I think about the neuro who had to tell us, “It isn’t if you take him off life support, it is when.” and what an awful way to start a day that must be – to clear the path like that for people you have never met before.

I think about phone calls, and hugs, and tears, and the ways that these wonderful men we knew rallied around us in these last hours. I think about my family and how much that day would be etched in our minds. I think of what happened afterwards but I try and keep that separate from the day John dies.

Like I said, the Saturday night was the only night I ever spent in the hospital. I got up about 3:30 and was hungry; I went down stairs to the vending machines and got some plain M&Ms. I was sliding in my sock feet in the elevator eating M&Ms and it was fine (wow, sometimes I realize how distorted my idea of “fine” can be). The neuro we only ever saw once said on Sunday morning, “the essence of who he was we lost sometime in the night”.

There are a lot of individual snap shots of people’s faces that I still carry with me, moments that are still completely clear today. There isn’t much to say in some ways. I was married in my 20s, he died 11 years ago. I am grateful for all of the days.