The Last Moment
At 85, the doctor gently told us his heart would not hold much longer. In his final days, Bill often asked me to sit beside him so he could share stories from his youth—fishing by the river, lost loves, raising children with nothing but his hands and hope. His greatest wish, he said, was for his children and grandchildren to live with dignity.
Then, one quiet afternoon, the moment came. With labored breaths, he reached for me and handed me an old pillow—its edges frayed, fabric worn thin. His voice shook as he whispered: “For… Althea…” I held the pillow tightly, confused. Minutes later, he closed his eyes for the last time.
