The day we took Sam into surgery was the hardest day of my life.  It took every ounce of my being not to turn around and call it all off.  We caught the cancer early, no mets, no lymph, bloodwork normal, energy normal, barely...  and I mean barely, a limp.  But the limp was there and I had to trust what I was hearing from others, even if I couldn't see it myself.  Having that trust in someone else's opinion was hard for me. What if they are wrong? Sam trusts me and I don't know enough to be sure.  His enthusiasm and recovery wiped that question out of my head in the first few days.  He had a spark that I hadn't seen in a while.  It was obvious that he had been masking pain, and now that it was gone, he felt good. He continued to feel good every day thereafter, until he didn't.

Surgery day was harder for me than the day Sam told me he had to go.  I think the difference is that the day he left, I understood what he was asking for, he was able to tell me, and it was a decision I could make with him, not for him. 

There is no guilt here, not a drop.  We didn't get as much time as we wanted but the time we had was sacred and I don't regret a single step on our path, I know he didn't.  We just both wished we had more time after...