I once had a mentor and teacher who reminded me frequently, 

“One day you will breathe out, and out, and out, and never in again.”

It was one of the most stark reminders of our limited time on the planet.  And as I grow older, I have made it my mantra.  It is a stock taking sentence.

     This morning , my brother-in-law, my husband’s brother, Bruce, breathed out, and out, and out.  Only three short weeks ago he went to the hospital with weakness, difficulty swallowing, and a deep productive cough.  Still, he was laughing and joking with the ER staff.  Diagnosed with metastatic esophageal cancer, it ate his body up in only 3 weeks, but surely made its’ secret invasion months or years before.

     I have watched the best of humanity in Bruce’s wife , Bonnie, and my husband, Michael, during those 21 days.  When my daughter and I visited to say goodbye, Bonnie began video taping Bruce’s interaction with us and her.  She kept a running log of all the visitors, and whispered that she would always have it to watch when he was gone.

     As her husband lay in the hospital bed by the picture window Bonnie said,

“Love you, hon.”

He stared blankly.  The cancer had compromised his lungs, and the lack of oxygen to his brain had dulled his response time and memory.

She gently reminded him, “You didn’t say it back.”

He answered flatly, “I forgot.”

“Let me hear you say it.”

“I love you, too.”

“That’s better.”  She smiled.

Bruce dozed off and the three of us went to the kitchen for coffee and brownies.  We talked about old times and laughed; Bonnie read us the prayer that would be read at her husband’s funeral, and she talked about his ashes being made into a wind chime.  It was all so stunningly normal.  Bonnie had expertly side-stepped the grief for a little while.

Then she said,

“You know, I’m glad that Bruce is going first because I have a big support system, and I’ll be OK.  He wouldn’t have been without me.”

“But I’m most worried about Michael, Chris.”

This had been my worry for years.  Bruce was Michael’s only real friend since childhood.  Their days were filled with fishing, baseball, football, riding bikes all over Chester County, hunting, camping out, sledding.  They even built their own short wave radio and attached it to the metal garage door which served as an antenna; they actually got China!  As adults they owned a mountain cabin together and went there one week a month to hunt, fish, and just be brothers and men together.  Trap shooting was a weekly activity they shared their entire lives.  They were the kind of close that didn’t require speech; they knew what the other was thinking, and talk would interrupt the magic.

     Today, while dealing with his own grief, my husband was the calm voice in the room.  He gently urged Bonnie to call the hospice nurse and the funeral director.  Once her family arrived and the funeral director was waiting to take the body, he called each family member up to touch Bruce’s body for the last time; then he took his turn, and then Bonnie said her last good-bye.  He urged them to go to another room while the body was removed.  He stayed and helped lift his brother’s body onto the gurney, his last act, after 3 weeks of driving 2 hours each day to visit his best friend and brother for 4 hours every day.  He was and is the epitome of loyalty, steadfast devotion and love.  My hope is that when his time comes I will muster the strength do all that for him.  He deserves everything he has given.  And I’ll be OK on my own, just as Bonnie knows she will be.