A typical cliche....New Beginnings

So having been a widow now for two months, I am beginning to think about what I am going to do for the rest of my life. When Mark and I spoke about our future, we never figured in him dying of a stroke and making me a widow at 42 years of age. We spoke of him working until the day he passed, sure, but we thought we had at least another 30 years before that happened. We joked about it, saying he wouldn't know what to do with himself if he didn't work, that he was like my dad, always wanting to be working, failing at vacation and relaxation. We joked that I did enough relaxing for the two of us.

Well, the joke turned out to be not much of a joke. Mark worked right up until he went in to the hospital. When I arrived at the emergency room, the first thing he asked was if I had called his office. The second thing he asked was if I could gather up his work credentials and put them in my purse, giving me instructions on what I should do with them when I arrived home. Then he called his office himself. Always working.

The next day, after picking up his car from the doctor's office (he was taken to the hospital in an ambulance, much to his embarrasment), I walked down the hall to his room, and saw the sight that I will remember always, for which I will be eternally grateful: Mark, leaving his room with his IV stand in one hand, noticing me as I walked down the hall, and a big smile coming on his face. That smile did wonders for me - it reassured me he was okay, he didn't mind that I wasn't able to stay the night before (the children needed me, and he always put them first), he was so happy to see me, and that he loved me. I wish I had a picture of this, but I hope it always remains in my mind's eye.

I spoke to Mark the morning of his stroke on the phone, telling him that I was coming up as soon as the children got on the bus. It was the Prince's 16th birthday, and he was able to speak to our boy to wish him a happy birthday. Mark reminded me to bring his tennis shoes and clean socks, as we were hoping to bring him home that day. I remember stopping at the gas station to get gas and some breakfast to eat on the ride up. Little did I know this was a good thing, as I wouldn't have much of an appetite for the next two weeks. Upon arrival at the hospital, he wasn't in the room, and the nurse told me he had been taken down for a TEE and a heart shock, to see if they could get his heart out of atrial fibrilation.

When the doctor came rushing in to the room, I was on my phone. I don't know who I was talking to, but I got off quickly, thinking the doctor was going to tell me the procedure was successful, and Mark would be back up in a couple of hours at the most. He rushed me out of the room, telling me Mark had a stroke. At first, I was confused, not fully understanding what was going on, thinking that okay, he is in a hospital, they can fix this. In the ICU, they kept asking me if I needed to sit down, but I didn't want to sit down. I wanted to be next to my husband. They told me they were giving him tPA to halt the stroke.

But the tPA didn't work. After four days and an emergency surgery, I had to make a decision. For the rest of my life, even though I know I did for him what I needed to do, I will feel guilty for telling them to remove life support. But Mark wasn't Mark anymore. He wouldn't be able to read, do puzzles, watch his movies, talk politics. He wouldn't be able to talk, take care of himself, feed himself, even think. He might not be able to breathe on his own, wouldn't be able to walk, much less jog - and Mark ran more than a dozen Marine Corps Marathons. He might on some level recognize me as a familiar face, but he wouldn't KNOW me.

And nine days after he went to the doctor for what we thought might be pneumonia, I had to say goodbye to my best friend, my confidante, and the one person in this world who knew everything there is to know about me, and loved me anyway.

Everyone should have had the opportunity to love, and be loved by, a Mark. He wasn't a little blessing. He was, and always will be to me, a huge, ginormous blessing.