When my wife started pulling away from me and our daughter, I couldn’t understand why. My name is Kevin, and Levine and I have been married for 15 years. We share a wonderful daughter, Emily. About six months ago, Levine began to withdraw from us.
I noticed her growing distant, her smiles fading, and her nights becoming sleepless. I caught glimpses of her crying in the bathroom, but each time I asked, she would brush me off, saying, “I’m fine.” Deep down, I knew she wasn’t.
One evening, I pleaded with her, “Levine, please talk to me.” She turned away, her shoulders tense. “I just need some air, Kevin,” she murmured. I could see the pain in her eyes, but she refused to share it.
Yesterday, I returned home after picking Emily up from school to find the house silent. Levine had left without saying goodbye. On the kitchen table, I found an envelope with my name in her handwriting.
My heart sank as I opened it. Inside was a letter that revealed everything:
An envelope with a bracelet on top | Source: Flickr
My dearest husband,
*If you’re reading this, I am already gone. I couldn’t bear to tell you in person. I have been diagnosed with stage 3 cancer, and the doctors are not hopeful. It’s my deepest fear to become a burden to you and Emily. I want to protect you both from the pain of watching me deteriorate. I love you both more than life itself, and this is the hardest choice I’ve ever made. I am at Clear Life Center, a hospice two states away. Please forgive me.*
*With all my love, always,*
*Levine.”*
Tears streamed down my face. My wife had chosen to spare us the anguish she believed her illness would cause. Realizing how much I loved her, I packed a bag and told Emily we were going to see her mother.
When we arrived at the hospice, the reality of Levine’s condition hit me. She was frail, but her eyes lit up when she saw us. “Kevin, Emily,” she murmured.
“Mom, why didn’t you tell us?” Emily cried.
“I thought it would be easier this way,” Levine whispered, tears streaming down her face.
“We needed to be here, with you,” I said, gripping her hand.
We spent her last weeks together, fulfilling her wishes and sharing moments of love and laughter. Emily read her favorite books to Levine, and I held her hand each night until she fell asleep.
Levine passed away holding my hand, with Emily beside her, a peaceful expression on her face. Her last days were filled with love, not pain.
In her absence, I’ve come to understand the strength it took for Levine to make her decision. Her act of selfless love taught me that even in loss, love remains. As Emily and I adjust to life without her, we carry the enduring presence of Levine’s love with us.
