Not sure I should verbalize this one. But, here goes. Photo creds to Dan Granger the last time he got to watch his little girl play. And cheer her on. How he adored this!

Sitting on the front porch, coffee in hand, dogs watering the grass. I scroll my facebook on this day memories. Dan’s post stops me in my tracks. Tears. Sweet, cleansing, and wretched all at once. Love swells, hopes remembered, dreams rebroken.

If I’m brutally honest, this time last year we both knew his days were numbered. I mean, we never lost hope in the miraculous. Ever. But when cards start falling, it becomes impossible to deny the reality of the hand you’re being dealt. The question of “if” becomes how? when? where?

True to form, he didn’t want to talk about it. As usual, I did. This time, however, we didn’t discuss. I’m happy I got that right for once. Most of our 16 years I did not get it right. Always needed to talk things through. But last year… I got it right. Thank you God for giving me the ability to honor and respect his needs -over my own- in that season.

I know now he probably couldn’t talk about it with me. He related several conversations to me he’d had with a very few people about the deep issues. With me, though, it was off limits. Perhaps he protected, sheltered me from those pains. That was his way.

Besides, how could we…I mean, reeaaaally authentically share that journey?! Dan, headed for eternity, had the perspective of ending, completion. Ready or not. While I, tasked with carrying on, had to focus on adapting, changing and maintaining. Continuing to live, eventually thriving (again… one day…) for the sake of our daughter.

Seemingly, it’s as though everything we experienced and each successive blow to his health caused our paths to simply… diverge. He knew I knew the deal. I knew that he knew. Only he didn’t want to talk about it. That was just his way.

Our – silent unity.

Through all the uncertainty, every scare, each new bit of bad news, we talked openly of surface details and data and plans. But we seldom shared our individual, personal pain with each other – the deep soul clenching, gut wrenching honesty of fears and failures. And, in many ways, those weren’t important.

Most important? Forgiveness and apologies sought and granted without hesitation. Each in our own way using very few words. And time. Time spent together.

It goes without saying – we fought for his life side-by-side. Made decisions together. Charted plans — um, contingency plans. Righted paperwork. Set things in motion. And, glory be, we enjoyed just plain old time together like we hadn’t in years. Nothing magnanimous. Just alone, in the same room, comforted by the only company you always want around.

Even in the insanity of those days, I knew I was trying to soak in ‘extra’ time. As if to counterbalance all that I’d miss and long for later. Saturating myself in the deep well of love so my heart would never run dry. Memorizing being with him so I’d never forget his sound, or mannerisms, his expressions. As if marinating in ‘us’ to any extent would SO fill me to overflowing that I’d never be hungry for him again.

Ugh. Yes, it was desperate craziness and a frenzied fruitless pursuit. Asinine in its faulty premise. I became completely mesmerized by the utter finality. Incapable of behaving differently. It felt right the entire time everything felt so wrong. A moth to the flame of a dying fire.

The ache which haunts me -now- is recognizing his suffering that I couldn’t see or comprehend -then. The journey into death – when slow and seen on approach – must be a lonely one. Even the acknowledgement that I stood by him through every single thing I possibly could, doesn’t mean I was there every moment he wanted. Or needed. Oh, how that saddens me!

Would he have been more comforted had I stayed in the room every moment, each night, both hospitals, at home? Could I have done more to unburden his heart and mind? Possibly. But honestly, I don’t know if that’s even true.

Mummified – as I was – by details, duties, and scheduled responsibilities – I pushed pedal to the metal 24 hours a day. Operated on coffee and crap food. I lived according to formula. A + B = ability C. Subtract any variable and the formula falls apart. Auto pilot. Even as I slept -allowed solely for the sake of dealing with tomorrow- my focus was staying able, putting one foot in front of the other, making sure each next right thing was done well.

When it became necessary, I physically gave every ounce I could of my strength to replace his own dwindled power. He relied on me like never before. Or maybe, like he always had but never let me know. His allowing me to help and care for and wear myself out over tending his every need might be the greatest gift he ever gave me …after Cassidy. Oh Lord God Almighty, I pray I gave him something near as precious!

Yet still, I wonder how much more I missed than recognized. I kick myself for being so limited. It hurts me now, like so many things, to remember the resigned, sad eyed puppy dog look when I readied for bed. He accepted my best… and worst; he accepted my formula for how I operate. Even when it failed to fulfill his need, his comfort. Did he know I didn’t want to leave him? Just that I had to for my sanity in the chaos? Lord please, say it’s so.

Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not beating myself up. I share the journey in hopes others may see a reflection.

With the same internal voice I question, I also answer. And I know, without a shadow of doubt, we both did the absolute best we could -at the time- all crappy things considered. When and where ‘our best’ was not enough, we found grace. So, so much grace. And provision. And love, care, acceptance, patience, kindness… and a peace beyond understanding.

Oh! And prayer. We were so blanketed by prayer. Your prayers – the 1000s and 1000s of them – soothed the heart, mind, and spirit of my Dan Granger.

Your tenderness in caring for the three of us erased regret, cleansed bitterness, resolved every earthly pain in that man’s heart… save one. Cassidy Danielle Granger. His favorite wonderment. Most prized accomplishment.

Leaving her without her daddy and his missing the remaining years of her childhood, her transformations, and her future never made it to the “OK” list. Rightly so.

I often pray the Almighty allows our beloved a view of us from Heavenly vantage. I know there’s probably irreverence in that statement. Nonetheless, I hope Dan can see her. That he can cheer.