Saying goodbye to my beautiful wife.

We lived and we loved, well.

Markokenya

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Most people don’t write about the death of a loved one before it happens, but here I am, nursing her, and writing about what’s going to happen.

My beautiful wife Debi has been the sun and the stars in my life since 2005. I knew her a little before then — she checked in to the rehab where I was a volunteer, in 2002. She was a sobbing mess and I wasn’t particularly into her, and neither was she. Yet.

Seventeen years later we’re at the end of our journey together. As I write, Debi is in the downstairs bedroom, on a hospice bed, breathing her last breaths before she inevitably succumbs to stage 4 pancreatic cancer. She came home from hospital 10 days ago and has received hospice care for her final journey, and I am her ship’s captain. We have had a whole village of friends and family come here to spend time with her. Some have used the time wisely, gently saying goodbye to her, telling her how much they love her, reading something beautiful, recalling memories, holding her hand. Others have talked small talk because this is their coping mechanism on a terribly sad day.

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Markokenya

San Francisco geek, entrepreneur, wannabe economist, mediocre equestrian