I am 67 years old. I had been married to Thomas for 42 of those years, and I thought I knew every scar, every freckle, every inch of him.
I was wrong.
And I didn’t find out until he was gone, when the funeral home gave me some private time to say goodbye before the viewing.
The funeral director showed me into the room.
“Take all the time you need, ma’am,” he said before closing the door behind him.
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