For Better or For Worse

Three weeks ago today, my husband walked me down the hall from his father’s hospice room to the elevator.  I had brought his mom to the hospital in the morning and spent a good part of the day with the two of them.  His dad was in renal failure and we knew his time on earth was short.  My husband was spending the night in his dad’s room and then I would take the early shift on Friday morning.

We walked the hushed hall as we watched health care professionals moving quietly from room to room taking care of their patients, sometimes speaking quietly to family members.  We whispered about what the afternoon and evening would bring. Would our 14-year-old son want to come visit his grandfather again, or would he want to remember his last handshake and smile from his granddad two days ago?  We needed to know if his mom wanted to see his dad before his body was taken to the funeral home if he died without her in the hospital.  Who did we need to call to give an update on his father’s condition? The list seemed to go on and on.

We reached the elevator and my husband gave me a huge hug and kiss.  He thanked me for all that I have done for his family as he hugged me tightly. I kissed him again and he headed down the hallway.  Before he took his third step, I called his name, shrugged and said, “For better or worse, right?”

How those words have echoed in my mind in the past three weeks.  The quiet of waiting for dad to pass was like a restful respite that turned into a flurry of activity after his father died less than a day after that conversation.  Calling friends and relatives to let them know that this great man had passed into his eternal rest, making final funeral arrangements, confirming with family and friends their travel arrangements,   cleaning house and finding time to grieve filled ours days immediately after his death.

My husband and I seemed to spend little time together, we divided the duties, and each helped to take care of his mom, brothers, uncles and our son.  The funeral mass was a needed time to pray and heal. The wake was a great time of celebration of a well-lived life.

Since that day, I had a serious fall and thought I might have broken a rib, we hosted Dave’s niece and children and showed them the great sites of Washington, Baltimore and Philadelphia, experienced a 5.8 earthquake and sent our son off to high school.

Last night, we finally took some time to sit and talk about all that has happened this month.  As I crawled into bed, I thought, “for better or for worse”, that is what makes our marriage so strong.  Certainly, I did not fully understand those words when I spoke them nearly 17 years ago. I am thankful that we are able to live them each day.