Even after all these years, cancer still hadn’t been wiped out. Every time scientists claimed to be on the verge of eradicating it, another more virulent form would replace it.
My wife died after a long, painful illness. She’d been forty-three.
But Jo had fought it as valiantly as a soldier in battle. She lost her hair, she lost weight, and in the end she lost even the ability to control her bodily functions, but she never lost the gaiety of spirit that had seen us through so many years of marriage.
We knew the end was just a matter of time. “Easy,” she whispered, that last night, “no one gets out of this life alive. Grieve for me, sweetie, and then set it aside.” She tried to squeeze my hand, but there was no strength left in her.
I nodded, turning my head so she wouldn’t see the tear
