"I'm scared", I told him.

He held my hand in his. His hand, always strong and rough, was soft and gentle as a whisper. "I understand, my love. It will be fine. I'm here for you. Always."

Just listening to him brought tears to my eyes. I sobbed as he softly caressed my hand, my arm, as he sat on the plastic chair beside my hospital bed . "Will it hurt?"

"No, my love. You won't feel a thing but peace." His gravelly voice was thick with emotion, his eyes filled with tears. "It'll be okay."

Peace. After the doctors, the medicines, the chemotherapy, there would be finally peace. It hurt me to know how hopeful I felt to know that. I started to cry all over again.

A thought terrified me. "What about you? What about us?"

He smiled like the sun breaking through the clouds. "I'll always be there for you. Always. I love you."

It felt like an eternity since I heard him say those words to me. "I love you, too, always."

He smiled at me. He looked up, over me, maybe at the machines monitoring me, maybe beyond. His eyes narrowed, slightly. He looked back at me.

"It's not long now." Both of his hands found mine and held it gently, like a hug. "I love you."

And then he was gone. But I wasn't scared or alone, but comforted as I felt weaker, more tired. He'd been dead for years; but now I knew I would see him again and soon.