A tribute

I've eaten many plates of cookies from neighbors who brought them over to say, "Thanks, D, for helping us out."  He put in stitches for their kids.  He looked in their ears.  He sent them to the ER because he knew they just needed someone to tell them it was time.

I've laughed so hard my belly hurt after one of his jokes.

I've been blessed with a Honey Baked Ham bestowed to us by a neighbor who was overcome with thanks for an angel who shovelled his driveway after a major winter storm.

I have slept in many Saturday mornings and was awakened by the smell of breakfast and happy, twittering children's voices in the kitchen.  The only words I understood were, "Dad. . . . . .Dad. . . . .Dad. . . .Dad."

I've eaten out at several restaurants with a gift card from someone who my husband's life touched.

I've gone into the laundry room to start a load and found the washing machine had already been started.

I've read cards from patients who were blessed by D's time and expertise. 

I've had nurses stop me and tell me how much they loved and respected my husband.


It is easy to complain he is gone.  Gone all day.  Gone at night.  Sleeping whenever he sits down.  But, really, what right do I have to complain when I've been so blessed?  May I always look for the good in life. . . . it is so apparent if I only open my eyes.