At 82, I Found

at the dark window, feeling like a man waiting for a bus that no longer came.

Three weeks after the funeral, Diane visited with a casserole and found him at the dining room table surrounded by envelopes.

“Dad,” she said softly. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for the insurance papers.”

“They’re in the green folder. Mom labeled everything.”

“I know that.”

But continue reading …