He passed in the afternoon, falling asleep for the last time as she watched his eyes shut and his breathing mouth pull in air. She wasn't sure if this would be it--she'd been expecting the end for days. But this was the last. After an hour, he simply stopped breathing. Silently, his soul must have risen to join the waiting Jesus--wherever that place is. Silence. Relief. She touched his hand again. But this time, no warmth, no pulse. He was gone. She made the calls, let the crew in, and went through all the busywork that invades a home when something like this happens. She wanted to move forward into grief, like plunging forward into the surf when it's big. It might knock her down. She didn't know what to expect. They took him away. She and her daughter cleaned up the room and removed all the things that looked like a hospital: the IV, the medicines, the special pads and covers. With all that hard work, she was pushing towards eradicating Hospital and Death from her home. And she would make that dive into the large curling wave in front of her just as soon as she could reclaim her home that evening. And so she did. A normal dinner with her daughter. No more running over to her husband's every groan or gasp. Just moving forward to her new normal. Her first plunge forward would be laying down to sleep. She dreaded the new dreams, the waking up in the night, and the waking up in the morning. But she went to bed anyway. And she did startle awake, listening for his sounds. Silence. Her pillow was moist with perspiration. She turned to God in prayer, to find comfort in Him alone now. Sleep crawled over her again. She awoke again, this time light in the room. It was morning. Like any other. Except this time, that wave came crashing over her, thrusting her down towards the sand. She pressed upward to pierce the surface and breathe. In the ocean, in her room, she was alone. He was really gone. She could not hold onto him. More waves were coming. But God made her a good swimmer. Or a lifeboat might need to come out.