I remember the evening of June 24th, what turned out to be Irene’s passing early morning at 1:30am on June 25, 2024. The days had become more challenging for all of us, I can only image how she felt. Irene was visited that day by her younger sister Rosemary, and also by her mom and dad.

The Health Nurse had come earlier in the day, took all of Irene’s vitals, and told me that ‘it would be soon’. I nodded and thanked her for coming. We knew time was getting closer for Irene’s end on earth because her legs were cooler than usual, this was a significant signal.

Irene’s parents were familiar with the daily routine by now, and not staying any later than 6 or 7p. Days were long for me and by evening time, I was always exhausted. I am ever so grateful that on that day, Irene was visited by the Home Care nurse whose job was to bathe and clean Irene. Late afternoon she came to bathe Irene, wash her hair, change her gown, and also change her sheets. Irene was dressed in a pink nightdress that her mom and dad had recently purchased for her to wear. Something comfortable while lying in bed.

As the Care nurse performed her duties, she enlisted the help from Rosemary and myself to help turn and position Irene. I held Irene in a side-laying position, and it was the first time I had a strong feeling that there was something much more going on with Irene. It was the look she gave me. The long stare was one of despair, and I could see tears welled up in her eyes. That’s all she was able to give to me right then, just her pleading stare. And as our eyes were locked, I’m sure she could see the helplessness in my eyes. All I could do then was comfort her and tell her everything was ok.

I’m sure she knew then that our locked eyes would be her last in an exchange of non-verbal love between us both. I remember the look. Her gaze upward and to the left as her eyes fixated on mine looking overhead, saying so much without saying anything at all. She didn’t need to say anything, I could see her sadness. I could sense her sadness. Irene was telling me that her time was drawing nearer, and that soon I would be without her. I know she worried about me being alone, and I always figured that she’d be better at being single than I would be if the tables were turned.

The look in Irene’s eyes, her gaze, was a fast-forward retelling of 45 years together. Our lives together as one, with no chance of a do-over. This was it. The powerful physical bond between us both would soon come to an end. She had worked so hard to fight the disease with the mutual promise that she would eventually get all-the-way-better. It was something I promised her and something I couldn’t make happen.

That night before bed I spritzed Shalimar, her favorite perfume, on her gown and on her neck, and I took in that Shalimar scent with long deep breaths. The scent was intoxicating as it had always been on her. And she looked beautiful, pretty in pink. Her bath left her skin soft and smooth as it had always been. Hair laid out on the pillow above her head with one of her new hairbands laying across her hair, and now she was peacefully asleep. She would be physically manipulated no more.

No more.

As I laid by her side in the hospital bed that evening I rested my head in the familiar spot next to, and below hers. Just as I had always done, beneath her chin and off to the side. And after I whispered to her that she had worked hard, fought hard this whole time, I told her it was ok to ‘let go’. She “could fly now”, I told her.

Before falling asleep by her side and while holding her left hand I softly sang to her, The Miracle of Love. I sang the verses over and over as I comforted her with my presence and voice. What more could I give but loving assurance that she would be in my heart forever and that I would never let go of her, and that I would be ‘ok’. The miracle of love, will take away your pain. When the miracle of love, comes your way again.

Irene’s powerful gaze while looking into my eyes that early evening is indeed the miracle. The miracle of love.