Two years ago, Ginny Messec, the light of my life, died Nov. 27, 2019, the day before Thanksgiving. She had left the hospital two weeks earlier following 20 months of dealing with AML, a particularly fierce form of leukemia. She told the doctor she had no desire to die in a hospital. And so she didn’t. She went into home hospice care so she could be with me and our dogs for the end.
Grief is a hard thing. You wake up each day like it’s a normal one. Feed the dogs, drink coffee and try to figure out just what you’ll do for the rest of the day. But a huge hole has been carved out of your life and you spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out how you live without her. Time passes, friends and family check in to see how you’re doing. And you’re not really sure how to answer them. Life does go on and you find a certain balance to it, telling stories, laughing with friends, spend time with your sons and their wonderful wives. Things do get better but the feeling of loss never goes away. You’d still want to hear her voice, relish her laugh and make plans. She was always good about making plans. And soon, it’s been two years. And you know that grief has no timetable. But something you read keeps echoing in your life. Grief is hard but grief is the price we pay for love.
Ginny will be with me forever and that’s a good thing. Her death on the eve of Thanksgiving was a mean curve but I am thankful for the 43 years I had with her. I miss her deeply, miss the closeness and the fierce kisses she delivered. Ginny did not believe in half-measures. When you love, you love all the way. And so I will.
Love you, Babe. As you said, see you on down the road.
S.A. Junk 