Impossible things...

I wrote my husband's obituary yesterday. It felt like an impossible thing to do, like something I should never have to even contemplate.

A week ago, we discussed our plans for the day and opted for a very quiet Sunday. I spent the morning in the living room watching puppy training videos. He drank coffee by the fire, made himself an omelet, and listened to music.  

We had a family dinner with our daughters' crew planned for 6 PM, roast lamb, summer squash, and zucchini sauteed with onion, garlic, and cherry tomatoes. I thought I'd bake some focaccia for a treat. Chris loved family supper nights and was happily looking forward to the meal, conversation, and time with the grandgirls. After our peaceful morning, we took a nap. My man loved a Sunday nap. There was pillow talk and snuggles, and at one point, he said, "I cherish our time alone together." I did, too. We were the best of companions, our time peaceful and tender. 

Later, while I began to cook, he started the blower to move the inch or two of wet snow that had been slowly falling for hours. He came in after a little while to warm up. "My asthma's bothering me," he said, and used his inhaler. Then he fiddled on his phone for a few minutes and said, "I just ordered pirate hats for the girls. They'll be here on Wednesday. I can't wait to play with them. You know what kind of vehicle a pirate drives, right?" I rolled my eyes and shook my head, "Tell me." He grinned and said, "a cARRRR!" 

He leaned against the counter, watching me knead the dough for the bread, "Look at you," he said. "You are a marvelous cook, you are beautiful, you create a wonderful home, and you make me the happiest man alive." 

Then he went back out to finish up the snow removal. Within moments, he had a fatal heart attack. A kind passerby saw him lying there and thought perhaps he had slipped. He came to the door to get me. We both performed CPR while we waited for the ambulance, but my love was gone. In one awful instant, every single thing about my wonderful life changed. 

Two days later, a strange man appeared at the door. "Are you the woman who just lost her husband?" he asked. He handed me some donuts along with that new title. They both felt heavy.