Family Camping Trip

I'm writing to you from John's hospice room.  Outside his window, snow is steadily drifting from gray skies.  All is peaceful.  Even the cats.  Yes, you read correctly...cats.  This morning, I packed up Token, Abigail, litter box, food, toys, treats, scratch mat, kitty blankets (oh, and some of my things, too) for a 2 or 3 night stay with John.  Pets are welcome in patient rooms at Hospice House and "the kids" wanted to see their dad.  John's having a nap; Token's starting to doze at the foot of his bed; Abigail is resting comfortably in her towel-lined carrier; and I'm enjoying a moment of calm.
John is changing.  He's not eating except for a minute amount of fruit and some fluids and his nausea is almost constant albeit controlled with meds.  His nephrostomy tubes are mostly clear of blood and his kidneys are still producing urine.  But he is starting to feel more acute discomfort in his lower abdomen from the cancer and, today, I see a big change in his energy level -- which was already very low.  They're going to try to get him in the shower this afternoon and put him in some fresh flannel PJs and t-shirt.
I love the snow.  I hope when next winter's blanket of white comes, I'll be able to appreciate its beauty without heartache.  Maybe this is God's way of wrapping His winter arms around us, holding us close as we near the end of this journey.
John told me a couple of nights ago that he didn't want this (his life and our life together) to end.  I replied that the only thing ending is his cancer-stricken body and the pain, suffering and uselessness that accompanies it.  I told John that he is just beginning.  I pray that he can accept and go where he needs to go next...and wait for me.  Wait for us all.  It's going to be grand when we're together.  Love and peace to you all...Nancy