At My Husband’s Funeral, I Reached Into His Casket to Lay a Flower—And Found a Crumpled Note Tucked Under His Hands
I am fifty-five years old, and for the first time since I was nineteen, I no longer have a husband beside me. Greg and I were married for thirty-six years. Our love wasn’t dramatic or the kind you see displayed on social media. It was quiet and steady, built on small everyday things—grocery lists, dentist…