I thought if I could just hold it together a little longer, keep it from you a little longer, I could give you that.” He finally raised his eyes to mine, and they were streaming now, and what I saw in them was not shame anymore but a deep and desperate grief.

“I wanted you to remember me the way I was,” he said.

“Strong.

The one who took care of things.

The one who provided.

I did not want to become the thing you had to take care of.

I did not want that to be how you remembered your husband.

I wanted to leave you with the strong version.