This story is very emotional and difficult, so I can’t include every painful detail here. You can read the continuation through the link in the comments 👇‼️
If you don’t see it, change the comment setting from “Most Relevant” to “All Comments.” 👇👇
PART 2
I fell asleep in a chair in the hospital hallway. When I opened my eyes the next morning, our daughter Rachel was sitting beside me. For several seconds I looked around, confused, and then asked, “Where’s your father? What room is Robert in?”
Rachel froze.
Then she started crying.
That was when the nurse who had spoken privately with Robert the night before approached us carrying a dark blue notebook. She handed it to Rachel and explained that Robert had asked her to give it to our family after his death.
For several months, my memory had been getting worse. I misplaced things, repeated conversations and sometimes forgot why I had gone somewhere. Doctors had warned us that I was experiencing significant cognitive decline, but I often forgot how serious those conversations had been. Robert didn’t. While he was dying, he had realized that I might wake up one morning and forget that he was gone.
