The last few months were spent in home hospice, and I sat beside his bed every day, holding the hand I’d been holding since we started dating.
***
Walter’s younger sister, Denise, had been coming around more than usual. She showed up with casseroles I didn’t ask for and photo albums I hadn’t seen in years.
I sat beside his bed.
« Look at him here, Eleanor. Wasn’t he beautiful? »
« He was. »
***
One afternoon, my sister-in-law (SIL) flipped straight to a page showing Walter and her as children. They were standing in front of their father’s old house. She asked so casually that it almost wasn’t a question:
« Is the deed to this house still in both your names, or just Walter’s? »
« Wasn’t he beautiful? »
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