More from Shirley Brosius

I am saddened to say I no longer awaken next to my sleeping husband as I wrote about in my devotion. On September 17, 2025, Bill left my side to be with Jesus. He had received dialysis for almost four years and valiantly fought prostate cancer.

I’ve had a hard time sitting down to write this post, but I want to dwell on the blessings of our decades together rather than the tears of the moment.

The photo is the last one I have of us together, taken in a restaurant on August 12 after Bill had played eighteen holes of golf.

Our family gave Bill a beautiful send-off. Our son Terry, a pastor, led the funeral service and his wife, Caren, played the piano for hymn singing. Our son Ted and his wife, Deb, sat beside me; Ted served as a pallbearer. 

Our five grandchildren participated in the funeral. They played the piano, read scripture, and spoke of the fun they had with their grandfather. They told of feeding the fish in our pond with grandpa, playing board games with us, and going to a peacock farm and then for milkshakes when they stayed at our house to attend our local day camp. Elizabeth brought chuckles when she said, “Grandpa always asked if my holey jeans were fifty percent off.”

When I was growing up, we grew flowers called Sweet Williams. And my Bill was my Sweet William. I especially miss him at bedtime. We each would read a devotional book to the other, then pray. Because of health issues, I sleep on my back with a pillow under my knees. Sweet William always made sure I was positioned just right, tucked me in, and kissed me goodnight.

There are many things Sweet William did around the apartment too—vacuumed, filled and emptied the dishwasher, washed my cooking pots and pans, and carried the garbage to the outside bins. All without a single complaint. Well, sometimes he’d ask, “How could you use so many pots and pans?”

We loved going for ice cream, sitting by the peaceful river that flows by our town, and taking drives through the countryside. Doctors’ appointments eventually became our “outings.” We supported each other and journeyed through more than six decades of marriage that slipped by all too fast.

So now I journey on alone. I’ve been overwhelmed by the calls, cards, visits, flowers, and contributions to charities that I’ve received. Every touch helps to ease the sadness. I’ve been busy taking care of business. There’s Social Security, insurances, automated payments, and so much more.

I haven’t even started to write thank you notes. I know when all this has settled down and the cards and calls have ceased, I’ll have to make a big adjustment. But I have peace and assurance that God’s Spirit will support me through whatever lies ahead. After all, I’m drinking at the fountain of the living water. And Jesus walks with me.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” — Matthew 5:4 (NIV)