Nine months after the fire, Tod was formally diagnosed with Frontal Temporal Lobe dementia, which was later revised to suspected Lewy Body dementia. He had also been battling severe bone degeneration, which furiously twisted his spine. It settled deep into his C1 and C2 vertebrae and eventually took his legs, body, and left arm before he chose to end his life with medical assistance
His dementia took him to scary, unknown places. I kept him home and cared for him 24/7, transforming our home into a hospital. The last months were brutal—he tried so hard to stay. When he wasn’t in pain, the dementia would steal him away. I would cry out, “Come back to me, come back to me,” and sometimes he would, and sometimes he wouldn’t. But always, I held him and waited with love. And when he did return, I’d whisper, “Why, there you are. You came back to me,” and we would fall into each other's arms, saying, “Thank God, thank God, thank God.” Because we knew one day soon that he wouldn’t come back to me.
The day he didn’t come back to me was December 28, 2024. As he took his prescription for medically assisted death, I held him tightly and whispered about our life—bringing the children home, our vacations, our burnt dinners, our silly fights. As I whispered to him, holding him as I had never held him before, his eyes closed, and his breathing became shallow. My last whispers, “Go now, go without pain. Go to where you are meant to go. Listen to them. Do what they say. Don’t cause any trouble, and I’ll be along shortly.” In those final moments, in whispering those words, I was giving him permission to go—and giving myself permission to let him.
I’ve been moving forward since he passed, one reach, one rope pull at a time. From the ashes of my loss and grief, a living emotion for others has grown vast and deep inside of me. It moves through me, lives within me, forging me into a vessel it can abide in. I know it's real; it's tangible, and I feel it. It is a love so deep, a kindness so patient, that it could only be born from my journey thus far.
Today, I’m still climbing, still holding tight, reaching forward and upward with my newfound strengths. They continue to unfold, seemingly without end, lifting me from the ashes of my past and helping me face the grief and loss that are now woven into the tapestry of my life.
Now, I don’t know if I’ll ever get to say those words again: “Why, there you are! You came back to me.” Will I see him again? In Heaven? The universe? Another dimension? I do not know, as I am still seeking my faith. But if I ever get to see my love one more time, I know with an unwavering clarity which is deep within my soul, that we will fall into each other’s arms, wrapping ourselves in relief, love, and gratitude, and cry out, “Thank God, thank God, thank God.”