Tomorrow will be one year. I have been dreading, and to some extent, avoiding the thoughts of what this day means. Of the thoughts and memories it brings up. For the past year, I have been able keep telling myself, "oh, last year at this time we were in santa barbara" or "we were driving up pch" or even knowing that she was alive and in the hospital. Tomorrow will mark the last day that I can say those things. The last day actually begins the day before. Saturday afternoon. I walked into her hospital room, as I did everyday, and knew that something was wrong. When I say wrong, I mean that I could tell that her fever had risen, and as I wiped the sweat from her face and forehead the only thing I could think of was how are we going to get this fever down. Her blood was infected and she was less than 36 hours away from dying and the only thing I thought was wrong was that her body temperature had risen a little. I will never forget how the sweat drained from her body. All my life playing sports, and watching sports on television, I have never seen anyone sweat as much as she did that day. She was drenched. I kept drying her off, thinking that a cold rag would keep her cool. I told the nurse that we needed to give her tylenol to help with the fever. The nurse just looked at me unaffected, and I am sure she is used to giving tylenol to patients in an effort to appease loved ones last ditch hopes. I stayed with her that day for as long as I possibly could. No one else saw her that day. I woke up early Sunday and went straight to the hospital. As I entered the room, she was elevated in her bed, sweating again, and shaking. She spent the entire time in the coma in constant motion but today it was much more violent. I imagine angels in the room with her that day, standing by her side, shaking the last bit of life out of her so she would finally be able to rest. There were 6 or 7 nurses and doctors running throughout the room, and this is when I knew that I wasn't going to be able to get her fever down. I was the first one in the room that day, and by nightfall I was kissing her forehead and telling her goodbye for the last time.