At 70, I flew home from the funeral of the man I spent 43 years with. I texted our family group chat:

over,” my son said. I looked around the room. At the neighbors.

At the quiet kindness filling the space they had left empty. “You don’t have to,” I said. “We want to,” he replied.

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Okay.”

When they arrived an hour later, they didn’t walk in the same way they always had. Not casually.

Not comfortably. They stood continue reading …