From Publisher Bob David:

Around 1970, the author of this article seized an opportunity to kill a man who he was sure was intent on killing him. He was convicted of first-degree murder and given a life sentence.

Despite this glaring truth, Wilfredo grew to earn the sincere respect of all who knew him during his long incarceration. A prison volunteer since 2001, I came to love this man as a living monument to kindness, good humor, generosity of spirit, and strength. “Amazing that someone in prison for murder is the most compassionate person in the world,” said one of his peers not long ago.

Wilfredo wrote this account in early 2008 at my request. It is a tender description of how he married the woman he loved for 22 years only after she was diagnosed with cancer, and then how, from the confines of prison, he cared for her until her death several months later. As fate would have it, Wilfredo himself, spirit undaunted, died of cancer on November 20, 2008.

His story is written in a simple and straightforward manner. It is lengthier than we usually publish. We trust it will be well worth your read.

The photo above is of Regina and Wilfredo on their wedding day in the prison’s Visiting Room. All subsequent photos are of carvings that Wilfredo did in prison in 1993 and 1994 and sent to Regina. The captions that appear with some are the inscriptions he wrote on their undersides.

THE DILEMMA with life is that nothing comes easy. When we realize that pain, sorrow, compassion, suffering, love, and happiness are all part of the same package, then we have learned a good lesson.

• • •

In the days when Massachusetts allowed furloughs for its prisoners, I participated in a program called the Concord Achievement Rehabilitation Volunteer Experience. Accompanied by an officer from the prison, we would go to the Walter Fernald State School to work with children labeled mentally retarded. I enjoyed this work. It pleased me to see the children making progress.

It was here that I met my future wife, Regina. I entered the crowded cafeteria one day. My eyes went straight to where she was sitting. I bought my lunch, walked over to her table, and asked permission to sit by her. She said yes, and that was the beginning of our 22-year relationship.

Regina was a social worker at the Fernald. She told me she liked how I interacted with the children. She was different from any other woman I had been with, soft-spoken and respectful towards others. Seeing her actions so full of love and compassion, I knew I couldn't treat her the way I was used to treating women. She taught me how to express my feelings and how to communicate better. In Regina I gained a teacher, a friend, a partner, a lover, and eventually a wife.

A few years into the relationship, she said to me one day in the prison’s Visiting Room, "You are stuck with me. I am here to stay. I am not going anywhere."

• • •

I suffered with Regina through her mother’s lengthy battles with both colon and breast cancer, which finally took her mother’s life in September of 2003. In November that same year I was diagnosed with bladder cancer. I cannot say anything about this to Regina after all she's been through with her Mom, I thought to myself. However, the consensus of the "Growing Together” group I attend regularly in the prison was that I should tell Regina about my situation.

"But I don't want to cause her more pain and frighten her."

"If she were sick, wouldn’t you want to know?” Robin, the facilitator, asked.

”You owe that to her. She has the right to know," urged fellow inmate Alves.

Fours day later Regina and I had the conversation in the Visiting Room:

"Why did you want to keep it a secret from me?”

"Because your mother passed a couple of months ago and I didn't want to put you through this again."

"And why are you telling me now?”

"Because a cystoscopy was done and they didn't find anything, and because in the group with Robin they all thought I should tell you. Robin asked me, if you were sick, wouldn’t I want to know? Of course I would want to know."

"If you weren’t going to tell me, how would I know that you are not lying to me now?"

"Because I wouldn't lie to you, and because the doctor said I was okay.”

She trusted me. I never lied to her and she knew it. Once she relaxed, I told her how I was going to write my eulogy. She just shook her head.

Things picked up for Regina after months of grieving her mother’s death. She bought a condominium. She didn’t like the color it was painted, so I asked an inmate friend whose brother worked in construction to help out. The brother went to the condo with some friends and repainted it. I think I had more fun watching her tell me about the experience—how she eagerly tended to the workers and hurried about to get things they needed—than she enjoyed it herself!

But the happiness didn’t last long. Only days later Regina told me over the phone that she had woken up with a black and blue spot on her breast. For two weeks the doctor tried oral and then intravenous antibiotics. Then he did a biopsy. When Regina’s best friend Denise told me it was cancer, I felt a rush of pain breaking through every part of my body, ending up in my chest. Denise gave me the number for the hospital room and I called right away. Regina cried.

"We will work with this situation together. Don't worry," I told her. “Don't think negative. I am at your side.”

On Tuesday, May 25, 2004, Regina went home from the hospital. The next days brought tests and consultations with her doctors on a plan for chemotherapy followed by surgery. Finally she came to visit me. We were sad but glad to be in each other's arms. Soon she decided to test my feelings for her:

"Would you still love me if I had only one breast?"

"Yes, Regina, I will always love you.”

"What about if I lost both?" she shot back.

“Regina, I don't love you only because of your breasts, or if you have one breast more or one less. Or if your weight goes up to 300 lbs. or drops to 110. I don't base my love for you on those superficial characteristics. I love you for what and who you are inside. Don't worry about those little things because I am not worried about them.”

"I know how attracted you are to lame women," she responded with a smile.

"That’s because their abnormalities don’t matter to me, and I’m glad that you know that.”

"When I start the chemo I'm going to lose all my hair, and you are going to have a bald woman."

"And she is going to look beautiful, too. Look at Grace Jones, how beautiful she is, and she is on TV! Also, look at Demi Moore with no hair when she made the movie G.I. Jane. You can't even be compared with them, because you are the queen!"

"The doctor told me that he can reconstruct my breast right after the operation. What do you think?"

"Regina if you want to be reconstructed, it's okay. But since you are asking for my opinion, I think if you do a reconstruction right after the operation, it's going to take longer for you to heal. You should wait until after you are all healed and then do it if you still want."

"I think you’re right… Are people allowed to marry in here?"

"I believe so."

"I own property, and if something happens to me, you are my husband and I want you to keep it."

"Regina, nothing is going to happen to you. Why don't you leave that to your nephew and niece."

"My brother has three houses that he’s going to leave them. You are my husband, and even if we don't get married, I still will make sure you get it."

"Regina, I will marry you for the love I have for you, and for our love together. I’m going to find out all that has to be done so we can have our wedding. After all, you have been my wife for 22 years anyway."

• • •

It was the first marriage for both of us. The wedding took place on September 12, 2004, in the Visiting Room. She was surprised to see the setup. She wasn't expecting flowers, soda, and a nice strawberry-topped cake. I was permitted to invite a few fellow inmates. Rules allowed five outside guests, whom Regina chose: Naomi to marry us; her friends Denise and Sandra; and Robin and Bob, volunteer facilitators I had known for years from the Growing Together group. Regina loved the setting and I loved her happiness. As we danced to Sandra’s beautiful singing of "Over the Rainbow,” her eyes stayed lightly shut and a soft smile lingered on her lips. I said nothing so not to disturb her thoughts. Knowing that she was happy was good enough for me.

• • •

Two weeks into her chemotherapy, she was in tears when I phoned her.

“What’s wrong?!”

“My hair is falling out by bunches. I’m losing all my hair!”

"Regina, please don't worry about that. I’m sure you look wonderful. Besides, the hair will grow back. Think positive. You want every cell in your body to be strong and energetic to help in your healing process.”

She was wearing a wig when she came to visit me a few days later.

“You look marvelous, love!"

"Yes?"

“Oh, yes!"

“Would you like to see my bald head?"

“Yes, please!"

She lifted up her wig to give me just a peek.

“Come on, I want to see more.” I begged her. She lifted it up again and I planted a kiss on her head. “You look fantastic!"

The following week she came with a turban and no wig. Her accepting the situation and feeling more comfortable with herself pleased me greatly. I told her she looked so radiant that I wished she had worn the turban even before her cancer. The next visit she surprised me with no wig and no turban, just her beautiful bald head showing. I never saw her with a wig or turban again.

• • •

Thursday, October 7th was the day of her surgery. I was impatient. I needed to find a way to stay in communication with Regina at the hospital.

Prisoners are allowed to call only individuals on their approved phone lists. We cannot call a hospital. There is a way around this, however: the three-way call. Someone else calls a loved one who is on his phone list. Then he hands the phone over to you. You tell the loved one the hospital number, and the loved one uses the three-way call feature to connect with the hospital. The loved one then gets off the line so you can now speak privately with the individual in the hospital.

Calls from prison are costly for the person on the receiving end, so I needed to “spread the wealth.” I got a number of my inmate friends to help me out. I even asked inmates that I hardly knew to make three-way calls for me. For Regina, I would have asked even my worst enemy for a call or a favor. Thank God, I don't have any worst enemy!

• • •

A couple of weeks after she left the hospital, Regina spoke excitedly, “I’m coming to see you Saturday! Sue is bringing me.” (Sue also made regular visits to her husband in this institution.) I was concerned whether she was well enough to travel.

Saturday, October 30th, I kept gaze out my cell window. I saw Regina heading toward the Visiting Room. She could hardly walk. Sue was holding her by the arm. Once we were together, though, she couldn't wait to describe the operation and show me the incision, to explain how people from her support group set up grab bars on her shower and brought her a walker. That conversation made my day. I felt better knowing people were helping her.

While she told me these things, my heart pounded and I thought of how strong a woman she was. I went back to something she had written in a letter to me in 1992: I am not easily discouraged by obstacles. I think we must always continue to see the stones thrown in our path not as objects to trip us up, but as something to step on to take us higher. She was proving herself to be much stronger than I had imagined. Her struggling to walk showed me that obstacles didn’t discourage her.

On November 14th, despite my protests, Regina drove to the prison. She looked very tired, so I asked her not to stay long. I was relieved that she picked up the phone when I called her home a while later. The next day I wanted her to rest and conserve energy, so I waited until 6:30pm to call. But she didn’t answer. After three or four tries, I called her best friend.

"Denise! Something is wrong with Regina. She didn’t answer the phone. Would you please try her in case it's something wrong with the phone here in the institution?"

"Don't worry, she’s probably sleeping from all the medications."

"No, Denise! I've been calling for over half an hour and this has never happened before.”

"Okay. Get back to me in five minutes.”

Five minutes were like five hours. I did not move from the telephone for fear another inmate would use it. Denise found Regina at the hospital, on I.V., with a glucose level of 600! At least she was not at home passed out or on the floor, I thought. When I finally spoke with Regina, she told me her glucose had reached 800! “Thank God you are there and they are taking good care of you.”

All the while at the hospital she talked of wanting to visit me. She returned home on November 26th. On December 12th, our friend Sandra was supposed to bring her for a visit. I watched out my window in hopes of seeing them drive into the institution’s parking lot. Instead I saw Regina's car pull up, and I saw Regina get out of the car alone. My God, she drove by herself! What happened to Sandra?

There had been a misunderstanding; Regina and Sandra drove separately. Regina didn't look good at all. Her eyes were nearly closed most of the time. She couldn’t stand up to go to the sandwich machine with me, as we had always done together.

“Stay here, love,” I told her. Tell me what you would like to eat.”

"Just get me water. I’m thirsty,"

My whole body was in pieces, not only my heart. As I went over to get the water, tears ran down my face. I lingered by the dispenser to pull myself together. Before long Regina needed to use the restroom. I nearly carried her there. Once she and Sandra were inside, I went back to my seat and started to cry again. Isn't she supposed to be getting better? She seemed to be moving further away. I was worried and scared.

I brought her back to her chair and massaged her right arm, heavy with fluid due to the removal of lymph nodes. By the time I finished, she looked exhausted. Sandra and I walked her to the door, then I waited anxiously for the guards to search me so I could get back to my cell. Done, I hurried to my window in order to see Regina drive away.

To my dismay, what I saw was Regina still standing outside the Visiting Room door, Sandra and another inmate's wife holding her up. My wife couldn’t walk. And I could only watch, pray, and cry. Regina was my strength, but also my weakness. I couldn’t stand seeing her suffer, and I couldn’t stand not being able to do anything to help.

I began to feel guilty. Here is this woman who has been with me in good and bad, in health and illness. Now that she needs me the most I cannot be by her side, bring her a glass of water when she needs it, or help her with a shower or cook her a nice chicken soup. How good can a man be to a woman if he is not there when she needs him?

I continued to watch Regina struggle. Then I saw Sgt. Martin run toward the Administration building and come out with a wheelchair. Sandra and the other inmate’s wife wheeled Regina out of the institution to the parking lot and helped her into her car. I watched her drive slowly away. At that moment I felt that I was a total failure to her.

Then I thought about her brother. I had asked Regina if he knew about her illness. Though he did, he was always working on a house he had bought in Florida. He would return to his family home in N.Y., stay a couple of weeks, then head back to Florida. He seemed to care more about the house than he did about his own sister.

Regina never made it home. I called for four hours until someone finally picked up.

“It’s me, Sandra. I knew you would be calling. Regina is in the hospital but she is okay—don't worry. She had a car accident, but she didn't get hurt. They took her because she was incoherent”—which later we learned was caused by a blood infection.

"Sandra, things happen in life for a reason. If you would have driven Regina here to the institution and taken her back home, perhaps she would have died alone in the house because she would not have been able to pick up the telephone and call for help. I’m glad she is where she will be watched 'round the clock. Better in the hospital than dead at home. God knows what He is doing."

The following day I wrote a letter to Regina’s brother:

      Dear Mr. Roberts:

      It is not important who I am. What is important is
      your sister's health. Regina is very ill and weak at
      this time. she has had to crawl from her living
      room to the kitchen just to get a glass of water.
      She has no strength even to lift her feet.

      Regina has been hospitalized three times, and at this
      moment she is in the hospital again. What is sad
      is that you haven't taken the time to come see her.
      Though she may sound well on the phone, to look at
      her, you would know the difference.

      It is painful to me to see how hard she struggles
      to keep herself up. I can only imagine how hard
      it would be for you. Please, show Regina how much
      you care, before is too late and you have regrets.
      She doesn't know anything about this letter, and
      I'm not going to tell her.

      Please forgive me if I sound too harsh, but I'm saying
      this because I care for you both. I will continue to
      pray for you and her.

      Have a joyful holiday season.

      Sincerely,
      From someone who cares

I did not sign the letter. I sent it to Sandra so she could mail it to Regina’s brother without him knowing that it had come from prison.

I phoned Regina every day. She told me her brother had called, crying, saying how much he loved and cared for her. He told her of a letter he had received. I could “see” the smirk on her face when she wondered aloud who had sent it to him.

Regina was discharged on December 23rd. The next morning her brother was at her door to take her to Upstate New York for the holiday. Their cousin Cherilyn drove her back on the 30th, and they came to visit me on New Year’s Day, Saturday.

Regina described the good time she had with all her family and how well she had been treated. She also told me how her brother had turned pale when he first saw her.

"He should be ashamed,” I said. “But the main thing is you had a nice time.”

Cherilyn had planned to remain at Regina’s until Saturday the 8th but left early because of an upcoming snowstorm. So I brought up to Regina an idea I had suggested before: asking my sister Lucy in New York to come stay with her for a few days. Lucy had told me she would come if it was an emergency. This time Regina agreed.

"Lucy, I need your help. Would you please come tomorrow? Regina is not doing well. She can't even go to her kitchen to get water."

"I can’t come tomorrow because I have my grandson with me for a couple of days. His father is in Puerto Rico now and will be back Sunday, so Monday I can come."

"Lucy, if this was not an emergency, I would not have called you. Can you let the kid stay with his mother?" I asked desperately.

"No, because I have to take him to school tomorrow.”

"Lucy, by Monday Regina could be dead if I leave her alone at home."

"I’m sorry."

"Never mind, don't come. If I need you Monday I will call you."

This meant Regina would be alone until Sandra could get there on Saturday. When I called Regina around 7:30 pm on Friday, she sounded like she had just been sleeping.

"I am sorry, love, that I woke you up."

"No, it's okay."

“Did you eat?"

"Yes, I ate."

“What did you have?"

"Cereal.”

"What else did you eat?"

"Nothing else. It's seven in the morning."

"No, love, it's seven-thirty in the evening. "What day is this?"

"Monday."

My God, this woman hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday, and she thinks it's Monday!

“Regina, please hang up the telephone for now, okay?”

Calling around frantically, I finally reached Denise. “Can you please bring some hot food to Regina?!"

"Wilfredo, my car is under 10 feet of snow and I live so far away from her.”

“Can you call Maggie? I know she lives close to Regina. Or call someone else you know, please?! My wife is going to die because there is no one to help her!”

By then it was almost 9:00pm, which was the cutoff time for calls in the prison. I couldn't sleep that night, worrying and praying that Denise had found Maggie or someone to bring Regina food. As soon as the phones were activated the next morning, I called Regina. Maggie had come through, and an ambulance was on its way to take my wife to the hospital.

Denise visited Regina at the hospital Sunday night. As she got up to go, Regina begged her not to leave her alone—she was scared. Denise’s telling me this was like someone squeezing my heart and wringing out the tears…

I saw a young inmate I had met when he was about ten years old and used to visit his father in jail. I asked him to call his mother for me, which he did right then and there and handed me the phone. “Could you make a nice chicken soup and bring it to Regina at the hospital? Could you also bring her a $25 phone card so she can contact her brother in New York or any of her friends if she needs to?” "No problem," Nidia said. I may be shy to request anything for myself; but for my wife, I wasn't.

“Soto’s wife brought me chicken soup,” Regina reported the next day. Nidia had also brought the calling card. At the end of our conversation, as I was about to hang up, Regina said, “Pray for me.”

"Regina, I am always praying for you. And not only me—I have half the world praying for you, and that half has the other half, so the whole world is praying for you!"

I wanted to make sure she had visits all the time. I let everyone know where she was. Even some inmates asked their families to go see her. One Friday she had 14 visitors!

• • •

I received a letter from my sister Lucy in New York:

      Dear brother, I am writing to say I am sorry that I
      couldn't come to be with Regina when you asked me.
      By the tone of your voice I knew that you were feeling
      down. I hope Regina is better, and if you still need me,
      call me.

      Love you, your sister

I was glad that I had been able to use what I learned in the Growing Together group to stay in control of my feelings when Lucy had refused to come. I took pride in my own growth as I recognized that my problems were my problems and no one else’s. In the past I would have cursed out my sister and we probably would not have spoken for a long time. Instead, I hung up like a gentleman—which, I believe, was the reason I got the letter from her three or four days later.

• • •

After Regina left the hospital, her brother came to visit her.

"Is he in the room with you right now?"

"No, he is outside the door giving me privacy. I told him about you and me and that we were married."

"What did he say?”

"He said if I was happy, that was good enough for him.

"How have things been going?"

"Good. We’ve talked about a lot of things. But he is a pain in the butt,” she said, a little upset. “He is always asking the doctor questions that I don't want to know.”

"Have you told him?"

"Yes, and the doctor, too."

"I would like to talk to him when he comes back."

"NO, I already told him." Then she added, "I walked a little, holding onto my brother."

• • •

Whether my wife was at the hospital or at home in bed, I was constantly trying to do something to help her with her illness. I had learned from the book, Quantum Touch: The Power of Healing, by Richard Gordon, how to transmit healing energy to any part of another person's body without the person being close by. To send healing energy, distance doesn't matter. So I tried working on Regina's most affected part, moving on to other areas until completing her whole body.

I kept this technique in mind in the shower. I closed my eyes and visualized Regina there with me. Once her presence became tangible, I kept my eyes closed and worked her body. I imagined the running water gliding down toward her feet, cleansing her of every single malevolent agent.

On the treadmill at the gym, I visualized her standing on my two feet, walking with me and getting stronger. I sat her in front of me on the stationary bicycle. I placed her feet on top of mine and we pedaled together.

Performing such physical and mental exercises was good but also difficult for me emotionally. To alleviate the pain, I went to a corner of the gym and exercised until tears and sweat became a mixture, so that a cursory glance could not distinguish which was which. I also let out screams that went unnoticed in the gym, since everyone there was exercising and making his own noise. The gym became a good, safe place for Regina and me.

Let me add that all these emotions would not have been so manageable without the support of the groups I attended and all the caring people who listened without judgment, saw me cry and laugh, and gave me all the time I needed to express my troubles.

• • •

I understood why Regina was upset with her brother always asking the doctor questions. She did not want to hear how much time she had left or what the chances of getting cured were. She was making every effort to survive. She never gave up.

But a downturn landed her back in the hospital. One evening her voice sounded far away over the phone. Soon all I could hear was her breathing. I repeated her name. No response. Crying and scared, I held the phone to my ear and listened to her breathing for the rest of my 20 minutes—the time allotted before the prison automatically disconnects an inmate’s call. I thought I had lost her.

It was hard for me to sleep that night. I went to see my caseworker first thing in the morning. He said he would arrange for me to be taken to the hospital for a visit. I waited and heard nothing back. The following day he explained there was no need for me to go because the doctor hadn't given a definite timeline. Then I called Regina and, to my surprise, she sounded strong, not at all like the woman on the other end of the line two nights before.

"Hi love, I heard you were coming to see me.”

"No, love, that was a mistake by the caseworker. He is new here and doesn't know what he is doing."

"Oh, you scared me." She knew that if the guards took me to see her, it meant that there was no hope for her and her time was short.

• • •

Over the next weeks, Regina moved back and forth between rehab facilities and the hospital. Infection and fever persisted. One morning as I exited the bathroom, an officer asked me, "Aren’t you going for a trip today?"

"Not that I know of."

"Okay, never mind.”

I went right to the telephone and called Denise. I told her what the officer said.

"Yes, I was waiting for your call. Regina is doing badly. We stayed with her till late last night. At 2:30 in the morning Naomi called the institution to ask them to bring you to see her."

"Will she recognize me?"

"No, I don't think she will. She couldn't talk or recognize anyone last night."

I went back to my cell to get ready. In less than 5 minutes two officers were at my door.

"Hurry up. Dress up. You are going to see your wife. Behave and don't do anything wrong. When the officers tell you it’s time to go, don't give them any trouble," advised the lieutenant.

Not a single word came out of my mouth during the ride. I just kept looking for the hospital. Tears ran down my face when I saw it. The woman who had spent 22 years of her life with me was not going to recognize me.

The officers escorted me inside. We approached the doorway to Regina’s room. One officer went inside and asked Regina's brother, who was present, to leave the room. At that moment Regina looked over and saw me. "There he is!" she announced to the world.

I had never met Regina’s brother. As he passed by me I asked the officers' permission to shake my brother-in-law's hand. “Okay, but make it quick." With barely a word we shook. Then I entered the room.

It was wonderful to hold Regina in my arms after nearly two months of no physical contact. Her energy and alertness surprised me. I sat beside her, and as we talked, a couple of my tears dropped on her bed. "Don't worry about those tears," I murmured, "because those are tears of love."

After 20 minutes the officer who had stayed in the room approached. "Olmo, it's time to go." Regina looked at him very sternly and demanded, "What is this!? Doesn't he get a five-minute warning like any other time?" "Yes, he can have five minutes." Those were the last five minutes I had her body close to mine.

On the drive back to the prison, again not a word came out of my mouth. I was very glad I saw her. At the same time, I felt guilty because my coming gave a clear message that the end was close at hand.

I continued to phone and send her letters over the next days. It was March 1st when I dared to ask, “Regina, are you scared?"

"Yes,” she replied in a soft tone.

"Do you want me to do a meditation for you?"

"Yes," she answered again softly.

I started the meditation:

      “Close your eyes…Think about a nice forest… You are
      standing in front of that forest… Start walking toward
      the forest. Walk very slowly. Now you are going inside
      the forest. Keep walking slowly… Continue walking.
      The deeper you are going inside the forest, the smaller
      you are getting… Don't stop. Keep walking until you get
      so small, so small… And now you have disappeared
      completely in the forest. Now you have become part of
      the trees, the leaves, the flowers, the rocks…

      “You are also part of the birds and the birds’ singing.
      Every time I hear a bird singing, I will hear your voice.
      Every time I hear a mockingbird, I will think of you and
      imagine that you are singing to me… You are not only
      part of the forest, but you are also part of the whole
      Universe…

      “Now you are going to walk back out of the forest. Walk
      slowly… As you are walking out, you continue to grow
      bigger. See yourself collecting all the energy that your
      body needs… Now you are back to your normal body
      size and getting ready to come out all energized. Since
      you are part of the whole Universe, you have no need to
      feel scared. . . . . . . . . . .

      “Now, when you are ready, you can open your eyes."

"How do you feel?" I asked her.

"I feel much better."

“Are you still scared?"

"No, I’m not scared now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I’m sure."

The following day I walked around the prison yard meditating and sending Regina energy, as I'd done so many other times. Once back inside, I saw out the dayroom window that it had started to snow. But the snow didn’t look like regular snow. It appeared rather like big fluffs of cotton coming down from heaven. It was so stunning that I looked up and said, "God, what a beautiful day this is for you to take her into your arms.” It was 11:00am.

At 1:00pm the Program Officer summoned me to her office. "I got a call from Naomi to tell you to pray, because today is the day," she said.

At 4:00pm I called the hospital. A friend and co-worker of Regina’s named Karl answered. He held the phone to Regina’s ear. I spoke softly, “Regina, I love you.” I heard a drawn-out “hmm.” I told her things I had said before, like how much I enjoyed our 22 years together, and not to worry about me because I would be okay. Then I asked if she wanted me to do a meditation for her. I heard another slow, whispered ”hmm,” which I knew to be a ‘yes.’ I had no idea of what I would say, but this is what came out:

      "Regina, before you entered your mother's womb, you
      were in some place that you have no memory of. In that
      place you felt so good and secure that you did not want
      to leave. But one day your time to leave that place came,
      and you ended up in your mother's womb.

      “Once in your mother’s womb, you found out that it was
      good. You felt so comfortable and safe that you didn't
      want to leave there either. You did not know of any other
      world better than that one. But one day, after nine
      months, the time came and you had to leave. Afraid of
      the unknown, you left.

      “When you came out of your mother's womb, there were
      a lot of people waiting, and they received you with love.
      There was a lot of love for you, yet you cried because
      you did not know what was happening. Then you grew up
      in this world and found out it was good. Thus you don't
      want to leave now.

      “But wherever you go, there is love waiting for you. So,
      my love, be at peace. Use God's arms as your bed and
      His shoulders as your pillow.”

Then I listened in silence until my time on the phone was up. I did not want to disturb her from whatever peaceful place she might be in.

At 6:15 pm, an inmate named Mike offered to make the three-way. It took until 6:30 to get through to his girlfriend, who in turn called the hospital. Denise answered.

"Regina just passed—at 6:27. She’s gone."

I couldn't say a word.

“Her brother wants to talk to you.”

"We lost her, brother-in-law, we lost her," he said crying.

"Be strong.” I told him. And that was it.

Once she passed, it seemed she took with her all my suffering. Sadness and sorrow still occupied me, but also her beautiful memories. Something lifted me up—

I hadn’t realized how so much concentration on her illness and on her well-being had drained my energy. Or I hadn’t felt it. Now with it over, I felt weak. It took nearly a month to recover my strength. During that time I came to terms with the despair of having loved a person—a wife—with a terminal illness and having not been able to do anything to help. I found that focusing on the immense love we shared and cherished—active and alive in my heart to this moment—has been the most effective antidote to my huge sense of loss. Regina is no longer here physically. But I can feel her presence vividly in the pure air I breathe daily… in the beautiful sunsets… in a kind gesture of a human being… in a bird’s melodic singing… and in the embracing peacefulness found in the midst of a forest…

Regina's memorial service was on April 15th. I think she picked that day herself from beyond the grave because she knew April 15th was my birthday. It was her way of her saying, "I told you. You are stuck with me."