When my husband was in the last year of his life, we coped with his terminal diagnosis by ignoring it. Literally. I mean, we did the necessary financial planning things and all. His will was put in order, and some other practical details like that.

But then we just LIVED. It wasn’t cancer, so we didn’t have to worry about pain. That was a blessing. We did all the things together we enjoyed. We lived day to day.

I think that was the right thing to do. His last months were not filled with fear and anxiety, even if that was due in some respect to denial.

I’m grateful for those months.

Written by

Writer. Runner. Marine. Airman. Former LGBTQ and HIV activist. Former ActUpNY and Queer Nation. Polyglot. Middle-aged, uppity faggot. jamesfinnwrites@gmail.com

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