Greenland, New Hampshire, 6.50 am.
Our reader writes:
This was my husband's last view when he died at home last week.
On the last day before he fell into a coma, from which he did not again open his eyes, he sat up in bed and walked to this window. It was snowing on the first day of spring, and he wanted to see it for himself. You can see the bird feeders to which he tended, and the hammock which we desperately hoped he would have a chance to use to this spring.
He was the one who introduced me to The Dish, which was a daily feature in both our lives. At his memorial service this weekend, a dear friend read R.T. Smith?s “Sourwood,” which I had read while my young husband - the father of our four children and beloved master to two rescue beagles - was undergoing aggressive treatment for pancreatic cancer.
My husband?s last gift was of his own body, to Tufts Medical School, in honor of “Max” - his own first-year medical school gross anatomy donor - and all the others who have given themselves to enable physicians like my husband to learn their craft.
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