The Last 48

I have written so much about our journey over the last two years. To be candid, it doesn’t seem fair to shut you out now. As hard as it is to write these days, I have to ensure the entirety of our story is captured, expressed and shared. There are lessons here – big ones – and they aren’t only for me. If you will listen, feel and follow, these lessons are for you, too.

As was told to me in April: “Your angels are frustrated with you. You’re not getting it…and if you don’t get it now, you’ll never get it. You will only be a dreamer. You will never live your life to its destiny.”

I sat there in complete shock. In total shock because I wasn’t getting it. Me! I wasn’t getting it!

What a tragedy it would be for Nina, me and my little family to go through so much horror and have there be no lessons learned. There was no way I was going to allow that to happen. So, I became a student of the game.

I started praying daily and spending hours meditating to get to the root of my soul. I had to find the greatest lesson and I believe I did in principles of motivation: Ego, Fear and Love.

I pray you do the same. Rip the shield from your anahata. Read. Feel led. Damn your fears. Then follow your heart without using the filter of your ego.

I’m telling you…your purest vulnerability will be your greatest freedom.

I’m so happy I finally got in tune. As horrible as the last two days of Nina’s life were, I had such a peace because she navigated me through every step. I needed to be in tune so I could see, smell, hear and feel everything leading up to her transition. Without being open and vulnerable, I would have missed it all and ended up sitting here with such a troubled spirit.

But I’m not. I miss Nina, of course. There are really rough days ahead and I’m not looking forward to them. But I have to say I’m so happy to have gone through all of this – as crazy as it sounds. It’s absolutely beautiful.

Friday, 5 October

I awoke knowing we were standing just outside Heaven’s gates. She had been really sick for a long time and life was unsustainable. I tried to get her to eat with no success. I tried to talk to her with no success. I tried everything just to get a response with no success. So, I just sat for the day rubbing her head.

I was sitting upstairs that evening when I saw Nina. All of Nina. All of a healthy Nina. With a simple white dress and a brown belt and all of her long brown hair…I saw Nina.

She walked across the room and stood in front of me.

I said, “I know, sweetheart. You’re gone. I know you’re gone. I will always miss you. But just like tonight, I know you’re not going far. Thank you for all you’ve done for me. And I thank you now for all you will do. Walk boldly and wrap yourself in the arms of your father.”

With that, she was gone.

I didn’t sleep. I wasn’t stressed. I wasn’t mortified. I was…happily peaceful. I had gotten her to the other side with a heart full of love and – short of a cure – that’s all I wanted. That’s what I promised her father – that I’d do whatever it took to take care of his little girl.

And I did.

How cool, right? She came to me to show me she was gone. Like, how cool, right?

Could you imagine if I wasn’t tuned in and I missed that??? Dude. I would never be able to forgive myself. I saw Nina as an angel…while she was still physically here. She came to show me she was ok…and that she was gone.

Like…how flipping cool…this isn’t being lost on anyone, right??? HOW COOL!

Saturday, 6 October

What a long, stressful day. I had no idea what to expect. I think I had watched too much TV about dying and had the exact wrong idea of death. If you’ve never seen death up close, you have no idea. Like…zero clue. Do whatever it takes to keep it that way. You never, ever want to see it.

We made it through Saturday with nothing significant but I knew we were close.

I texted Nina’s surgeon at 7pm asking him what I should do. He told me to exercise the MPOA if I had to, but I needed hospice back in my home ASAP. Within minutes, hospice called me asking to come out right away. Not knowing exactly what they’d do, I told them to wait until Sunday.

I’ll wrap up Saturday evening in a moment.

Sunday, 7 October

I was jolted awake at exactly midnight. Her ‘rattle’ had started. I stayed up all night rubbing her head (by this time I know she was saying “will you stop rubbing my damned head???”) and telling her what a joy it had been to spend a few years as her husband…to be the father of her son…I replayed every minute of our wedding from memory…I talked about all of our trips abroad…

When the sun came up…I knew I was out of my league. I knew what I expected to happen was not going to happen. Nowhere close. When I called Lexi to come get Nikolas, I could not speak but she knew exactly what I was saying. That girl was at my house within seconds to grab Niko.

The nurse had started assessing Nina to get her pain back under control. I crawled in bed next to her and I could do nothing but sob. When I could finally speak, I told Nina to go home. Just to let go and run. That I’d miss her, but she had to go now.

The nurse left for the day but said to call him once Nina passes. I asked, “Will I see you back today?” He said, “Definitely.”

And I did. At 3:30 Sunday afternoon, Nina took her last breath.

For the first time in two years, she was completely at peace. No cancer. No pain. No devastation. She looked so incredibly graceful. She was…home.

Home. With her father whom she so adored. Home.

Back up 15 hours…

Saturday, 6 October

This is why I pray you find true vulnerability like a child. So you can feel. So you can listen and always know. So you can evolve and blossom beautifully.

I’ve always taken Niko to kiss Nina at bedtime. Since that boy could talk, every night he’s said, “night night”.

We both knew she was home. We both knew her work here was done. We both knew she was gone.

What a testament to being in tune with your vulnerable love in the brilliant eyes of a child. No logic. No ego. No fear. Just…pure, unadulterated love.

On Saturday night, he gave her a kiss, waved at her and said…”Bye Bye Momma”.

Wow.