I am heartbroken to share that Dean started Hospice 4 days ago. As I write this he is next to me in a hospital bed in our family room. My muscular broad shouldered husband I'm used to looking at in bed for 38 yrs, barely takes up any space in this twin bed. I see a "transport" chair, oxygen, a potty chair with large handles. How did this happen? We were just going out to dinner every Saturday night. I would eat while he would excitedly talk about work. Dean loves to work. I call him a working breed dog. Frito Lay, New England Log Homes, a swimming pool/spa company, Hershey, ConAgra, I didn't want to move the children, so he worked for a scientist helping him sell something he new absolutely nothing about, but he threw himself into it. Campbell's, King Soopers, Kellogg's, Dole, and finally Coldwell Banker. There is nothing, nothing, Dean can't sell. He was once tasked with getting disgusting boxed squash soup into hundreds of Publix stores. No challenge ever too big. He will ponder, analyze, strategize, crunch the numbers...all the things. He came up with recipes (a man who never cooked) to make it palatable and brought my crockpot to the conference table at the headquarters. Well you know that nasty soup ended up on the shelf in hundreds of stores. He would always tell me "I'm not that bright" or "I was lucky". Of course I would vehemently disagree, but he never believed me. 

He didn't have to sell me on him. I was home for summer going into my Senior year in college. He was working putting himself through school at Univ of Oregon. His parents and younger brothers had moved to PA. same subdivision I lived in. He was struggling with working and school, so packed up his Pinto, drove across the country to live with his family, attend a PA school, and finish his Senior yr. I was at the pool. He said, "Who is that?" That's Jocelyn Wells. He found my #, called. I was on a dating break. I thought, "who is this?" Like the smart low pressure salesman he is, he said, "well I'll be at the pool tomorrow if you want to meet me." Totally worked with this suspicious, bristley, introvert. I went. I liked him. He asked me to dinner. He did most of the talking while I peeled shrimp and dunked it in cocktail sauce. (Over the years he would say, "you should get the peel and eat shrimp). I listened. People who know me, know I listen hard. With my eyebrows furrowed. I was one of those wounded girls whose father drank, cheated and was abusive to her mother. Choosing a husband for me was very serious. I new what could happen if you chose wrong. I hung on his every word. I analyzed every bit of him. Love, kindness, compassion, warmth, honesty, integrity, enveloped me across that booth. I felt safe. I am sobbing typing that word. Safe. No one makes a person feel taken care of, safe, nurtured and cherished like Dean Ash. He somehow knew I was a cat under the car. Men were not to be trusted. I needed to be on guard. Keep the upper hand. He somehow knew this. He let me have it. He waited. When I would push him away, he just waited. When I felt overwhelmed he would gently encourage me. He has never ever been angry with me. My childhood home was filled with scary anger. He somehow knew. I tested him countless times to see if he would become my father. He waited. He just loved me. When he was working or on the road he always told me where he was. I would roll my eyes. Why is he always calling me? He wasn't going anywhere. People would say, "He loves you so much. Everyone knows how much Dean loves Jocelyn." This just makes me sob. I don't deserve him.  He was brought to this earth as my soulmate to heal me, and he did. I don't know what I'm going do without him.

Jocelyn