There are times

There are times when I wished I could have added a little levity to Ken's wake, as he did at our father's three years before. I couldn't then either, as I just was so overcome with grief. I do plan to write about Ken's great wit as time goes on. He made everyone laugh on a regular basis.
There were times when I wished Ken and I had spoken more during his final months, yet we found ourselves in ineffable disbelief and bewilderment. At the same time we both knew there really wasn't much to say. We knew, and we understood. We simply said "I love you" every day until he could no longer speak, though that didn't stop me. It's hard to know just when he actually lost his ability to speak after all.
With about a month to go, and Ken essentially comatose for weeks, I told him about how we hadn't spoken much, and why we didn't need to. His eyes opened for the first time in weeks, and with an heroic effort, slowly brought his right arm across his body, grabbed my wrist with surprising strength, and pulled my hand to his mouth to kiss it. It was the last thing he ever was able to do physically.