Thursday, April 20, 2006



There was such an honesty in his last few weeks. We held hands. Said I love you. Talked of life and things we had done. And yet, so much went unsaid. I wanted to tell him how much I would miss him. But I didn't want him to know I knew he was going to die. I didn't want him to think about dying.

The most precious thing I remember was his hand reaching out to mine. I held his hand and talked to him, knowing that any day would be his last. Sitting beside his bed, wanting to be there with him.

The largest pain in my life was not being with him when he died. What I would give to have kissed him goodbye and watch the pain fade from his face. I am haunted by his absence. Sometimes I look for him, longing to hear his voice and see his smiling eyes. Sometimes almost feeling like he is here with me. Always hoping for some small sign — a bird he loved, a song he used to sing. And the pain of never finding them.

— Mary Madonna

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