My husband is fond of quoting an old Florida oranges commercial, in which a farmer checks his fruit for ripeness and says, “Not yet.” And I have been thinking that over and over again since Miklos had his emergency surgery. He was ready to die from the pain, but I kept saying to myself, “Not yet.”

Of course, as I have mentioned before, when one marries a man nine plus years her senior, she reasonably expects to spend some time as a widow. I have often thought, over the years, about what widowhood will be like. Sometimes, when our relationship has been rocky, I have thought about it with a degree of anticipation.

But while Miklos was in critical condition, I kept saying to myself, “not yet,” and I realized how little I am actually prepared to face being alone. I add plans to the calendar and think of milestones, as though I have the power to bargain with life and death on Miklos’ behalf — not until after your birthday, not until after our trip to Canada, not until our anniversary, not until –. The list is actually endless, and it is one more thing over which I have absolutely no control.

Miklos still has the capacity for joy and pleasure. He anticipates visits with his children and grandchildren. He enjoys the company of friends. As long as he has those moments, I really feel that it is not yet time. When will it be time? I will cope with that when the time comes.