It's an ugly word really, but everyone at some point will experience grief - profound grief. I know a little of that feeling. I know many who know more. I was thankful to come across this blog during some personal struggles. Perspective is everything...
The officer came to me. "You may see him now, Ma'am. You don't have to if you don't wish to, but you may if you would like. And I must tell you, this is your last chance."
Of course, I will see him. Of course, I will see him.
His dad traveled the stairs with me, and together we entered my bedroom, now an absent scene with remnants of urgency, panic, and medical intervention. My bed was wrecked; pillows were strewn all over. The carpet was wet. Medical paraphernalia was scattered all over. In the midst of it all, there lay my husband. He was intubated, with my bed sheet covering him from the chest down.
I was carefully instructed not to lift the sheet, and I absolutely obeyed. They had done all they could, and I am confident my bedroom was an operating room. What hid under that sheet need never enter my mind.
I knelt over him, and I wept. I cried for many things, for his life, for his death, for his sons, for his wife, for his dreams and mine. I cried for things I don't even know yet. My father-in-law held me and said, "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry, sweetheart."
I didn't wish to look at Robb's face. It didn't look like him. But I looked just long enough to confirm one thing: he looked just the same when his eyes were locked with mine. He died with me.
He died with me.
I rubbed his prickly head, the shaved cut I loved so much. And I thought to myself,Remember this. Remember this. Remember this.
I held his hand, the only part of him that still looked like him. His fingers were cold and white; his fingernails were purple. But it was his hand, the very hand I held on our first date, on our wedding day, as we prayed over each meal together, as we sat together in church, as our sons were born. I kissed his palm. I slipped his wedding ring off his finger and onto my thumb.
I kissed his forehead.
"I'll love you forever, Robb Williford. I'll love you forever."
There are many things I do not understand, and there are many questions in my mind. But I am confident of three things:
1. He died fighting. He pushed himself up, he leaned against the wall, and he fought to stay alive until his eyes held mine.
2. He died knowing I was fighting for him. He heard me screaming for him, to him, for God, to God. He knew I fought for him, with his dying breath.
3. I know where my hope and my husband rest: with the Lord Jesus Christ. I may have no idea how to walk the path of tomorrow, this week, or next year, but my hope is sure. I will see my husband again. And in the meantime, I long to dream of him. I'd love to hear him laugh.
He died in my arms, and I will love him forever.
My help comes from the Lord, Maker of heaven and earth.