I never thought this day would come. I was suppose to go first. Seventy years old, kneeling by your bedside. The breathing machine beside you rises and falls with each forced breath into your lungs. The worst six words I’ll ever hear; “You need to make a choice.”

Telling our seven kids and twelve grandkids that you’re dying wont be easy. Tears pooled in my eyes, I kept smoothing out your hair and kissing your forehead. I never knew that time with you would run out. That time with me beside you would run out like embers snuffed out by the wind.

“You have to hold on,” I whispered, squeezing your hand and praying you squeezed it back. “I need you, Caroline. You can’t go without me.” I begged her for hours; my wife for over fifty years. “I can’t let you go. I can’t let them do this to you. I can’t let it all fade, love.”

I know what you would say. “You’re the only one I want, I would give my life for yours. My last breath, to help you breathe. You’re the answer to my questions. You have to let me go, Thomas.” But you were the one holding me together, mending the broken and healing the hurt.

Now I stand beside your bed, kneeling on crackling knees. “I’ll be your life,” I whisper. “I’ll live for you, my love. But I need you to help me. Help me make a choice. What do I do? Help me.”

The heart monitor slowed, the breathing machine tried to help her breathe. But the heart monitor fell flat in protest, the alarm weeped to a nurse who came in slowly, her eyes sad. My wife’s sickly hand slid from my tight grasp.

“Thank you,” I whispered, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Thank you for so much, Caroline. I’ll never forget.” I started out of the hospital room, pausing to look over my shoulder for a short second. “I’ll tell you all about our life the next time we meet— I promise.” I wipe the tear from the corner of his eye and pat the doorframe, bidding her farewell. I might be leaving her for now…

But it’s only temporary.