The Last Entry
I’m left holding a day that never got to be, wondering what she might have done with it—and what I will do with mine
This morning, I was looking through Jody’s nightstand for her phone—the one I kept after she passed, the one I still charge from time to time. Tucked beneath it was a yellow notepad, its pages filled with dates and blood pressure readings. She’d been instructed to take them morning and night, and as always, she followed through with care and diligence.
The last entry read “4/16,” logged the night of the 15th after her final check of the day. She never wrote another. April 16th was the day we lost her.
I sat with that page for a while, staring at the date—its finality, its silence. I wondered what she might have done with that day. What possibilities did it hold in her mind? Maybe she planned to call a friend, to have lunch with Austin and talk about the baby on the way. Maybe she would’ve paid some bills, caught her favorite soap opera, or laughed at one of my terrible Dad jokes.
Maybe she would have told me—again—how much she loved me.
That day, like so many others before it, brimmed with promise. But it never came to be. And now, thirteen months later, I find myself revisiting not just that day, but all the ones since—the birthdays, the milestones, the quiet moments she’s missed. The ache of her absence wrapped around me.
Yes, I still wonder what she would have done with that date—just one among a lifetime of days. But then I turn the question toward myself: what will I do with the day I’ve been given?
How will I make meaningful use of the time I have? What thoughts will I nurture in my mind? Will I choose to be a force for good in my family, my community, others whose journey intersects with mine?
Today, I choose to lift someone up. To bring a smile to a face that needs it. To honor the woman I loved so deeply.
And for the chance to do that, I am grateful.
Love you all
About Paul
If you've navigated the complexities of love, loss, or life's unpredictable twists and turns, this blog is for you. Paul, who was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease in 2022 and lost his beloved Jody in 2024, is also a father, new grandfather and a speaker/writer. Paul writes to make sense of the world around him, sharing his personal journey through grief, Parkinson’s, and life's challenges. With a mix of lightheartedness, thoughtfulness, and unwavering authenticity, Paul offers a relatable and heartfelt perspective on the human experience. His writing is often described as warm, genuine and deeply moving.