Toward the end she was sick all the time, often laying quietly, resting as well as she could considering the relentless pain she was enduring. Her husband, a huge, strong man, felt helpless; there was nothing he could do to help her, and little to even comfort her .
As she slept on the couch, curled up under an afghan she’d crocheted before the cancer had taken over, he got up and ambled over to her, as quietly as he could. Softly he stroked her now thin hair and whispered under his breath “Poor little thing.”
Her voice, seeming somewhat less frail at the moment, startled him at first, “Poor, big thing; quit ‘yer frettin’ over me”, she replied. His big, warm smile spread across his face for the first time in a very long time.
Lifelong lovers – now
She seemed a shell of herself
Yet was still in charge