We only spoke on a few occasions. Short conversations, but a bit below the surface. You knew you were dying. Cancer was taking your body, but not your spirit. One day at a time, you’d smile. And your sweet husband would smile with you.

Your peaceful presence was drawing. And your dress was sassy, full of personality. I would like to have talked more. But your days were short, and interrupting family time didn’t seem appropriate.

There was one opportunity for an extended conversation. I discovered you both were retired teachers. Smiled listening to your stories. Gratefully accepted your encouragement as a teacher.

That evening was the last time we spoke. Sounds like you held on as long as you could.

You are no longer suffering. For that, I am thankful. But selfishly, I wish we’d had the chance to become friends.

We rarely know when
One conversation
Will be our last
And even if
We have an inkling
I expect our hearts
Won’t entertain until
We know for certain