Since Mom passed in July, the most common question I’ve been asked is, “How is your dad?” Honestly, we were all worried about him, too. We knew it would be a tough transition for him. Even he knew that. He said he wasn’t sure how to be Mike without Martha. They had been together so long, we thought he might die of a broken heart not long after she did. I think if she had died soon after entering memory care, he might have shriveled up and followed her.

However, having 4 years to live “on his own” prepared him. He was keeping his chin up. He was getting out and staying involved in life. All of his language was forward looking. He was thinking about some trips to places he and Mom had been to, and some they had always wanted to see. He had planned to visit his cousin in SC after his trip to Orlando. He was pulling out his camera. Finding his luggage. Getting ready to live. He knew he was more limited physically than previously, so he was taking baby steps to figure out what his new normal would be.

At the same time he was making plans, he was also going to see Mom at the cemetery each week. He texted pictures of the trees changing. The views from his bench at her grave became familiar to my eyes. We talked about her often, but not in a sorrowful way. We laughed at things she would find funny. We talked about many of the places they had gone. She was a topic of conversation often and I found it reassuring that, emotionally, he seemed to find comfort in talking about her. He was healing as best he could. Determined, as Mike Hunter always was, to keep going with his life. But then, I caught a glimpse that he was having a harder time than we might have realized.

Each year, on the first Sunday in November, Grace-Calvary Episcopal Church has a special service to celebrate Christ’s victory over death on All Saints Day. During the service the name of each person who has passed in the previous year is spoken. After the service, the congregation meets at the cemetery where tables prepared with a feast. It is called Soup with the Saints. After lunch, there are prayers and blessings for those saints who have passed, then flowers are respectfully distributed on each grave. It is beautiful. Dad and I went last year to check it out because we knew Mom would be buried there this year.

This year it was cold and rainy day. We showed up at the cemetery, along with 3 other people. None of us had gotten word that the luncheon had been moved because of the weather, yet the flowers were sitting in buckets, ready to go. Our small little group circled up, said the Lord’s Prayer, and spread out with bouquets of flowers. Sweet. Quiet. Holy. Sacred.

I looked up and Dad was standing over Mom’s grave. He gently laid his bouquet on top of her. He stood with his head down, talking so quietly to her I couldn’t make out the words. My eyes filled with tears as I clearly saw how much the separation from her was costing him. After his whispers, he stood, leaning and resting his head at the foot of the cross. He cried. His posture revealed his shattered heart. More than I had seen. His sorrow overwhelmed me. I wept too. To see his pain tore me up.

Fast forward one week. Sitting in ICU. Watching him in physical pain was like a snap shot of the emotional pain I had witnessed one week prior. The shock of those hospital days still causes my heart to skip a beat when I think of it. His life was hanging in the balance. No way to know how it was going to turn out for a few days. However, when it became clear his body would not recover, he resigned to the inevitable. If this was it, he was ready to get on with it in typical Mike Hunter fashion. Bring on the comfort care. Let’s get this done.

He was ready to begin the reunion with his bride. In my mind, I see Mom waiting for him. Holding out her hand to take his. Fully in her right mind, knowing him and thrilled to see him on his way to her. She stands at the edge of eternity with Christ and allows her Mike to have his goodbyes with each of us. She is patient, but as we clear the room and head to dinner, she can wait no longer. It was time.

Jesus nudges her to run to him and grasp his hand in hers. She pulls him to her with her girlish giggle that he knows so well. Now that their broken bodies are left behind, their spirits intertwine and they are finally together again. The separation is over. The three of them dance and laugh together. Dad is face to face with the lover of his soul, who welcomes him home with great joy and celebration. They turn and head to the party where others are waiting with open arms. Dad is free of his body. He is free to fly as high and fast as he wants to go. His tears are dried up and wiped away. The separation has become a unification.