I started my conversations with God at a very early age. But, my hardest conversation with God was the day my husband died. I could not believe God in his infinite wisdom would take him from me and my family. I got so tired of people telling me that God does not make mistakes and doesn't do anything without a reason. I told God he had made a big mistake this time. Yet, every time I turned around someone else said to me, "God does not make mistakes." That Sunday morning after he passed I lay in bed crying, dreading having to get up, and dreading even more all the things I had to take care of on Monday morning. I asked God again, why him, why now, and out of the blue on the TV Joel Osteen said, "God does not make mistakes." I gave in and said, "OK God! I get it, I get it. I don't like it, but I get it." My husband, Jolly, was my very best friend, the love of my life, and my hero in every sense of the word. I don't mean to sound like I worshipped him, far from it. We had our fights and arguments like everyone else, but somehow managed to get over them. Talk about opposites. No one could believe it, when we got married. We were so totally different from each other. Where I was extremely shy and quiet, he was loud and full of life. But, what people couldn't see was that we completed each other in more ways than one. Lots of people say that, but for us it was really true. We knew each other's thoughts at a glance. In the quiet of our home we could each get lost in a book, while lying in bed or on the sofa next to each other; our relationship wasn't perfect, but better than most. We both believed the key to a good relationship was communication and compromise and to never go to bed mad. It has taken me a while to pull myself out of the funk I was in after his death and finally put my thoughts on paper. Jolly's death caused me to face a lot of harsh facts that people don't realize they have to deal with until it is too late. Fortunately, we talked a lot and we knew what each other wanted even if others did not or did not approve. Because we had talked so much I found I could make decisions that needed to be made calmly and rationally. My husband, my rock was called too soon. My minister told me that God does not surprise his children and she was right, because he knew that his time was short and he tried to prepare me. One day toward the end of January he insisted on going away and I knew something was really wrong. I had been trying for a couple of months, since his last hospital stay, to get him to make his doctor give him a referral for the tests the hospital recommended, but he wouldn't because he trusted what his doctor was saying. Anyway, we went to Dover and checked in the hotel, then, about 3:00 a.m. I was awakened by him stumbling in the room. The TV was still on and I could see his eyes were as big as saucers and he looked like he was lost, he was disoriented and confused. Seeing him like that scared me to death and at the same time broke my heart. I helped him into the bathroom then back to bed. After he settled down he hugged me to him and said, "I don't want to scare you, but I'm dying." "No you're not!" I said, "We are going to fight this. We are going to get you in to see the specialist and get answers. I don't believe your doctor has did all she can do. She hasn't scheduled you for any of the tests the hospital said you should have. Don't you give up. Don't you dare give up." Then I cried the rest of the night. But, let me start at the beginning

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