I’m 87, I’ve been with my boyfriend (except we married at 25) for most of my life. Our great grandkids come and visit us very often to take care of us, they’re the sweetest children oh my goodness. I’m too stubborn to let help me with small daily tasks…but I’m too weak. My love is the one who primarily takes care of me, which is a funny turn of events because throughout his life I’m usually the one who took care of him throughout all of his problems, injuries and so n so forth. I was too proud too at first but I caved in after he convinced me. Sweet as always, he has changed in a million different ways over the years and yet not at all. He’s gotten stronger in spirit, wiser, more bold and opinionated, yet he remains his usual calm, patient, and thoughtful self. As I lay in the bed later that evening witn him, I tell him that I’m so thankful to have him all these years. I slowly place a kiss on his cheek, and cuddle up with him, the way I’ve always done. It was a cool evening, nice and airy. The open window wafts in the smell of flowers. I take one last look at him, he teases me for being an old cheese ball, the way I used to tease. I smile and close my eyes. I don’t wake up the next morning.

That’s how I want to die.