When we danced, he rested his cheek against my shoulder and claimed I had the best view of his thinning hair.
We had 41 years together.
My husband, Thomas, had been five feet ten.
After he died, I assumed that part of my life had ended with him.
My granddaughter disagreed.
« Grandma, you need to meet people, » she announced one Sunday, taking my phone before I could object.
I assumed that part of my life had ended with him.
« I meet people at the grocery store, dear, » I said. « The butcher gave me a free chicken last month. »
« Geez! I’m thinking of someone who might buy you dinner. »
Twenty minutes later, I had a dating profile.
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