by Tracy Grant, Washington Post, 30 August 2016
Ms Grant, deputy managing editor at the Washington Post, reflects on the death of her husband.
Ten years ago this month, my world as I knew it ended.
My husband of 19 years, the father of my two sons, was diagnosed with terminal cancer.
Over the course of seven months, Bill went from beating me silly on the tennis court to needing my help to go to the bathroom and bathe.
It was the best seven months of my life.
Maybe I don’t actually mean that. But it was certainly the time when I felt most alive.
Ten years later, I haven’t started a foundation to cure cancer. I haven’t left the news business to get a medical degree. I work. I pay the bills. I try to be there for my sons. I will never again be as good a person as I was when I cared for Bill. I will never again have that high a purpose. But every day I also try to find and put into practice the person I became during those seven months. I try to be a little less judgmental, a little more forgiving, a little more generous, a little more grateful for the small moments in life. I am a better person for having been Bill’s caregiver. It was his last, best gift to me.
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