Contemplating Widowhood A few months ago, my husband got sick. We don’t know with what, and although he was never tested, we suspect it was some strain of Covid. Three…
Forty years of anniversaries that commemorate the last time we thought we knew what we were getting into.
Do the Face Gods hate me now?
She had been in a nursing home for several years, deteriorating at a snail’s pace. On my annual visits, my brother and I would question the wisdom of stockpiling old people in places like this.
From where he sits on the sofa, Vivaldi on the portable CD player next to him, he sees everything but can make sense of nothing. His home gleams. Not a spot of dust anywhere. His wife, with nothing else to do but care for him, has become obsessive. Dust she can control. A husband whose mind deteriorates a little more each day is beyond her.
When What Was Lost Is Found I have become the queen of losing things. Last fall I lost two of my favorite necklaces. One I love not only because my…
“Everything we own is stuffed in our cart. My favorite bone, his Purple Heart...” Lyrics from Couple of Strays
I hope one day I see her again, prancing in heaven.
She must have sounded horrified because he said, “Now who would have thought you’d find that more abhorrent than sleeping with me?”