Ive been thinking a lot about what’s the worse thing Ive had to go through: watching George die or having him die. I waiver between the two but I think watching his demise takes for the worst thing I’ve had to go through. How brutal this time period is to the lead up solidifies it.
A year ago today I brought him home from the hospital to hospice. It was the last night we spent together in the same bed. He slept on his back and I curled up against him and rest my head on his clavicle. I miss his warmth. I miss his hugs, and most of all I miss begin able to kiss him.
I miss George.