Francisco and I prepared for his last wishes, death and burial. He was 42 when he died; I was two months short of my 28th birthday – his death occurred on March 19, 1987.
Together, we planned his last few months. He did not choose to prolong his life, after almost five years of chemotherapy, radiation, and a bone marrow transplant. None, of which, gave him a cure.
Further chemotherapy would only prolong the inevitable and only incur further pain and suffering. We prepared his funeral arrangements, even to the details of picking out his oak coffin.
The service was completely paid which was a great relief to me when the day finally arrived. His final wishes for his estate, including myself, and his two daughters, were completely executed in his will.
The conversation, actually, was held for me, as his surviving widow, but carefully planned together by the two of us.
I never thought at such a young age of 27 I would be executing these details on his behalf. However, since we had this conversation, I know realize what a blessing he had given to me.