On our second date, we went for a compatibility walk. The winter sun was setting as Steve, the widower, and I, the widow, introduced our furry children — his big old black dog and my small young white dog. We walked in parallel on opposite sides of a local wooded path testing to see if each (human and dog) was to be best buddies with the other.
Two years later, Steve and I married. Brooks and Scheffie, by now dog-friends, became dog-brothers. …
March 3, 2005
A gloomy dawn; I dressed in black and silence.
Bouquets arrived in lavish vases and massive baskets. Heavy with water, awkward to carry. I lugged them in, one at a time. Put them everywhere. Anywhere. Wherever.
I did not love flowers that morning. Flowers need care. I was done with care.
I left the apartment I had bought two months earlier — barrier-free, perfect for wheelchair access, spacious enough for a hospital bed, with sliding doors to a bright and sunny veranda. No need to have bothered with all that. He never came home.
I buried my…
I had never thought about what it was like to live to 100 until I met my mother-in-law, Henrietta. She was most likely not the typical 100 year old woman, nor the typical mother-in-law, but she sure was one that I intend to emulate. I met her when she was 95 when I married her son, Steve (after he and I had been widowed). She died at 103. During those 8 years, I was as much basked in her love as if I had been in her life for much, much longer.
Henrietta abounded with love and kindness. …
Boomer, Dr. Fran SLP, retired prof, sometimes writer, always grandma, Franma to step grandkids (dont like "step"), family, community, dogs rule.