didn’t tell him what the …

January 23, 2018: The Last MRI

There’s no warning before the moment hope extinguishes. There’s no signal or hint that the life you’ve been desperately clinging to is about to shatter. There’s only that moment, that second, and then everything will always be divided into a before and after. A Hope and Post Hope. January 23, 2018 is the day the …

January 22, 2018: One Last Hopeful Night

January 22, 2018 is the date of the last text message I ever sent to Matt. At 8:50 p.m., after G and H had gone to bed, I wrote: You awake? The text seems insignificant—two words strung together without a linking verb to form a complete sentence—and yet, this text might be the most hopeful …