When I Had Six Months to Live, I Learned Who Truly Loved Me

Just disappointed.

What surprised me was who did show up.
Maria.

She had been the nurse who cared for my husband during his final months. She was gentle, patient, and quietly observant. When he passed, I assumed I would never see her again. Nurses move on. Lives continue.

But she didn’t disappear.

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She called a week later. Then again a month after that. She stopped by on holidays with small, thoughtful gifts. She remembered our anniversary, even though I had never spoken about it out loud. When I struggled to leave the house, she sat with me and listened while I talked about nothing and everything.

When I got sick, she didn’t wait to be asked.

She volunteered to care for me. She rearranged her schedule. She showed up every evening, cooked meals, helped with medications, and sat quietly with me during the nights when sleep wouldn’t come. She never once mentioned money. Never hinted at obligation. She acted as if my presence alone was enough reason to stay.

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