I remember sitting at the foot of your hospital bed. You’d made little improvement, still we thought you were on the mend. I’d been there close to a week and felt the pull to go home with the family. Knowing you were missing the kids, I promised you that when I returned, we’d all come.
I kissed your head and walked out the door and a couple of hours later I boarded a plane. Within 48 hours of my departure you were gone.
The decision to go home when I did still weighs heavy on my heart two years later. The scene replays in my memory all the time.