A Love That Lasted a Lifetime
My parents were married for 55 years. They had shared everything—joy, struggles, laughter, and tears. But one morning, everything changed.
As my mom was heading downstairs to make breakfast for my dad, she suddenly collapsed from a heart attack. My father, in a panic, did the only thing he could—he picked her up as best he could, dragged her into his truck, and raced to the hospital, ignoring every traffic light along the way.
But it was too late.
By the time he arrived, she was gone.
Silent Grief
At the funeral, my father barely spoke. His eyes were distant, lost in memories. He didn’t cry—not in the way we expected. Instead, he just sat there, silent.
That night, my siblings and I gathered around him. We shared stories, reminiscing about the life our parents had built together. My brother, a theologian, tried to offer comfort by explaining what he believed about life after death—where Mom might be now.
My father listened quietly. Then, suddenly, he looked up and made an unexpected request:
“Take me to the cemetery.”
We hesitated.
“Dad, it’s almost midnight,” we said. “We can’t go now.”
His voice sharpened. His eyes, glassy but determined, met ours.
“Don’t argue with me,” he said. “Please. Don’t argue with the man who just lost his wife of 55 years.”
We fell silent.
