Meet, Meeting, Met

Meet, Meeting, Met

“Good morning, Annie!” a handsome older man said as he proffered a small bouquet from his garden.

“Have we met before?”

Dalton hesitated, then smiled.

“Just came to introduce myself. My name is Dalton. I live across the street,” he explained gesturing to his neat little bungalow.

Annie wiped her hands on her apron and held out her hand.

“Of course, I watched you move in. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please!” he replied. He didn’t really enjoy tea but knew she did.

“I hope to meet your wife someday.”

“I’m a widower, have been for ten years.”

Annie covered her mouth.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, it must be painful for you!”

“It was at first, but now I feel like I’m ready to make new friends.”

Annie dimpled like a schoolgirl.

“And you picked me?”

Dalton stepped up on the porch and asked if he could sit with her.

When she nodded, he did so. They chatted and laughed all afternoon. He noticed her flagging with exhaustion and finally took his leave with a brief wave.

Back at his house, he went inside. Taking out his diary, he began to write:

“My Annie is getting further and further away! I decided to move, when she began forgetting me to such an extent that she was terrified of me and screamed and fought when I tried to take her into my arms. And the language!

My Annie never talked like that in all our years together! But I couldn’t go far. I was too worried and hopeful that things would change for the better.

But after ten years, it seems they haven’t and never will! She needs more care than I can give.”

Resolutely, he picked up the phone to call a long-term care home nearby.