Two rivers of tears rush down my cheeks as I write. Tomorrow is his birthday. He would have been forty-nine.

In 1996 I was a young wife and new mother in my early twenties, kneeling on the floor of a hospital bathroom stall pouring the agony of my heart out to God, pleading for strength to let go of the greatest love I had ever known. My young husband, unconscious and attached to “life” support, lay in a bed at the end of the ICU…