Wednesday, April 4, 2012


As we move close to the one year anniversary (seems way too jolly a word) for Bob's moving into a care facility, I've come to realize how much of our time was spent in conversation. We'd sit and talk in the mornings with our coffee; for years the alarm went off at 4:30 and we sipped and chatted for an hour before getting ready for the day.
Weather good? We'd sit out on the porch or deck, sip a glass of wine, and talk.
Time to go for a walk, we could walk (and sometimes argue) our way through a good three miles.
No one else can talk with me like Bob could.


  1. I miss talking too... but mine is gone into places he chooses--golf, football, news programs--he's gone. Seems like it doesn't matter exactly where they go; when they leave, they're gone.

  2. Amen and when they choose to be gone, it's almost worse.
    I'm sorry.