For a while after his death, I remembered Robert clearly. Then slowly, pieces began disappearing. Some mornings I knew he was gone. Other mornings I thought he had gone shopping or was late coming home from work.
Months later, Rachel sat beside me and showed me our final hospital photograph.
I stared at it for a long time.
There was an elderly man lying in the bed, and I was resting my head against him with a smile on my face. His features felt familiar, but I couldn’t find his name anywhere in my mind.
Finally, I looked at Rachel.
“Who is this man?”
She later told me that question almost broke her.
But she remembered her father’s instructions. Instead of telling me again that my husband was dead, she took my hand and said softly, “He was someone who loved you very much.”
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