The last conversation from a visit with my 98-year-old Great Great Aunt Ruth on Saturday…

“Will you come again next year?” Aunt Ruth asked.
“Yes, I will, if I’m not married.”
“Well,” she smiled, “I hope you’re married.”
I giggled. “I hope so, too.”
“How old are you again?” she asked.
“Twenty-two.”
“That’s a good age to be married,” Aunt Ruth said with conviction.
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Being married is the most wonderful thing, if you have a good man as I did.
“Well, I’m rather prejudiced, but I think I have the best man in the whole world.”
“That’s how it should be. That’s what I thought of my husband.”

I wish I could remember exactly how she worded those last few sentences… Uncle Charlie died six years ago, after he and Aunt Ruth had been married over 60 years. She kept saying how hard it was to live alone, that she wished they could have gone together. Yet as lonely as she is, all she talked about was what a good man Uncle Charlie was, and how they had such a good life together. She was full of fond reminisces and hearty praise for the man she still loves.

We heard the stories over and over. I s’pose that’s how everyone else feels with all the stories I tell about my man. But I just had to laugh, because I’m sure when my great-great-grand-niece comes to visit me someday in a nursing home, all I’ll talk about is that good-looking man in the picture frames all around me, and what a good man he was…


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