This was our conversation last weekend on Hub’s birthday:
Me: “Honey, We are so fortunate we’ve been able to share so many birthdays together.”
Hub: “We are.”
Me: “I hope we both stay healthy enough that we can enjoy many more together.”
Hub: “Me, too.”
Me: “But I know how lonely you would be if anything happened to me. If I die first, I want you to find a companion who can share golf with you because we have such fun when we play.”
Me: “In fact, you should let her use my clubs.”
Hub: “No, I would never do that.”
Me: “Why not? They are really good clubs, and I don’t mind.”
Hub: “No, I can’t.”
Me: “Why not?”
Hub: “Because she’s left-handed.”
Ha ha ha – April Fool’s Joke!
THAT conversation never happened.
But the following conversation actually occurred a few years ago …
If we don’t spend Thanksgiving Day with friends or family, we like to go for a long walk after dinner. One of our traditional walks meanders through a local cemetery where our talk often turns to our own lives, our remaining years, and whether we want to be buried, cremated, have a tombstone – more in a reflective than maudlin way.
That particular year, I was feeling thankful for all the spectacular vacations we’d taken, especially to some quaint locales before development changed their character and made them over-populated tourist meccas.
“Honey,” I said, “when I die, I want you to cremate me and take my ashes back to all the places we’ve traveled together and have such fond memories. Sprinkle a little of me each place you go, and enjoy being there again yourself.”
“Like where?” he asked.
“Oh, you know, like Turks and Caicos, the Cayman Islands, Young Island, Maui, Mackinac Island, the Lake Superior shore, San Francisco, Paris, Carmel, Telluride, Santorini the Maine coast. What do you think? Would you like to do that?
Hub … thinking … pausing … grinning … “Would I have to go alone?”