It’s been nearly a decade since my husband died, but every detail of the day remains etched in my mind as if it were yesterday. I remember the call that came from the hospice facility at 2 a.m., then talking to the funeral parlor that was to retrieve his body and transfer it to the medical center where students could learn from it.

Not five hours later I was on a plane to South Carolina, where I’d been scheduled to speak on —— of all things — end-of-life issues. When I said in the course of my talk that my husband had died that night, a man in the audience was incensed. How dare I? he challenged. How could I just up and leave on the day my spouse of 44 years had died?

I admit that it can strike some as uncaring, even coldhearted. But what that man didn’t know is that weeks before he died, my husband asked me not to cancel any professional commitments for his sake. What I was doing by speaking in South Carolina that day was respecting his dying wish and honoring his memory.

We both had known his death was imminent, and I suppose I had experienced the acute stages of grief in the weeks prior. I felt lucky that I and my sons, daughters-in-law and grandsons had a chance to say goodbye and tell him how much he was loved and admired.