Dying in Silence

Dedicated to my wife

You started the New Year’s Day of 2025, dying of cancer. That’s all I could think about yesterday. I’m sitting on the premise of a new year without you, and it feels so heavy.

All I know to do is pray and honor your courage during your time of dying.

Thank you, Chris, for our 44 years of marriage. I could not have been more blessed by God than to have a life with you. You turned my life upside down in a beautiful way. I could not have loved anyone else the way I loved you.

When a marriage is Heaven-sent and confirmed in Holy Matrimony, it lasts a lifetime. Our lifetime didn’t come easy. We had to put in a never-ending effort to overcome the obstacles of marriage.

Many trials and tribulations seemed to lay siege on our family at times. The only way we could make it through our lives was our faith and trust in God. He equipped us with the armor that we needed to fight the battles of life, and that included raising and losing a terminally ill child. I know you rejoice to be rejoined with our son in Heaven.

I miss all of you terribly—especially your hugs and kisses. I miss snuggling together until we fell asleep. It’s been very lonely without you. I am still trying my best to accept your death, but I am having a tough time with that.

Today, January 1, 2026, I want to look back on your last year here on Earth and honor your life, starting with the end of 2024.

Dying in Silence

I started noticing a change in you around the summer break of 2024, and I just attributed it to us both getting older.

You absolutely loved camping in our RV, but you seemed to be losing your enthusiasm. We didn’t camp much at all that summer, in September of 2024. We cleaned and winterized the camper, not knowing that would be our last trip.

In October of 2024, I noticed that you were slowing down much more than usual. You were tired all the time. When you were home, all we did was hang around the house. I believe that you knew that you had cancer already because I would ask, “What did the doctor say?” You would reply, “I’m fine, just getting older.”

In November of 2024, there was an even bigger change in you. You felt bad all the time and often lay down to rest. You didn’t feel like going anywhere. I was always concerned about you, but you would throw me off with spurts of being you. You cooked a fantastic Thanksgiving meal, and we enjoyed your break from school very much.

We usually put up the Christmas tree and decorations after Thanksgiving, but this time you wanted to hold off. I just went along with it.

December came, and you were no better; you were still constantly tired and withdrawn. I asked the first weekend in December if you wanted to put the Christmas stuff up again. Your answer floored me. You said, “ I don’t feel like doing it this year, and you asked me if I was okay with that. Of course, I said it was not a problem. This was a big red flag to me. I knew that something was not right. But every time I would question her health, she would say I’m fine, just tired.

January of 2025 came, and with it brought the smell of death. January was to me the beginning of the end. Chris was now struggling to make it through the day. She barely made it through work every day and would come home and go straight to bed. On the weekends, she never wanted to go anywhere except for where she had to. I was busy outside, blowing and raking up leaves, collecting tree limbs, and burning them. Trimming trees and bushes, and just doing winter outside stuff.

February came, and Chris was struggling so badly. She was going to the doctor frequently now because she felt bad all the time. She would make her doctor appointments after work so she would not use any sick time leave. She was very protective of her job and health insurance. She kept assuring me that she was okay, but I knew better.

In the middle of February, Chris asked me if we could paint the outside of the house. I said, “Why do you want to do that now?” I want it to look fresh and new for spring. I have ideas for the front yard as well. I want to change the mulch color and get the area ready to plant more flowers this year. She asked whether you can do that now. I said yes, I can, but I will have to work around the temperature and weather. It will take me a month to paint the house and finish all the work. She said, “ Let’s go and buy paint and supplies. So we did just that.

Little did I know then, but she was trying to keep me busy so my mind would not constantly worry about her, and my concentration would be on the house.

March came, marking the beginning of the end. Chris was getting very sick now, and she struggled to go to work every day. She went to the doctor every week during March. She used some of her sick days this month as well. She was struggling very badly, but kept insisting that the doctor was handling things and she was okay.

She was far from okay to me. By the middle of March, she was barely able to get through a day at work. The last week that she was physically able to work was the week of March 24th. She worked on Monday, came home, and went straight to bed. On Tuesday, the 25th, the same thing. Then, on Wednesday, March 26th, her last day to work was very upsetting.

I heard her drive into the yard and park, so I hurried to put away my tools and stop working to help her. It took me about 5 minutes to put everything away, and I went into the house, and she wasn’t there. I looked outside at her car, and she was still sitting in the driver’s seat, staring out the window, not moving. I ran out the door to the car, opened her door, and she was motionless. I said, “Are you okay?” and she said, “No.” I can’t get out of the car, I’m too weak. I got her out of the car and onto the couch, and she said, “I’m fine now.” Today wore me out badly. I don’t even remember driving home. I said, “Thank God, you made it home, okay.”

I asked her if I needed to carry her to the hospital to get checked out, and she said no. Just help me get undressed and get into bed. I’m exhausted. I said take tomorrow off and rest. She replied, I may have to. I got her in bed, and she managed to fall asleep.

Thursday morning, March 27, I got up at 5am to make Chris coffee, make her some breakfast, and get her lunch together. At about 5:30am, she walked into the kitchen and said I need you to take me to the doctor’s office as soon as I can get in. Something is very wrong with me.

We get to the doctor around 7:30am. I helped Chris out of the car and brought her into the lobby when her doctor walked out and said, “You need to go to the hospital right away.” And she said this to Chris with great concern in her voice.

We went to the emergency room at the hospital and told the front desk staff what the doctor told us to do. We waited for about an hour, then Chris was taken back for a CT scan. That didn’t take long, and we were sent to another waiting area. The doctor walked in about 10 minutes later, and what he said changed our lives forever. He looked at Chris and said, “It’s that time now; you don’t have long to live.” Chris started crying and said, “Thank you, doctor.” The doctor said we will admit you later tonight when we get a free bed. For now, we are going to keep you in the emergency area and make you as comfortable as possible so you can rest. At this point, I’m in disbelief and heartbroken over her condition.

Friday, the 28th of March, Chris called me around 6am and said I’ve been moved to a room. She gave me her room number, and I was at the hospital at 7am to see her. I got to the room, and she was awake and pain-free. I decided right then that I wouldn’t ask any questions and that I would be there for her. Doctors were in all day long, and test after test was done.

Saturday, the 29th of March, was another day of doctors and tests. No tests were ordered for Sunday, with a colonoscopy scheduled for Monday. Chris was not resting very well today. She was very agitated all day long. That evening, she gave me a list of things she wanted me to bring her from home. At 8pm, she said you need to go home and rest. She said, “Please go to church in the morning, and then come up here.” I said okay, kissed and hugged her, and went on my way.

What breaks my heart now is that this would be the last time I would see her awake. She went into an unconscious state that she would never wake from.

I arrive at the hospital to find Chris unconscious, and I could not understand this condition at all. What happened? I thought.

The hospital could not understand why she was unconscious and not awake because there was no reason for her to be like this. They finally told us that her condition was beyond their expertise and that they were sending her to another hospital for a neurological test.

The test showed nothing out of order, and her condition baffled them as well. She was transferred to another hospital for more testing.

On April 9th, the doctors had a family meeting with us and told us that there was nothing they could do for Chris and that she needed to be moved to palliative care in the Hospital. She was transferred to the Hospice Unit on April 10th.

The people in the Hospice Care Unit were top-notch people with many years of experience. They made our whole family feel right at home, telling us we could stay as long as we wanted because there were no visiting hours here.

Chris was on the ventilation machine when she was brought to Hospice. The family met again with the lead Hospice nurse to discuss Chris’s care and what to expect during this phase of dying. It was decided to take Chris off the vent on April 11th. She was expected to die shortly after the vent was removed. Well, that didn’t happen. When the vent was removed, Chris took one long and deep breath and started breathing normally on her own.

The nurse said that wasn’t expected to happen, but it does. The nurse walked us through what they were going to do next in the process of dying. They will remove all sources of nourishment for the body and only administer pain management because, with cancer, the pain can be horrible.

Chris didn’t seem like she was dying to me at first because she didn’t look bad. That did change very quickly, and I could see her face changing into what death looks like, and it was just heartbreaking to see. I just had to hold on to hope for a miracle, even though that’s precisely what it would take.

Her pain got worse, and she eventually had to be put on a morphine drip to manage the pain.

The night of April 19th came, and the family had all gone home for Easter Sunday tomorrow, and it was just Chris and me together in the room. Chris progressively looked worse throughout the day. She had developed end-of-life symptoms, and I was trying to be strong for her. I cried a lot that Saturday evening, knowing the end was near. I pulled out my chair bed and fell asleep uneasily, as I was afraid she would die alone.

I woke up out of the blue around 2am on April 20th, Easter Sunday, a wonderful day for Christians. Jesus arose from the dead and ascended to Heaven. Because he lives, we will also have the opportunity for everlasting life ourselves through Christ Jesus.

Chris didn’t look good at all. Her breathing was very slow now. She didn’t have long. At 2:45 a.m., she took her last breath. I stood there looking at her lifeless body with tears flowing down my face. I bent down and gave her a goodbye kiss, and she took one last long breath, and she instantly was in Heaven with her Savior and our son.

I was beside myself. I ran out of the room to the nurses’ station and said, “ Can you come and check Chris? I think she’s gone. The nurse hurried to the room, put on her stethoscope, and listened for a heartbeat. She looked up at me and said she’s gone. She then said there will be another nurse who will come by shortly and call the time of death for your wife. Then the nurse said I’m going to call your funeral home and get them headed this way to get Mrs Edge. I thanked her.

I stood looking and talking to Chris until the nurse came in to call the time of death. She told me to start gathering all of my belongings, and she would bring in a cart for me. She said you do not need to hurry, take your time.

It was about 5:30am when the Lady from the funeral home arrived. She was very kind and considerate in how she handled Chris. I stepped out while they put Chris in a plastic bag. The funeral home lady had draped a lovely blanket over her to make transporting her more respectful and honorable. The funeral home lady asked if I was heading back home soon. I said yes, I will be about an hour before I get on the road. She replied, I will call you in 2 or 3 hours.

I head home still in disbelief at what had just happened. I believe I was actually in shock. I was numb to the world. On the way home, I got to thinking about what a beautiful day it would be to go home to the Lord. Easter Sunday is indeed a blessed day for a Homecoming.

Fast forward to today.

Here it is, New Year’s Day 2026. I am a Widower that death has left alone to pick up the pieces of losing your only love. I think, how do you get by that? The honest answer is you don’t. You have to do the best you can because that kind of love never dies; it never leaves you, because it’s forever.

Death doesn’t separate someone from your heart; it makes sure they are forever there in spirit and love.

Chris, we made it to death do us part, and I want you to know that you are still the one who has my heart and the one I dream of.

Credit: Larry Edge

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Robert John Lange / Shania Twain

You’re Still The One lyrics © TuneCore Japan KK, Universal Music Publishing Group