My mother told me rather non-chalantly that when they were younger,(*), the plan was for my father to die around 85 or 86; she would be around 80 and this would be just fine.
Also slightly in jest (but you never know) she suggested he stab her and then shoot himself (a loud, rambunctious, slavic romeo and juliet but funnier).
That she didn't want to be part of the f*cking widows club.
(*) represents the even more simply uttered aside of
"because you know, he was my whole world".
I dreamed of him in their bedroom from my childhood home, with our german shepherds, his roosters and chickens from his childhood and some fresh running water, waiting for her, and for us. Mismatched shapes like the shadow seahorse I saw the other night in silhouette, and groggy disciplines. I was saying to someone who'd never met him that "he could find the best and most pure qualities in you, he'd just find them right away and connect to you on your best level." Then eyes opened, tears, too many blankets, cat drinking the water at the side of my bed. Bristle ring, wet snow. It didn't stick.
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