February 23, 2009

6:00 PM

I called to see how his test went. He was of course aggravated that the doctors didn’t know what they were doing – they never seem to know what they’re doing. I just laughed at him and said, “I can’t imagine that you weren’t part of the problem.” He laughed.

He was pretty quiet but I had an easy time understanding him. Usually I had to ask him to repeat himself a few times because of his rattled voice. He was very clear in his speaking.

He was worried about his throat and the fluid in his lungs. I told him not to worry. We would get it all taken care of after we got the results of his PET Scan. I told him everything was going to be okay. “I know,” he said.

I could tell something was different in him; I just couldn’t put my finger on it. I was on my way to a church class and had to go. I told him I would call him back tomorrow. He started to say something then changed the subject.

“I’ll let you get back to your chores hon. I know you’re busy.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I love you.”

“Love you too hon.”

That was it. That was the last time I ever spoke to him. Our last words were “I love you.” What better way to end the last conversation.