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We were riding in the field at our ranch in Arizona when she fell off her horse. I dismounted and ran to her side. I'd never seen her fall off a horse before; something was terribly wrong. I carried her back to the house and called 9-9-9. Heather, Mary, Stella and James came in, but they knew better than to ask what was wrong.

Nobody picked up.

"Damn," I muttered. I dialled 9-1-1.

After I finished the call I went back to Linda, who was lying on the couch.

"There...there's no....nothing...they.....can...do..." She panted. "I'm....I'm scared.." I took her shaking hand and squeezed it.

"No, Linda, It's gonna be okay... you're gonna be okay..." I wanted so desperately to believe that, but I knew it was a lie, just like I'd been lying to myself for three years.

"It...it's okay...just...stay....with...me..."

"Of course,"

"I love you, Mom," Heather whispered, stepping forward hesitantly.

"Come here," Linda had just enough strength left to give the kids one last hug. They were all crying, even James, who, as a teenage boy, tried not to show it. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, and I kissed her on the lips.

"You're up on your beautiful Appaloosa stallion," I whispered, running my fingers through her soft, short hair. "It's a fine spring day. We're riding through the woods, and the bluebells are all out" She closed her eyes and gently slipped away.

Then the ambulance came and took her body away. I stayed with the kids but none of us said anything, we just sat there in shock. I stumbled to a room Linda and I shared for twenty-nine years. I screamed and cried as loud as I could into a pillow. I had felt so helpless for the past three years, knowing the disease had grown too much for her to survive it, but now that she was actually gone, I just felt...incomplete. To tell the truth, I didn't feel like anything, not even part of a whole, just nothing. Like somehow when she died, I did too, and my body was just an empty shell.

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