“I thought I was prepared for the death of someone I’d loved for more than half a century. I wasn’t.”
By Richard Toth
It was late August, a Monday evening. After supper, we took our mugs of tea out to the patio. We watched a handful of chickadees fussing around the feeder.
We’d been with friends the day before for drinks and then a barbecue — ribs, fresh corn on the cob, salads, a nice dessert.
“You know, we should go out more often,” Brenda said. “We said we were going to, but we never seem to get around to it. We should get a reservation for that place we went to for our anniversary. That food was really good.”
In June, we’d gone out for a fancy meal to celebrate our 51st wedding anniversary.
“Yes, we should do that,” I said.
When we finished our tea, Brenda said she was going to do a little deadheading in the flower bed in the backyard. I went inside to play a game on the computer.
At some point, I realized I hadn’t heard her come in. I went to the back steps to check. She was coming across the lawn, but something was wrong. She was walking oddly…
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