Learning to become a better person is a wonderful consequence of being in a loving relationship with someone; you’re present in ways that help them grow into their best self. It’s an organic process you flow with on a journey we map out with intention, though in reality, it remains unknowable.
That is why a deeply loving relationship is like weaving a beautiful tapestry. You start with a blank canvas. With every experience a new thread is added—each a different color. The layers of time continue this process, including the good and troublesome of what life has to offer. The richness of color intensifies, fleshed out over the crucible of a relationship. In the end, if the kindness and beauty of love have been yours to share, you’ve woven a work of art.
My Uncle Sam had this type of relationship with his wife, Syl. Sam was remarkable for his easy-going nature. Syl, aka, “the little general,” was not even 5 feet tall, but formidable in demeanor. Sam and Syl had a long, happy marriage of 68 years.
When my uncle was 88, he began to develop some neurological symptoms. Medicine wasn’t working, so surgery was the next option. The day before surgery I was at the hospital. Sam was in good spirits; his usual affable self. I was in the room with just Syl and him. We talked about the upcoming surgery and then the conversation shifted: He said to Syl, “You know I love you” and remarked how beautiful she was. She laughed and rolled her eyes. Syl was being her usual self—a tough nut to crack. Sam was undeterred. He said he loved her now more than ever.
Sam continued to passionately express how much Syl meant to him. Syl smiled and her demeanor softened. I was so riveted by what my uncle was saying that I couldn’t tear myself away, even though it was such a personal moment between them. It was his love letter to her, and he was emphatic in wanting her to know.
After this intimate exchange, I immediately told my cousins about the amazing conversation between their parents. I was so grateful to have been present to bear witness and share the story. Sam spent the rest of the day alert and kibitzing with his family. When he came out of surgery the next day, he was in a coma and never regained consciousness. Sam died a month later. The words he uttered to his wife and family the day before his surgery were the last he ever spoke. Sometimes those who don’t have much time provide great gifts to the rest of us. Sam placed the final stroke on his masterpiece.
By Dr. Lisa Rosenberg
Dr. Lisa Rosenberg is a psychiatric healthcare professional, writer, and widow who never expected to navigate grief so intimately. When her husband, Jeff, died suddenly beside her in the night, she found herself confronting profound loss, love, and resilience—all of which she captures in her memoir, Adventure on Joyland Road and Other Stories of Love and Grief. With a career dedicated to understanding the human mind, Dr. Rosenberg blends deep psychological insight with personal storytelling to explore the lived experience of grief. Her writing is honest, humorous, and deeply compassionate, offering guidance to anyone who has lost someone they profoundly loved.
With a master’s in Psychiatric Nursing and a PhD in Educational Psychology, Dr. Rosenberg spent 30 years as a professor at Rush University College of Nursing in Chicago, retiring as Associate Dean Emeritus. Her career includes pioneering articles on humor in healthcare, extensive presentations, and, since 2017, senior consulting for the American Association of Colleges of Nursing. Based in the Chicago area, she writes, mentors, and consults, offering compassionate wisdom to those navigating grief.