It's the 19th of December...

Just another day to most folks, but not me. It's the day I lost my husband, George. He died seven years ago on this day. He slipped into a coma after a surgical procedure. He was in a coma for several days. His doctors said he wouldn't come out of it. He was experiencing multi-organ failure and only drugs were keeping his blood pressure up. I told the doctors to discontinue life support and I left the hospital. I just had to get out of there and be alone. As soon as I stepped into our home, the phone was ringing and a nurse was telling me I needed to come back to the hospital. I drove as fast as I could back to the hospital. I think I already knew before I arrived at the hospital. People were stopping me in the halls telling me they were so sorry. I entered the intensive care unit and knew he was gone. He looked so peaceful. I wished I had been with him, but I never dreamed he would go so soon. My pastor was there. Reverend Dave said George probably planned it that way. He wouldn't want me to see him "go". George always did try to "shield" me from any unpleasantness. That was just his way - he was a buffer between me and the rest of the world.

The nineteenth of December will always be branded into my brain as one of the worst days of my life. Everything changed. I became a widow at age 43. I never considered I would become a widow, let alone at age 43. Too young to become a widow, but it happened. I am grateful for the 17 years I had with George Charles Andrews. Rest in peace, baby.