He and I had spoken on the phone days ago after I’d gotten his name from Father Jack in Chicago. Father Michael had driven over an hour to give me Last Rites, which I appreciated since I hadn’t been able to find other priests so open to my situation.
“You, too, Father.” I smiled as we shook hands. “So, how does it work? Prayer and oil?”
He pulled a small vial from his pocket and held it up. “Prayer, then I’ll say the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick, and place this oil on your forehead.”
“Doesn’t sound too hard.” I inhaled deeply, feeling hopeful. “Should we do it now?”
“Since this is to cleanse you of your sins, to be safe, we’re going to wait until after you’ve ingested the medication. We’ll have a small window of time, but enough,” Father Michael said, a comforting smile on his face that reminded me a lot of Father Jack.
I thought back to what Father Jack had told me. He loves me. That will not change. I knew in my heart, and had to hope I wasn’t kidding myself. This was the right choice for me. There was a peace and comfort in the depths of my soul when I thought about it. But I also knew that whatever God thought, the bottom line was as simple as what Father Jack had told me.
Whatever I decide, whatever I do, He loves me. That will not change.
I looked at everyone around me. My dad gently rubbing my legs. Elly’s face tilted to me, her arm flung around my waist. Beast between us, his chin resting on thigh and his little eyes on mine. Kyle, holding me, his lips pressed to my temple. Malaika stood off to the side, her eyes full and sad, and her arms resting on her stomach as if hugging her child. The priest, poised and stoic, stood next to her, the Bible in one hand, and blessed oil in the other.
I took everything in, as if it could be a memory I’d hold on to forever. And maybe it was. Wherever I was going, whatever would happen to me…this moment would be the sum of my life. This would be my legacy. These people, these hearts, this spirit… this is who I was when I lived.
“I’m ready.” I picked up the first bottle.
No one moved as I unscrewed the lid, and dropped its contents into my hand. I placed the empty container on the nightstand and grabbed the glass of water. Placing the pill on the back of my tongue, I held the glass of cool liquid to my lips and swigged down a few gulps.
The pill slid down my throat easily.
Nothing happened—not that I’d expected it to—and I reached over to grab the second bottle. I took a couple more sips of water, double-checking the first pill would stay down, before opening the second bottle and dropping the capsules in my hand.
I balanced the glass of water between my thighs and cracked open each capsule, dumping its contents inside. Swirling the glass, I watched it dissolve and mix.
I glanced around one more time at everyone I loved, then I lifted the glass to my lips, surprised at the tears stinging my eyes.
I swallowed the first gulp, grimacing at the bitterness of the taste. Rushing, I chugged the rest—every last drop. My stomach churned, and my mouth felt prickly and chalky. I dropped the glass down on the nightstand with a slight clang.
“That tasted like ass.”
Everyone burst out laughing around me, even the priest.
I quickly covered my mouth. “Sorry, Father.”
Malaika handed me a small chocolate bar. “Here, I got you this for the taste.”
My mouth fell open, and I took it from her with a big smile. “Malaika, you are everything good.”
I unwrapped the square of chocolate and placed it on my tongue, rolling it around my mouth and letting it melt. The bitter taste of the medication was gone in seconds.
Father Michael moved forward and took my hand, his head bowed. He began to pray and I closed my eyes with him. He prayed for my salvation, for my soul, and for my sins. My heart swelled when he prayed for my family, that they would be healed from the pain my death would cause.
Finally, he let go of my hand, and I looked up at him as he spilled several drops of oil from the bottle onto his finger. He wiped it on my forehead in the shape of a cross. “Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in his love and mercy, help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit. May the Lord who frees you from sin, save you, and raise you up.”
“Amen,” my dad said, squeezing my foot.
“Amen,” Kyle repeated, kissing my temple.
“Amen,” Elly said, hugging my waist tighter.
“Amen,” I said, my eyelids feeling heavy.
Father Michael stepped away, and I thanked him and Malaika once more.
“I’m so glad I met you,” Malaika said, her voice thick and heavy with emotion.
I smiled and put a hand over my heart. “You, too, Malaika. Thank you.”
I looked down at my dad, his shoulders were slack, but his jaw set in a tight line, as if in pain. So, I said the only thing I knew to say…the only thing that mattered anymore. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, sunshine on a cloudy day.” He blew me a kiss. “Rest now, there’s nothing more you need to do. You’ve done it all, and I’m so proud of you. We’re here now. You can go.”
His calming words filled my tired soul, and I squeezed Kyle’s hand in mine, my other hand stroking Beast one last time before moving up and squeezing Elly’s shoulder.
Everything was done. Everyone was here. The papers were signed, the plans were scheduled, and all the things I’d ever wanted to accomplish in life were completed.
Twenty-nine years I’d walked this planet, and it was summed up in this moment. To the people here with me in the very end.
To marry the love of my life.
My head felt heavier as I kissed my husband. “I love you, Kyle.”
“I love you, Tessa. Always.”
Check.
I ran my hand slowly through my baby sister’s hair. “I love you, Elly.”
To become a mother.
“I love you, Tessy,” she replied, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Check.
To write a book.
Check.
Epilogue
CHICAGO, IL - October 2, 2014 - Tessa Falls, maiden name Tessa Barnes, of Chicago, Illinois passed away on October 2, 2014 in her lakeside cottage in Burlington, Vermont. Her father, her sister, and her husband surrounded her in her final hours. She was the third person in the state of Vermont to end her own life with the newly passed Vermont Patient Choice and Control at the End of Life Act. Her husband Staff Sergeant Kyle Falls, her father Master Sergeant Glenn Barnes, her sister Elly Barnes, and her dog, The Beast, survive her. She will be returned to her hometown of Chicago, IL for internment in the family plot, and a small, private funeral will be held on October 5th, 2014 for close friends and family.
* * *
My wife, Tessa Falls, died on a Thursday at 3:47 p.m. after six months battling cancer. She was in our bed in our rented home in Vermont, her head on my shoulder as I lay next to her with my arms around her. I caressed her head gently, running my fingers through her hair and whispering to her how much I loved her.
Our dog lay against her hip, and when she passed, he whimpered quietly.
Her father sat at the end of the bed, and he sang softly to her until she was gone. His melodic voice slipped from love to sorrow, and the grizzly man I’d come to know as stoic and rarely emotional, bowed over his daughter’s legs and cried against her knees.
Her sister, Elly, lay her head on Tessa’s chest. She told me she was listening to her heart, because she couldn’t stand to miss the final beat. She said someone needed to hear it and remember it had happened. And when it did, she cried too, refusing to move from her sister’s body as much as I refused to let go, too.
The first drug kicked in after only a few minutes, not long after she received her Last Rites from Father Michael and telling us each she loved us one more time. She fell asleep then, and to be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her face look more peaceful. I felt the slump in her frame as consciousness left her, but none of us
moved, no one let go.
The nurse checked her vitals, but her heart was still beating.
The second drug took effect about forty minutes later. I watched my wife’s chest rise and fall with each breath slower and farther apart. Elly tapped her finger against Tessa’s hand every time she heard a heartbeat. The time between taps lengthened, until each one seemed it would be the last. Our bodies would tense and we’d look at each other and wonder if this was it… if she was gone. Then her chest would rise once more and Elly would tap her finger.
Until there wasn’t one more.
The nurse, now a close friend named Malaika, stepped forward and checked again. Her eyes closed as she concentrated. When they re-opened, her sorrow was evident and she shook her head slowly.
My Tessa was gone. Our Tessa.
And still none of us moved, no one let go.
Elly cried, hugging her sister’s body harder, calling her name over and over, her voice so full of grief, it broke all of our hearts. Her father no longer tried to be stoic or strong, but instead openly sobbed for his daughter. Tears streaked my cheeks, but I didn’t make a sound. I held my wife’s body against my chest and closed my eyes tight, praying things could have been different.
That we could have been forever.
They let us cry for as long as we needed, until each of us was too exhausted to shed one more tear. Her father left first, kissing her cheek and whispering his love one last time, before leaving with Father Michael, who was praying over him. Elly left next, her voice hoarse, and her eyes swollen and red. She kissed her sister’s cheek, told her she loved her, and left with Malaika who would go call the funeral home.
After they had both left and I was alone, I laid Tessa’s body out flat against the bed and folded her hands across her chest. I kissed her on the lips, my forehead on hers, and said goodbye to my wife, to the love of my life, to my soulmate.
I tried to pick up Beast from where he lay against her hip and take him away, but he growled at me, and I understood how he felt. So, I left to go find my family. Beast stayed with the love of his life, curled against her side, until her body was eventually removed. He refused to eat for days after, and hasn’t been the same dog since, but sometimes I see glimmers of the old Beast, and the ferocity he was once famous for. I miss that Beast.
And I miss Tessa.
I flew home the next day with her body. Her father and sister drove back after packing what little belongings we’d brought with us in a trailer and hitching it to the car. Her obituary was published in the local paper and in Chicago, and the national news picked up her story yet again. I fielded phone calls and emails, only replying to some. Catholic officials asked me to reveal who had performed Last Rites, but I wouldn’t say. Media outlets called her death a tragedy, and I agreed. People vilified her choice, and I ignored them.
There was no wake or huge funeral, we’d already done that at her New Year’s Eve party. It was only a small group of people who loved her and stood around her grave trading happy memories as her ashes were lowered into the ground. We covered her with dirt, and hugged one another, and then everybody went back to their lives as normal.
Except me.
I returned to an empty house in Chicago, and stared at the bed we’d slept in so many times together. In that moment, I realized for the first time, I was a widower.
I slept on the couch with Beast instead.
A week later, I received a beautiful card in the mail. Malaika had gone into labor the following day, and birthed a beautiful baby girl, who now had the middle name ‘Tessa.’ I cried and called her, thanking her for carrying on Tessa’s memory in such a beautiful way. She told me Tessa was a special woman, and should always be remembered, and I agreed.
Marley came to Chicago for the funeral and ended up never leaving. She said she fell in love with the city, and she landed a job in media at the same nonprofit that Tessa’s book is partnering with. She still did freelance writing on the side, and I read all of her work. There was no doubt with her talent, she was going places.
Tessa’s book sold quickly to a publisher who worked with me to keep Tessa’s vision. They asked me to be the face of the launch, doing the interviews and spreading awareness of Tessa’s message, and I reluctantly agreed. I wasn’t one for being on camera, but I knew what this book meant to Tessa, and her words were beautiful—the world needed to read it.
There are no blatant messages or call to arms in this book. It is just Tessa’s story about the way she loved and what’s important in life.
That’s who she was, and that will be her legacy. Everyone who reads this will be her legacy.
Around the time this book was released a little under year after her death, there were twenty-five states, including Washington, DC, considering Death with Dignity. California eventually joined in passing it, but as of this writing, no other state has. Despite that, her book quickly became a bestseller, and I ensured the profits were split between the charity she’d chosen and her sister’s schooling.
Beast and I moved closer to my job, to a small apartment in the center of Chicago where everywhere I turned didn’t remind me of her. I was honorably discharged from the Marines the following year, and took a six-month sabbatical to decide what I wanted to do with my life.
Beast went to live with Elly during that time as I, for reasons I still don’t fully understand, agreed to travel with my family all over the world seeking ‘spiritual enlightenment,’ as my mother called it. I don’t know if I ever found that, but I did find some peace and a renewed energy that grief had long since drained from me.
Elly continued to live in New York City and graduated college, only to start medical school a semester later thanks to the book sales paying her tuition. She had planned to be a doctor of physical therapy once upon a time, but is going the oncology route instead.
Tessa’s father still lives just north of Chicago, and has actually met a woman his age that he calls his special friend. She’s lovely and a little strange, and I know Tessa would have approved.
Both Elly and he are still very close to me.
We talk on the phone every week, spend holidays together, and have dinner together as often as we can. On the one-year anniversary of Tessa’s death, we went to her grave and sat there for hours, just telling stories about her.
Beast sat by her headstone and wouldn’t let any of us hold him until it was time to go. He just kept staring past my shoulder, something he does frequently now, and I wondered if he saw her…if she had kept her promise and is watching over us.
I like to believe she is.
She would have been thirty years old a few days ago—an age she said she never wanted to be. I still miss her like it was yesterday.
I know I promised her I’d be open to moving on one day, and I think I will be eventually, but today, I’m still Tessa’s husband.
And I still love my wife.
Always.
Acknowledgments
This book broke me. I spent so long fighting it off, begging it to stay silent, but it refused. Tessa’s story needed to be told, and I needed to tell it. When I finally typed Tessa’s last words, I cried…hard. I sobbed against my computer so much, I was sure I’d short-circuited it.
And then the fog lifted, and the intense feeling of need to get these words through my fingertips was gone. I’d done Tessa justice. I’d told her story.
And now the rest is up to you.
* * *
I want to thank Nicole Resciniti, who brought life into the world the same week I took Tessa’s to the page. My agent and friend, she believed in this book before anyone else even knew about it, and she cried over it before anyone else ever could. She has always been one of my biggest supporters, and I can’t possibly say thank you enough.
Thank you to everyone who had read my books, shared with friends, and helped spread my work with other readers. It’s because of support like that I can continue to live my dream, and that means more to me than I’ll ever be able to e
xpress.
Thank you for opening your mind to a difficult topic, whether you agree with Tessa’s decision or not. Thank you for giving her a chance and for talking about it. That’s all I ask—whether you hate it or love it—talk about it.
Talk about the women like Tessa who never had her choice.
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About the Author
Photo Credit: Valerie Bey
Sarah Robinson is the Top 10 Barnes & Noble and Amazon Bestselling Author of multiple series and standalone novels in the romance genre, including the Exposed series, The Photographer Trilogy, Kavanagh Legends series, the Forbidden Rockers series, and Not a Hero: A Marine Romance. She has recently penned her first women’s fiction title, Every Last Drop, and is branching into a whole new genre.
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A native of Washington, D.C., Robinson has both her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in forensic and clinical psychology and works as a counselor. She owns a small zoo of furry pets and is actively involved in volunteering in her community.
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