An Affectionate Farewell

Driving North with my wife. “Have you heard from Cousin Cynthia, and Bob?”

“No. Bob’s Parkinson’s can’t be good.”

We arrive, settle in. Next morning at the grocery I see--

“Cynthia?” Hesitation. “Cynthia?” It’s she:

“Bob died yesterday.”

“I’m so sorry.” Blonde daughter Anne appears. “So sorry.” And brunette daughter Caroline. “Sorry.”

Can’t I say something real to these desolate women, tears welling in their eyes?

Then I see the Bob of years ago. A wedding. Elegant attire, charming manners, he flatters each woman of our four with a graceful dance, one after another.

“Ladies, Bob was a lovely man.”