Swimming throughout the summer 2007 strained my endurance level way beyond all those long swims for Water Safety Instructor training. It was my husband’s last summer on earth and we did not know it until he emerged a living vegetable from three cardio procedures for heart disease.

Swim sessions I and II went fairly normal. By SSIII in July, Ed experienced TIAs (mini-strokes called trans-ischemic-attacks)—bouncing off walls, grabbing furniture to steady himself, and not moving out of a chair for 12-14 hours at a time. Begging, pleading, threatening, posturing, I became worse than bullhorn at a ballgame trying to get the man to a doctor. Finally, the family coerced him to a local cardiologist, who after examining, bluntly said, "He could die! He has 95% global occlusion." Fancy words for saying only 5% of his blood flowed freely.

For the past year, Ed’s countenance had begun to change. No longer excited about golf on a daily basis, he barely played once a week. A three hour lawn mow stretched into three days. He distanced himself from me. Participating in family activities lost priority as hardening of the arteries began its dastardly job of squeezing life, health, happiness and desire from its victim.

Since Ed's circulatory system was too fragile to support the invasive surgeries he would need, therefore, three procedures were spaced out over a two week period. The surgeons started with outpatient surgery opening the one remaining artery since 100% closure on second. This affected his body functions and created shortness of breath and a stay in the hospital. The next outpatient procedure involved a heart catheterization to determine worst closures. This procedure caused a stroke which put him in a coronary care unit and on the top of list for a quadruple bypass.

"We will operate tomorrow at 4:00," The surgeon told me as he scheduled for August 4, 2007. It worked out perfectly with the swim schedule as my very last class of summer finished at noon and I could be in his room a couple of hours before the operation.

We had our final goodbyes, kisses, and my last words to Papa Fishy, "You had better have a little talk with Jesus tonight because tomorrow is going to be a big day. I will be here as soon as I can." And I left. Little did I know but the next day a morning surgery was canceled and they wheeled Ed on the table as I was getting out of the pool.

Papa Fishy came out of surgery a vegetable. Besides being paralyzed on half of his body, he could no longer eat, drink, swallow, communicate, think, or reason. Things get hazy after that and life got even crazier. Between his first diagnosis on July 10 and the day he died on September 7, we spent every day in doctor’s office, a hospital lab, an emergency room, a hospital room, and/or a nursing home.

With the little life on the unparalyzed side, Ed yanked his feeding tube out five times. When finally sent to skilled nursing facility he passed out during therapy and suffered in pain daily emoting only with moans and high blood pressure, and thrashing. I could hardly stay more than two hours at a time, leaving every day in tears--helpless to help my poor suffering husband.

Ed labored through Labor Day and I was called to meet at the emergency room due to internal/external hemorrhaging. The ER doctor gently told me to call the family that he had only hours or a few days at most. I never really knew if Ed recognized me as his wife or someone he thought might be friendly. Just before he lapsed into a coma, however, he lifted his one good arm and with his hand patted my cheek. I wept into his hands, unable to contain my own pain of losing him forever.

Our family gathered and surrounded him with love. Everyone took turns staying in shifts for the three days he lingered in a hospital room. Finally, the last night, a Friday night and a big football game for Cody, our youngest of four grandsons, I encouraged all the siblings to attend the game in Henrietta and support Cody. They could come by afterwards and I would stay with Ed. After all, this was the night before our 45th anniversary.

Around 7:30 p.m., Ed took three light breaths and made it for Cody’s kick-off. We never missed a football game our three Paradise grandsons played. September 7, 2007 was no exception. Three days later, they acted as pallbearers as we buried their grandpa in an historic country cemetery where my grandfather and great grandfather are buried. A bumper crowd from around Texas came to support our saddened family and they did gladden our hearts.

Our PIERCE gravestone of black and grey granite will be erected any day now. One side shows our birth data; Ed’s death date and a Texas Tech double T between our names in honor of where we met and when we married our senior year at Tech. On the other side is a testimony to where our lives took us:

So long, Papa Fishy. Coming up will be my first summer without you. Thanks for all the years of making memories: building and enjoying a lake cabin, fishing, and boating; faithfully cleaning and managing our pool in South Texas; cooling off in the water after a day’s work in the hot Texas climate; enjoying family and friends at a luau around the pool to celebrate 30 years of marriage; and for the great coastal vacations in Texas, Mexico, and the Virgin Islands that bonded our family forever to each other and God’s wonderful recreational provision of sun and surf.

I understand that there is a River of Life in Heaven where you can savor the greatest of your personal pleasures --fishing, boating, and snorkeling. Enjoy. I will pop up from underwater one of these days and surprise you, Nosey, and Bandit.

Love you, Mama Fishy.