The memories of Troy’s last days just keep replaying over and over in my mind. The Monday after Father’s Day he was admitted to the hospital and was started on antibiotics for the pneumonia. They weren’t sure of the strain of bacteria that had invaded his body. He seemed to be doing fairly well. They were going to move him to a regular room on Tuesday but he never made it there. He took a turn for the worse, he was having so much trouble breathing. He was gasping for air. The texts he sent me before he went to bed sounded like he was doing so good. Something happened in the middle of the night that turned things all around. He was struggling to breathe after that. I hate having that image in my head. I couldn’t do anything for him. I couldn’t make it better. I wanted to take him home and start the week all over again. I was mad at him for getting sicker. Even though he couldn’t help it. I wanted him to be well. I wanted him to laugh like he always did and make everything all right. He was always so positive about things. He told me that day when I was at the hospital that we had a good life together. I think he was trying to prepare me for the inevitable. This may sound selfish but I couldn’t bear to watch him struggle to breathe. It was more than I could take. I just kept praying he would get better. I asked all my prayer warrior friends to please pray for him. And they did. But it just wasn’t meant to be. No matter how bad I wanted it, it just wasn’t meant to be.
Jane is a Widow 