On December 1, 2013, I woke at 5 a.m. to prepare enough potatoes for about 20 people who were to celebrate with us after church. My husband Ron was planning to baptize our youngest great-grandchild as a part of morning services. Though retired from the pastorate, he had baptized all four of our other great-grands, and their parents before them. We were looking forward to a happy Sunday celebration to complete a perfect Thanksgiving weekend. We had shared the traditional meal with Ron’s family on Thursday, then drove to our daughter’s house in Indianapolis to meet my late sister’s family for lunch on Saturday. Returning home late Saturday night, Ron unloaded the car, put travel things away, and woke me up from the couch when it was time for bed. No one would have guessed that he was the eighty-year-old or that I was fifteen years his junior.
I tiptoed to the kitchen that morning and was sleepily washing potatoes when I heard strange sounds coming from the bedroom. “Ron, are you okay?” I called. Not imagining he wouldn’t be. More gurgling noises. I walked the hall to the doorway and called again to the darkened room. “Honey? Are you okay?” No answer. “Ron!” I switch on the light. His open eyes stared straight toward the ceiling.
Rushing to his side, I reached for his left hand that flailed the air then grasped mine tightly, but he could only gurgle in response to my calling his name. I asked him to stick out his tongue, having heard that tip somewhere as the way to check for stroke. He was unresponsive. I knew in my heart what was going on, but my brain was in shock. “Ron, I’m going to call 9-1-1.. I’ll be right back.” The phone was just a few steps away. As I let go, his hand began flailing again, trying to catch hold of something firm while the world he knew fell away.
I came back to hold Ron’s hand, listening all the while to the calm words of the dispatcher, symbolically holding my hand with his steady voice. As the EMT’s arrived, Greg revealed he was my former student as was one of the responders who gingerly wheeled my husband’s gurney out to the waiting ambulance.
As the ambulance lights flashed in our driveway, I began calling the children., letting them know we were on a journey together with no certain destination – as we all are every day.
In it for the Long Run 