Read or Play a Sample of Carrying the Tiger

From the Book

Author’s Note

In Dante's Inferno, the gates of Hell bear the inscription: "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here." This is not that story.

This is a book about how my wife, Lynn, and I navigated severe illness and its aftermath without abandoning hope. Together we found caring doctors, weathered life-threatening setbacks, learned to live fully in the shadow of death, and shared the intimate grace of her departure from this world. Then, with the help of old friends and new, I climbed out of shattering grief and eased my way towards new love. There was uncertainty, fear, and sorrow, yes, but also tenderness and joy, and I had the honor and privilege of accompanying Lynn on her final journey.

I wish I had been able to read something like this when we embarked on our odyssey, stunned, scared, and unsure of what lay ahead. I hope it will help others find their way forward or make peace with what they've already experienced. Although your circumstances may be different from mine, the underlying story is universal and all too rarely shared.

Tony Stewart, September 2024

Prologue

Wednesday, February 10, 2021, CaringBridge blog / LynnKotula

Lynn is leaving us faster than I expected.

Once we made the decision to stop treatment, she quickly turned in on herself, lost in thought much of the time. We had a good conversation last night, but more often her attempts to communicate are just fragments, not all of them coherent. She hardly eats, and I am no longer trying so hard to encourage her. She says she's not ready to go yet, but her actions suggest otherwise.

The hardest part is coming to terms with the fact that my love is no longer enough to keep her with us.

I don't expect Lynn to look at her email again or read texts, but I have been reading them to her, along with your comments posted here. If you would like to visit or speak with her, I encourage you to do so sooner rather than later. During daylight is probably best; she drifts off somewhere after dark and then sleeps soundly for many hours.

Unfortunately, getting out of bed in the morning, which she wants to do, is now unbelievably painful because of her neck. I don't know how many more days she will be willing to endure the pain. But I treasure our nights together when it is just the two of us. Even in silence we feel each other's presence.

Right now, we are sitting together in the kitchen, where she can look out at the river. I read her the first half of this post already, she smiled and nodded. I will read the rest to her now.

27 comments
- Tony, I am so, so sorry. I love Lynn, too, and would just wish her a life without pain. —Jane
- Would that love were enough. It is not. But, in the end, it's all we really have. Fill the time you have with it. —Dave

From the Audiobook

I recorded the book in my home office. Lily the cat helped. I hung sleeping bags and arranged pillows to absorb echoes.