My father died, officially of old age, 7 weeks after this photo of Betty was taken. He announced his intention to die when Mommie and he were separated. “You’re ending my marriage, I took a vow to care for her.” They never heard him on that.
I asked him then not to go, to give me six months, since I had just lost a dear friend and my brother-in-law. He gave me seven.
He loved Betty, they had a love affair that spanned their 65 years of marriage. And even after. Whether it was Betty’s dementia or whether Sam actually showed up, he “visited” her ever day at lunch time for two and a half years. She giggled and flirted like the 22-year-old she was when she met him.
Love is a many splendored thing. We can’t know how many ways. We cannot count them.
Love is a Peace all its own. Let us Love. Let us Peace.