I’m Kevin, and Levine is the love of my life. We’ve been married for 15 wonderful years. Emily is our wonderful daughter, and she makes our lives so much better. But Levine started to pull away six months ago, which confused and worried me.
At first, the changes were small. I had trouble sleeping, I smiled less, and I cried in the bathroom every once in a while. No matter what I asked her, she would say, “I’m fine,” making me feel better. I knew she wasn’t in my heart.
Levine got farther away over time, which made it harder for our family to get along. Emily could tell there was stress in the air, and I could see fear in her eyes. I begged Levine to let me in one night, but she whispered, “Not yet, I can’t.” Her words faded, and I couldn’t do anything.
I found an envelope on the kitchen table with my name written in Levine’s usual handwriting the day she left. When I read her note and learnt that she had stage 3 cancer, my heart sank. She was hiding her pain because she was afraid it would be too much for us.
The thought of my wife being alone was an act of love that made tears flow down my face. She didn’t want us to have to go through the pain of seeing her get worse. During that moment, my love for her grew very quickly.
We didn’t think twice before going to find her at the Clear Life Centre, a hospice two states away. When we got there, I was shocked by how weak Levine was, but her eyes lit up when she saw us.
“Why didn’t you tell us, Mom?” Emily asked with tears in her eyes. In a weak voice, Levine said, “I thought… I thought it would be easier this way.” We loved every minute of her last few weeks with us, walking and completing her life goals.
There were times when we laughed, cried, and just sat there. I held her hand every night while she read her favourite books. Emily was curled up next to her when she walked away, her hand still in mine.
Even though Levine’s choice was hard to understand at first, it was an act of deep love. It taught me that real love goes beyond the pain of the present to bring final peace to those left behind.
Emily and I are now getting used to life without Levine while thinking about how big her last gift was. Her love is still there, like the soft smell of her favourite flowers—not seen but felt. It tells us that love lasts, even when we’re not together.
Levine’s story shows me that love sometimes needs sacrifice, and the most caring choices are the ones that are the hardest to make. Moving forward, we’ll remember her love and heritage and find strength in the times we spent together.
