Let’s go get a drink, and something to eat.”
My first wife Elaine was buried three days after she fell, on August 18th. I remembered loving her so very much when we married early in 1942. One of them closed her eyes, and I stared at her shoes as they took her away. Her eyes were wide open and her chest moved, as she breathed her last seven breaths. They decided to turn the small living room that sat at the top of the basement steps into a laundry room and pantry. No breathing either. While telling this story I skimmed over most of two decades, only telling you the major stuff that mattered, so I could get to the most important parts quicker. Probably. As we got to the top, he kicked the pipe I had been holding and it rolled under the washer. I stupidly shouted, “ELAINE! Most of the family was at a picnic in town on the day Elaine died.
