The Last Night of My Life

On the last night of my life, I made my husband a full roast beef dinner. Complete with golden roasted potatoes, crisp green beans, and dark, thick gravy.

We ate our dinner on our back porch, enjoying the July heat kiss our skin. A rich Pinot Noir filled our glasses and, in a sweet gesture of romance, two long tapered candles had been lit and placed on the patio table.

We sat and sipped our wine as the shadows grew longer, and the sky took on the blood orange colour that can be seen on clear nights before the dark comes.

A comfortable silence lay between us. There was nothing left to say. The time for words had come and gone. It was time to simply enjoy what we knew were my last few hours.

The children had come earlier in the day. My daughter, hovering like a hummingbird, and my son, stoic in his acceptance of that which he could not control.

It had been difficult, the past weeks, for the children more than me. Although they were grown, with small babies of their own, they still needed their mother. It was the one regret that I had, that I could not be there for them this time, as I always had before. Some things, though, are out of all of our control.

They understood my need for control. They understood that having control had been a cornerstone of my life, that without it I was lost. And now, in the final moments, I needed to feel that control more than ever before.

They accepted that this was my decision. They accepted that, when I had completed the task, their job would be to support their father. That was all I asked of them. To ensure the love of my life would continue to live his own.

Ah, my husband. My best friend and partner. Together since we were young, there had been nothing of significance in our adult lives that had not included the other. Our lives had been intertwined for so long that it was hard to remember a time before 'us'.

It pained me that I could not help him now. That, in his time of greatest need, it would not be possible for me to be there. As they say, though, 'life ain't fair'.

All I could give him now was a few precious hours at the end of my life, to hold onto for the rest of his.

I was tired, so tired. It seemed I was always tired anymore. Tired of fighting, tired of trying, tired of holding on when all I wanted was to let go. It was that utter exhaustion that had brought this idea to fruition.

This night, though, I could not afford to sleep. Not until the right moment. Not until the final sleep.

Together, we cleared the plates and glasses from the table. While he made coffee, I put on a sweater and made my way slowly back out to the porch.

Fondly I looked out into the backyard and beyond to where the forest began. I looked to the gardens, now fully in bloom. I recalled many years ago planting the honeysuckle that now covered the trellis and the ivy that blanketed the beds. Back when I was younger and healthy.

The sweet scent of honeysuckle now filled the air and a plump rabbit emerged from one garden to eat the clover that speckled the grass. The clover had always been an annoyance of my husbands, but I had always secretly loved it and the rabbits that it brought.

Barn swallows flew overhead, eating mosquitos and other small flying insects that hovered just above me. In the distance, the constant hum of traffic could be heard on the highway nearby. A sort of hypnotic throbbing, so familiar that I hadn't noticed it until now. Not until now, when there was nothing else to distract me.

To my delight coffee was served with cookies. Simple, modest delicacies that may not have been noticed any other night. Tonight, however, they were given and accepted with the utmost reverence and love. Standing together, each nibbling a morsel, my husband allowed a small smile to escape his lips as we watched one rabbit chase another.

When the cookies were finished and the coffee had cooled enough to drink I sat back on the couch. Propped up on pillows with my feet on his lap, we watched as the barn swallows became barn owls and bats. The nocturnal flying fauna performed a magnificent ballet against a background of stars and a full moon, clearly visible in the cloudless sky.

"Are you afraid?" he asked.

I looked at him. His blue eyes, so familiar to me, were now somber. He reached for my hand, and I smiled.

"No," I said. "I was one of the lucky ones. Many could only dream to live a life as full as mine. My fear was long ago before my decision was made. I feared that I would be disappointing you. Once I realized that I knew there was no reason to be afraid. I knew you would understand. I worry about you being alone, but I know that you will be alright. I know that the children will be alright. It will be hard for you at first, but it will become easier. With every day that passes, you will begin to live again. I am at peace. I have no regrets. I have only love now. What more could I want in my last moments? I am not afraid."

His eyes closed for a moment and fluttered open. In the moonlight, I could see a tear threatening to escape his eyelashes and he quickly looked up, refusing to allow me to see his own fear even in these last few hours. He smiled and kissed my hand.

I looked back up to the moon, listening again to the traffic nearby, and a barn owl screech in the distance.

The last night of my life was spent with the one I love most in the best way I knew how. I was enveloped in love.

There was nothing more I could want in my last moments. I was not afraid.