How it all began

My husband and I got married last November 8, 2014. We have been together since 2012 but were friends before that. Ours was not a love at first sight. Our love was ripened by friendship and constant togetherness (we were office mates).

He was far from perfect, yet he was God’s greatest gift to me.

Before October 15, 2016, we were genuinely happy with our boring routine. We would wake up in the morning, I would cook something for breakfast as he prepares our coffee (we were big coffee drinkers), we’d eat together discussing the day’s plan or some other random stuff, then prepare to go to the office or to work at home. Home is a small one-bedroom unit we are temporarily occupying as we are scouting for a more permanent, bigger home.

We would work together, meet clients together, do the errands together, almost always together. In between meetings and paper works, we would squeeze in some QT, lunch, movie or window shopping. Then time to go home, or if we worked at home, we would stop working and begin preparing for dinner.

On that Wednesday three days before his death, my husband came home from meetings all day without any indication of the tragedy about to unfold. I was not able to join him that day, as I had my own deadlines to meet. He brought home some Japanese donuts, which he proudly showed to me upon entering the house.

That night, he had to go to the hospital. Except for stomach pain, he seemed normal as we walked towards the ER. Because the pain did not subside after taking pain reliever, we were advised that my husband need to be admitted to the hospital for observation. He was conscious, was mobile, and seemed strong except for the stomach pain. The next day, he was brought to the ICU as laboratory results showed that he had acute pancreatitis.

It never entered my mind that he will not make it. He was conscious all the time. He talked with me until a tube was inserted through his mouth to help him breath. Even then, he responded to everything I say by squeezing my hands, nodding his head and mouthing words.

By Friday night, his vital signs were improving. This was the last time he saw me. I told him I love him, that I had to leave the ICU, as visitors are not allowed beyond the visiting hours, and that I will be in the hospital chapel praying for his fast recovery. I asked him to keep on fighting, keep on breathing, because we will go home together and resume happily our boring lives.

The next time I saw him, he was fast asleep, his vital signs were stable, but barely 15 minutes after that last visit, his heart stopped beating, and he was gone forever. The finality of that moment shattered all remaining sanity I was able to preserve during the last three days of uncertainty. Strangely, I felt more connected to him than ever. I know it was not his decision to leave that soon and that he was as devastated as I am by this early, final separation.

If there is any consolation in the midst of this debilitating grief, it is that he passed on in his peaceful sleep and hopefully did not feel any pain.

As the sun was rising, my husband died. And my own personal sun set forever.



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