My brother-in-law died this morning. He was a great guy. I could rattle off a long list of his good qualities, but one thing far outweighed everything else - he was crazy about my sister.
There was this cute thing they did. They'd started dating on a Thursday, so every Thursday since then, they would wish each other a happy anniversary. Only they treated it like a race to see who would remember to say it first. One of them would remember first and say it, and the other would pretend to be mad about losing the race and say, "I hate you."
This past Thursday morning, when my sister walked into his room in the ICU, he wished her a happy anniversary. My sister put on a pouty face and said, "I hate you."
But he said, "No, let's say it together today." When she asked him why, he said, "Because this is the last time."
The doctors had told them it was likely just a matter of days, but they didn't know when. Then last night he told her that he felt different, and he knew it wouldn't be long. She crawled into his hospital bed, and spent his last night sleeping in the crook of his arm, where she'd always slept.
There's going to be a really big hole in my sister's heart where her husband belongs.
