I married a dying man to honor his final wish. Ten days later, I stood beside his coffin holding the ring he had been too weak to place on my finger. That evening, his lawyer arrived with something Carl had forbidden him to give me while he was alive… something to haunt me for the rest of my life.
Three times a week, I volunteered with a hospice support program.
Most patients wanted ordinary help. A warm meal. Clean sheets. Someone to sit with them.
Carl wanted to play Scrabble.
I volunteered with a hospice support program.
He was 40, thin from treatment, and lived alone in a small house crowded with books. On my first visit, he pointed toward the game board before I had removed my coat.
“Do you know how to play?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you cheat?”
“Only when necessary.”
“Do you cheat?”
He studied me for a moment.
“We may get along.”
We did.👉 Read the Full Story
***
I brought soup, washed dishes, and made tea. Before long, Carl remembered everything I liked.
At first, I assumed he was observant.
Later, I realized he was remembering.
At first, I assumed he was observant.
Carl had stage four cancer.
He never pretended the treatments were working. He simply disliked allowing illness to become the largest thing in the room.
When pain interrupted a conversation, he waited for it to pass, then picked up exactly where he had stopped.
Except once.
Carl had stage four cancer.
