Please purchase a subscription to read our premium content. If you have a subscription, please log in or sign up for an account on our website to continue.

Please log in, or sign up for a new account to continue reading.

Thank you for reading! We hope that you continue to enjoy our free content.

Welcome! We hope that you enjoy our free content.

Thank you for reading! On your next view you will be asked to log in to your subscriber account or create an account and subscribe purchase a subscription to continue reading.

Thank you for reading! On your next view you will be asked to log in to your subscriber account or create an account and subscribe purchase a subscription to continue reading.

Thank you for signing in! We hope that you continue to enjoy our free content.

Please purchase a subscription to read our premium content. If you have a subscription, please log in or sign up for an account on our website to continue.

Your current subscription does not provide access to this content.

Already a subscriber on our previous website?   Connect with your last name & phone number

Sorry, no promotional deals were found matching that code.

Promotional Rates were found for your code.

I was eating vanilla ice cream with melted caramel sauce, so decadent for me. Hubby wasn’t home, so I could sneak a snack. He’s been trying to stay off the ‘not so good food,’ so I’ve been trying not to tempt him.

There was a knock on the door. Glancing out the living room window I caught a glimpse of a green right sleeve’s embroidered badge; someone important. I got up and headed to the door. I opened it and saw a sheriff’s deputy. He backed away from the door about 16 feet and asked if my name was Michelle. I could tell by the intensity in his eyes he was there to arrest me or give me horrible news. I didn’t want either. I said yes, lifted my chin and waited. Then he said Hubby’s name. I knew.

I asked, after he explained, after the words filtered through my brain, “Are you sure?” I saw by the look in his eyes he was sure. So he asked if I was OK, I said yes and thanked him for telling me and turned back into the house to shut the door behind me. Hubby’s dog bounced around me, young, exuberant, the joy of his days now that the kids have moved out. Our son’s dog milled under my feet wagging his tale.

I started making phone calls, reaching out to the people who would know, whose voices would keep reality real; Grandma Lydia; our oldest; my faraway friend. And so I begin on a new journey. I called my retired nurse friend; she asked if I needed her to spend the night. I said, “Yes, please.”

I called my pastors they were in the middle of eating and came over right after finishing dinner. They got here before my retired nurse friend could finish feeding her flock and drive over. It is a comfort not to be alone when a loved one is lost.

The pastors prayed with me, my retired nurse friend stayed the night and treated me to breakfast at Bake My Day. Muana met me back at our house and stayed with me as I called the coroner, the funeral home, asked for death certificates, listened to the adolescent doctor as she explained cause of death. Muana would shake her head as I asked questions, yea and nay, her eyes intent as she guided me through the etiquette of tending to the affairs of the dead. In between phone calls I fidgeted and cleaned, avoiding the comer with boxes of bandaids he got for his wounded legs.

His was a life of service; fixing farm equipment so a nation could eat; complaining little; earning an honorable living doing the job to the best of his abilities. Loving me; loving his kids; being the ‘best’ friend to many. He loved them too, lent a compassionate ear when they had doubts; giving direction only when asked.

Not me, he’d tell me exactly what he thought, how he thought it and why. He could be crabby, and ornery, full of viss and pinegar, with a ‘my way or the highway’ approach. And he worshiped the ground I walked on. I will miss that. I will miss the respectful courteous tone of his voice when he answered the questions of farmers and ranchers no matter how nasty they got. I know he respected the men and women he worked with and helped. Perhaps that was because he respected himself.

I will miss watching ‘Emergency’ with him. (The only certificate of Achievement hanging on our office wall is the one that says he participated in the State Pilot Program to become an Emergency Medical Technician-Intermediate) I will miss being irritated when his dirty Kleenex was left on the table after a bout of looking up parts for equipment. Most of all I will miss him.

There are many things I won’t miss; wouldn’t miss; keep coming back to as my mind swirls. I wouldn’t miss the 22 years we spent together raising two respectful hardworking kids; guiding them into adulthood. I wouldn’t miss the places we visited; the joy and comfort we found in each other’s company; picking out the half grown pup that curls up between me and our son’s dog to lick my face in the middle of the night; the firm hand shake of our son; the kindness that fills the face of our oldest when she smiles. Nope, I sure wouldn’t miss all that.

I always imagined, when I looked at the lives of others that I’d want their life; their style. But now, in this moment, I know better. I like my life; I like my style; I like the way I’ve spent the last 22 years.