Fast forward about four years. Carl was in the ICU, fighting for his life. After hours at his bedside, my son and I decided to take a break and grab lunch.
The weather was beautiful, a stark contrast to the heaviness in our hearts. We chose to sit outside at a restaurant to breathe in the fresh air and momentarily escape the sterile confines of the hospital.
It was March 10th, 2023. We had just ordered our food and exchanged light-hearted conversation with our waiter when my phone rang. It was the ICU doctor. His voice was grave as he explained that the machines were the only things keeping Carl alive. He asked me to come immediately and give written permission to turn them off. I was being asked to end my soulmate's life.
The world around me blurred. I felt a visceral punch to my gut, and nausea welled up inside me. Tears streamed down my face as I told the waiter I had to leave. I asked him to make our order to-go and told my son to bring my food home after eating.
When we arrived, I had been starving, but now my appetite was gone, replaced by a knot of dread and sorrow.
Back at the ICU, a priest stood solemnly by Carl's side. Through a haze of tears, I signed the paperwork, trying desperately not to collapse under the weight of what I was about to do.
I sat next to Carl, holding his hand, my heart breaking. I whispered to him how much I loved him, thanked him for the incredible 29 years we had shared, and reassured him that we would meet again. With a heavy heart, I looked at the doctor and nodded.
The machines were turned off. Carl died that day. And my life changed again forever.
Comments