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Memorial Day 2012.  The worst weekend of my life. The last weekend of Ron's life. This Saturday morning, three years ago, an ambulance ride, during which Ron hallucinated that we were going on vacation to the OBX, from the hospital back to our house so Ron could die at home. Nurses cried when they said good bye.  The horror of the experience with the hospice organization that so badly hurt instead of helped us. I try to let those memories go, try to remember that Ron did get to die at home surrounded by love, surrounded by love, surrounded by but not protected, not saved, by love. He got to die at home, with me.  A horrifying weekend yet one with so much love, a house filled with family and love. A last trip outside to the porch, Ron looked around and said, "awesome".  A small spontaneous kiss as Ron started to lose lucidity and his body prepared to die. I didn't know then that that would be the last time we kissed. For a while I didn't remember that moment. It was a sweet, light moment during a scary one when we were trying to get Ron to sit down so that we could get him into the bedroom. Even while dying he wanted to walk around, be his active self and we were worried he would fall down. I stood in front of him, put my hands on his shoulders and was trying to coax him to sit in a wheel chair and he looked at me, pursed his lips and I asked him, "Do you want a kiss?"

This weekend: dinner with friends, Wolf Trap to see A Prairie Home Companion (oh how my Dad would have loved that), a well-timed visit from one of my absolute  dearest friends, sparkly weather (it was sparkly but hot the weekend Ron died and I remember that someone came over to fix the air conditioner), maybe a river tubing day trip. All good things.  But my body hurts, my body remembers. The body grief is so strong. Hard to stop and make my mind believe that this is 2015, not 2012.  I don't have to brace myself for Ron's death. He died already. He cannot die again. I have to remind myself of this, ground myself in the present, the real present. Today, on May 23 there are no crises. My children, my family, my friends, they are well. There is no crisis.  Oh but Ron, how I want that kiss.

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