Four years ago today my husband died. I like to think I was with him the moment he died but in reality I was there probably several seconds later. He wasn't breathing and the only sign of movement was a single ripple of a muscle in his arm, like a little wave. I just kissed him...on the head I think. And I said a little prayer.
It was the end of five weeks of utter nightmare. Stuff Stephen King couldn't come up with. I never knew the body and mind could turn on itself like it did with R. Liver failure is the work of the devil.
And here I am four years on. A completely different person. Those years have gone quickly.
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