A Letter of Gratitude to My Dead Husband
Dear Raphael — Today, December 10, 2021, would have been your 83rd birthday. You didn’t make it. Three months ago, after a few days in which the pain, the debility and the morphine threw you into terrifying anguish, you ceased being your normal self, then you fell into a deep sleep that went on for nearly twelve hours. And then you were dead.
Because, I’m sure, you continue to read everything I write, you’ve probably followed all my communications to friends and readers since then.
You know the depths of grief I’ve gone through. Missing you terribly, and feeling more than ever the suffering and sorrow you endured for so long. Wishing I could have done more to protect you and make things better for you, or that I could have just sat and talked with you more about the great adventure that was our life together.
You also know the astonishing and heart-warming experiences of renewal I’ve been going through as I redesign my life for the reality that you’re gone. And you know how the web of our many relationships — family, neighbors, friends far and near — has held me and lifted me all the way.
What I want to tell you is that, as time passes, the dominant emotion I feel is less about loss and more about gratitude.
