211227 Sentinel, Coffee and Beer

I sit here alone, drinking my morning coffee.
Joyce and I sat here in our home office drinking coffee every morning and we would talk about things, plans for the day, our loved ones, our friends and family. We would discuss how my daily posts would be best presented. It made for a delightful morning as we listened to our music. I miss that. We could talk endlessly about everything under the sun. Later we would sit in here, me drinking my daily beer ration while Joyce had her whiskey with a dash of water over ice.

This picture was taken after Joyce's first aneurysm. She had an Electroencephalogram (checking brain waves). The nurses shaved spots all over her skull to attach electrodes. Joyce had bare patches all over her head. She asked me to just shave her entire head. I did and I thought it looked beautiful. In the picture she had the first smile in 2 1/2 months. She had an horrific recovery from the aneurysm.

Now I sit here alone, talking aloud to myself so I can still keep my vocal chords working. I do talk to people in Walmart or in the grocery store or the beer store. The other day I was in the grocery store when I kept seeing a woman who looked just like Joyce, same face, same body, same mannerism. She had an old man with her. The poor guy was hunched over like a pretzel as he hobbled around following her. The two of them ended up checking out right behind me. We finished sorting our groceries at the same time and I was halfway to the exit door when I could no longer contain myself. I had to stop and speak with her. Her eyes sparkled like morning dew and were just a shade darker that Joyce’s eyes were. She was so much like Joyce, it was uncanny. She was a delight that made my day. I told her how much she looked like Joyce. and how much I missed her. She was pleasant and it was like speaking with Joyce again. She and her husband have been married 55 years. I told her that when you have to take care of a spouse is when you really learn to love them. She leaned in to me and said, “I don’t have to take care of him, I want to.” That is the most beautiful sentence I have ever heard. We talked as her husband waited quietly and patiently behind her. I said goodbye to her and shook his hand and told him how lucky he was to have her. He agreed and then we parted.