Til Death

Love. It’s a beautiful thing. Until it’s gone and then it’s a terrible, terrible thing. You always hear about these stories of married couples that were married 40 or 50 years and then when one of them dies, the other dies within weeks or months. People see it as a testament to the love that the couple shared. “Poor Martha just couldn’t live without him. She died of a broken heart two weeks after he had that fatal stroke.” Or, “He just stopped eating. And then his heart stopped beating. She was the love of his life…he couldn’t live without her.” But what about the widow or widower that is able to live a life after a long term marriage? Were they less devoted? I don’t think so, but I can imagine some people may think so, even if not overtly…

“Pop pop joined a book club. He even found a group of older men to go for walks with. I thought he loved mawmaw, but I guess not…”

“When gramma finally passed, we didn’t think Pop would have that much more left in him…but he’s like a new man. He’s taking a course at the community college and is going fishing every Sunday. He even started working out. What a dick.”