Diary of a Widower

Daily entries by a husband, who stayed behind with his two sons

When there was still hope

TUESDAY, January 26 – During a meeting I was leafing unsuspectingly through my business notebook.  There were a few sheets of paper at the back and, suddenly, a card fell out. It was a drawing Eamonn had made for Jenn.

Get well soon, Mom

He’d drawn a big heart around the text, which read:

Dear Mom, I hope you get well soon, because it’s lonely here

without your humor. Get well soon. From Eamonn, Sander, Oma.

PS:  Elsa wants to see you. PPS. Bodhi also wants to see you. I hope

you feel better.

I must have turned a ghastly shade, since within seconds I felt the blood draining from my face. For an instant my body froze, and then collapsed helplessly. No one noticed or, at least,  they all pretended they didn’t see my tears. The note was written the morning after the accident, when Jenn was already in a coma. It was full of concern, but also childlike hope which was to remain unfulfilled.

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