"That day I dressed up a bit and brought her an elegant blue dress, pictures from our funky wedding, and a bottle of her favorite Barbaresco. After checking in with her doctor, I took her in a wheelchair to the garden to drink it. It was the sunny Friday of a warm Labor Day weekend. The Prairie Memory Garden was full of late summer bloom, and a playful pair of blue butterflies joined our bittersweet party."
"Rebecca was feeling slightly less miserable, so after we shared wedding memories, she reminded me of what she expected of me as she imagined my life without her. She told me she wanted me to help our girls as much as I could, emotionally and financially; to remember her with love but not morbidity; and not to fall apart or be afraid to love again - because despite the pain, it would be worth it."
"We'd recently gone to MD Anderson in Houston for a second opinion. When asked about potential treatments, the experts there said there was "nothing on the horizon anytime soon." We'd been married in Houston at the Rothko Chapel, and we stopped there after the appointment. We sat silently together holding hands. The great artist's haunting purple canvases had been part of the happiest and most difficult days of our lives. Now, we both knew that this was our last anniversary together"
Rebecca received in-patient hospice pain management for metastatic colon cancer while she and her husband marked their 26th anniversary. He dressed up, brought an elegant blue dress, wedding pictures, and a bottle of Barbaresco, and wheeled her to a sunny memory garden where late-summer blooms and blue butterflies accompanied them. Rebecca briefly felt less miserable and reiterated her wishes: that he support their daughters emotionally and financially, remember her with love not morbidity, and be willing to love again. The cancer had spread to her lungs, a second opinion offered no imminent treatments, and both knew it was their last anniversary together.
Read at BuzzFeed
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