1786. Good Friday

Tommy had sat for three days next to his wife’s bed. Sometimes he held her hand. Sometimes he dabbed her brow with a cool flannel. Her breathing was a little laboured. The liver cancer had hit fast, but these last three days of waiting were slow.

She seemed to settle for the night; another long night.

And then the breathing changed.

And then a stillness came.

Tommy sat for an hour before phoning anyone.

12 thoughts on “1786. Good Friday

  1. dumbestblogger

    My Mom died of cancer shortly after Easter, so we did those three days of waiting a little later. She insisted on going to church on Easter Sunday, and refused extra morphine even when she couldn’t talk anymore. Stubborn lady.

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply
    1. Bruce Goodman Post author

      She sounds a stunning mother to have been blessed with. I must admit that I stumbled across her obituary and was impressed and moved. Lest you think I’ve been too nosy, I was actually checking up on your sister’s unusual name (without realizing it was your sister) and thought aha!

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

I delight in having my dull life coloured by your intelligent perceptions, your wit, and your vivacity.

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