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 …

January 21, 2018: A Day Apart

On September 10th, I wrote that Matt and I would only spend three days apart from that day forward. January 21, 2018 marked that third and final day. Matt had been in the hospital for a full week. I’d been racing back and forth, splitting my time between Matt and G and H, which meant …

January 20, 2018: Firsts And Lasts and Seconds

One year ago today, Matt spent his last Saturday at Columbia. Matt’s dad and I drove into the city together to spend the day with Matt who slept through most of the visit. It was easy in those moments to sit beside him in the quiet room with the view of the Hudson River and …

January 19, 2018: Birthday

Brain cancer doesn’t care that your nerves are scrubbed raw. Brain cancer doesn’t care that your chest is so tight with stress and fear that it’s hard to breathe. Brain cancer doesn’t care that it’s your birthday and the one person who knows you better than you know yourself is all but gone and the …