Rusty's Armory

A Morning Vigil: Promises Kept

Posted on February 19, 2026

The Long Morning

She looks so peaceful as she breathes. They tell me that hearing is the last sense to go, so I have spent the morning whispering to her. I say “good morning,” hoping for a flicker of recognition—a small tic or a soft sigh. I find myself searching for a connection that might not be there anymore, wondering if I am seeing a reaction or if my heart is simply trying to conjure one last “hello.”

Years ago, we made our petitions to God. We asked that when the time came, she would never be abandoned, and that she would remain in the sanctuary of her home. We asked for the grace to grow old together. He granted us that. We asked for peace, and looking at her now, she is so very peaceful. It is an achingly quiet, measured rhythm—the sound of a soul preparing for a journey.

I find myself wanting to selfishly break the silence. I want her to open her eyes, smile, and say, “Good morning, sweetheart!” But the room remains still. There is no flicker of a dream, only that slow, steady breath.

I apologize if it feels like I am strewing my grief around for all to see. It is a messy, heavy thing, and I cannot seem to put it down. I feel a crisis of faith and a surge of selfishness all at once; I hate the finality of this waiting, and I find myself whispering little white fibs to her, acting as if this were just another normal morning.

But thank God, she is calm. She is more than calm—she is serene. She submits to this transition without a struggle, as if she knew it was time long before I was ready to admit it. I have spent so much time talking like a sage, acting as if I understood the timing of life and death, but the truth is I am just a man who wants one more year.

She has earned her rest. She has finished her work. And though I am not ready to say goodbye, I am honored to be the one sitting here, keeping the watch.