StephMemorial: The big, ever-present regret

For the few weeks leading up to her final ride to the hospital, Stephanie was feeling poorly and not eating much. And that certainly wasn't unprecedented. Since the kidney diagnosis seven or eight years earlier, she'd occasionally had days or weeks when she'd felt poorly and not eaten much, but always she eventually started feeling better, or made a doctor's appointment. She didn't seem any sicker those last few weeks than she'd sometimes seemed in the past, but it lasted longer than it usually had.

Either three times, or maybe four times during those weeks, I suggested that she see a doctor. Each suggestion was a violation of our rules, and she got cranky and told me not to suggest it again. A few days later I suggested it again, and she got cranky again. In hindsight it's obvious, of course, that I should've insisted and started an argument and raised my voice and never relented. I should've called the doctor's office and made an appointment for her myself, and then demanded that she go, but I didn't do any of that.

Here's the way Stephanie said it, several years before her death: "We can talk about anything, you and I, including my medical issues, but I need my days off from the medical crap. It's not fair talking about kidneys and dialysis and all the related trauma and drama all the time. If we're talking about my medical issues every day, then I've become my medical issues and it's swallowed my life, and we're not going to let that happen. So let me make the decisions, let me be me, and we'll talk about it on days when I have a doctor's appointment, since those days are ruined already. But not on other days."

And that was our deal. We both went to all her medical appointments, and we both engaged with the doctor or nurse, offering up facts or asking and answering questions. She wanted my input before and during every appointment, and my thoughts afterwards, wide open and with no limits. When the post-appointment conversation was over, though, it was over, and she didn't want to discuss her medical matters until her next appointment.

I rarely violated those rules, by talking about medical stuff on non-medical days. And everything always worked out fine, until that one time when it didn't. That time when Stephanie died.

There isn't an hour that goes by (at least while I'm awake) when I don't regret not crossing the line and nagging her more to see a doctor in the last weeks of her life. I'm always wondering whether that would have been the difference, whether she'd still be with me, and I'm pretty sure the answer is yes.

I try not to type it too much here on the website, because there isn't much to say about this particular and painful topic that I haven't said already. This entire post is a rerun, isn't it? I've typed all of this before.

And I try not to kick myself too much, because Stephanie once said, "If I should've seen a doctor but I postponed it too long, if I end up hospitalized or worse, well that's on me, not on you. It's my decision when to make an appointment."

The regret, though, is always on my mind, or not far from my mind.

Welcome to StephMemorial

Stephanie Webb was my wife, my closest friend, my angel. We were together from 1997 until 2018, and for all that time we were head-over-heels in love. She was the best thing that ever happened to me, or ever will.

Who was Stephanie? She was complicated, and sometimes difficult. She was brilliant but insecure, eloquent but introverted, strong-willed but soft-spoken, tough as titanium but always vulnerable, a dreamer but utterly down-to-earth. Sometimes she was deeper than the Marianas Trench, and other times so silly you'd be giggling for hours.

She wasn't famous, and she was never arrested or made headlines. She worked ordinary office jobs, but after hours and on the weekend she was adventurous — oh, the places we've been (though always on a budget). She developed major medical problems toward the end, but other than a few dark days she generally kept an optimistic outlook. She was 26 when we met, and 48 when she died.

This domain was created to post her obituary on-line, so old friends who'd been out of touch could Google her name and know that she'd passed away. After writing the obituary, though, there was more to be said. And then, more still.

I don't want to forget any of the moments we spent together, the things we did, or the promises we made, kept, and broke — but I'm old and sometimes forgetful, and it's not likely that my memory will improve with age. So I'm writing it. Almost all of it. I reckon that's going to take the rest of my life.

I can't tell you everything about Stephanie, of course. As well as I knew her, there must be many stories she never told me, and many stories she told me that I've forgotten. There are also, of course, some stories that I'm not going to share.

She didn't often speak about her childhood, her adolescence, her first years of adulthood, and her answers when I asked were usually brief. She got the recipe for Stephanie exactly right, that's for sure — but I wasn't there while she was creating herself, day by day and bit by bit, so my focus will be on the time we had together.

It was delightful and never dull spending those years with her, and it's my hope to convey some small smidgen of the joy of Stephanie. Of course, her spirit can't be captured and posted on-line, and there's no doubt that I'm going to fail. But I am going to try.

I am under no illusion that this site will be popular. That's not the point. When I write about Stephanie it's like spending more time with her, or re-spending old times with her, and that's the best thing left in my life.

My name is Doug, and I'm (still and always) Stephanie's husband. If you knew her, or have something to say about the website, or if you've spotted a typo, you can reach me via the form below.