It was breakfast. Gordon and Jillian always sat at a coffee bench in the kitchen and stared vacantly at their coffees until they woke up properly. It was a ritual. Occasionally something was said, such as “Did you see on TV where the president has done this or the vice-president has not done that?”
Today was different. Jillian had gone out and purchased a morning paper; something they never did. She sat looking not at her coffee but at the obituaries.
It had been two days now. She still couldn’t believe it.
He was shocked and mystified to read his death announcement in the morning paper. There it was in clear black letters: JOHN MILFORD BARNABAS RODGERS. Died suddenly while on vacation in the Philippines. Loved husband of Nola. Loving father and father-in-law of Roberta and Cranford, Arnold and Cecily, and Nigel and Petra. Much loved grandfather of seven wonderful grandkids.
Most definitely shocked and mystified. Dumbfounded perhaps. Except his wife wasn’t called Nola, and his children weren’t Roberta, Arnold and Nigel. Nor had he any grandchildren. Nor had he ever been to the Philippines. And to top it off, his name on his appointment card to see the psychiatrist next week wasn’t JOHN MILFORD BARNABAS RODGERS.