A Nurse Mentioned the Woman Visiting My Dying Husband—Then She Came to My Door With a Letter About a Five-Year-Old Boy
“So do I now.”
I had been thinking of the letter as something Simon left behind for me.
A burden, a test, a last request disguised as permission to refuse.
There was some truth in each fear.
But I could choose what I did with it without pretending my choice had already been made by the person I loved.
“I am doing this my way, Simon.”
I said it without smiling at first.