When I was in first grade I can remember my teacher telling us to always say “I love you”, to those we loved, and to stand up straight. One of those things sunk in more than the other.
Since then I have always been a stickler for making sure my loved ones know how I feel. I try to end phone conversations with those three little words, and pepper them in elsewhere when appropriate. I especially do this with my little boys, I need them to know that even when they are in trouble, I still love them. They need to know that I will always love them, no matter what, and I need to tell them.
It always struck me that, for a guy, Eric was pretty good at this too. I noticed in our conversations over the last couple of years he was usually the first to say it when we were getting off the phone.
After Eric’s race he was stable in the hospital for the rest of that day and evening. I spoke to him on the phone a couple of times as did my parents. He was his usual, funny self. He sounded a little groggy, but we figured, if you’ve been shocked twice and put on pain meds, you’re allowed to be a little groggy. He assured us he was feeling fine and put on a brave face, although I’m sure he was scared. He sang to me from Fiddler on the Roof, “Chavaleh, Chavaleh, how could you let me run that half-marathon, Chavaleh?”. He was in good spirits and had Katie there with him. I was a wreck after hearing the news, and this helped to put me more at ease. It wasn’t until much later I realized that in none of these conversations did I tell him I loved him. I didn’t know it would be my last chance.
The next day I took the long flight out to Las Vegas by myself. He was in surgery when I left, but the prognosis wasn’t good and I pretty much knew what I was going to find when I got there. He was in a hospital bed, white bandages around his head, machines all around keeping him alive. I’ve seen lots of people like this, just not people I know and love. I remember thinking he was surprisingly warm. I told him I loved him over and over. I don’t know if he knew we were there or not, but that didn’t keep any of us from speaking to him.
I know Eric knew that I loved him. I still wish I had said it in that last conversation.
just in case... I love you!!!
ReplyDeleteSorry to keep comparing our two experiences, but I know how you feel re: wishing things had been different, even if those differences would not have changed a damn thing to the person we lost. My husband was technically the last one of us to go visit my mom in hospice the night before she died, and, three years later, that STILL gets me. :(
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