Four Thousand Days

February 9, 2026 | My Jottings

This date will always be one of those turning point days on the calendar — where much of my life can be remembered before something happened, and after something happened. That something is the death and home-going of my dear husband Michael. He died eleven years ago today, 4,019 days ago to be more precise, and it brings me such peace and joy to think of him. Such gratitude.

Michael died of a massive ischemic stroke after years of walking through the trials and sorrows of Parkinson’s Disease. He had been a vital and active man, and that diagnosis was of course, ultimately a devastating one.

This photo, which is very precious to me, was taken 2 1/2 days before he was escorted to heaven. It was his last known smile, a wondrous gift to us, his family. The nurses at the hospital called Michael’s stroke and the damage it brought to his brain “the velvet hammer,” because he didn’t suffer pain, and because death within four to seven days was certain. They knew this by what the CT scan revealed, and we realized that his consciousness would be fading each day as he got closer and closer to his departure.

By the third day after Michael’s stroke, he was near a coma, unable to respond to us at all, or to any medical stimulus the neurology staff applied. But two times, two glorious times, he smiled at us… and one time with great effort he sobbed and wailed, when God allowed his still very healthy spirit to rise from his body’s dying and show us he could indeed still hear and feel. He did this when two dear friends, Chuck and Sally Haavik, came to pour out their love and read Psalm 91 to him, and also when I arrived alone on the morning he was to be brought home for the last time.

I was in nearly constant quiet tears, and as I walked into the hospital I kept praying, “Lord, please let me connect one more time with Michael before you take him. One more time, please. Let him feel my love and presence.” And when I went to his bedside and rubbed his chest and bent down and whispered his name, declared my love for him again, he smiled.

And twelve days ago, Michael’s only sibling Pat died. She too had suffered with illnesses that made life so hard for her. I remember how Michael’s eyes would fill with tears when we merely spoke of Patty and/or prayed for her and her husband Joe. He loved her deeply, which moved me so much because my own two older brothers did not love me. It was such a blessing to see brother and sister care about each other. This picture below was taken probably 20+ years ago.

So much has happened in my life since Michael moved on ahead. How grateful I am that the Lord Jesus saw us through our tough times and made us happy we married each other. My whole existence would have been vastly different had God not brought Michael and me together. To be married to a man who truly loves and trusts Jesus Christ is a priceless gift. Neither of us walked out our faith perfectly of course, but there is no one else I would rather have bowed my head in prayer with, than my Michael.

He prayed fervently. He prayed with tears, with great faith. With compassion and humility. I am beginning to see now what sacred times those were.

I’ve said this before, but it becomes more true the older I get. As these eleven years have passed I don’t ever think of my life getting further away from Michael, with thousands of days between us. Rather, I think now that each day I wake up, I am one day closer to being with him again. Not in the marital sense, because we know that life in heaven will be way beyond earthly joys. But to see him again as the very essence of who he was created by God to be. To hear his voice, to see those hands (which on earth worked tirelessly to provide for our family) now pointing to what he might want to show me in heaven, to watch those strong legs lead me to my Savior, to see that toothy smile of joy…. that would be heaven.