Despite myself, I smiled.
During our three weeks of marriage, I had bought Larry warm socks, toiletries, a phone charger, and a new blanket.
Probably enough supplies to last six months.
Every hospice visit went exactly the same way.
I would enter carrying something.
Larry would say, “Sit down, Sarah.”
And I would answer, “In a minute.”
There was always another nurse to find.
Another form to complete.
Another problem to solve.
Then I reached the next sentence.
“I didn’t need better socks nearly as much as you thought I did.”
I laughed through my tears.
“You’re welcome, Larry.”
Then I read the line beneath it.
“I needed you to sit down.”
I looked at the empty place beside me.
Our final Tuesday together came rushing back.
I had brought his usual black coffee.
