I Married a H0meless Man Who Had 0ne Month Left to Live – But the Letter I Received After His Funeral Made the Blood Drain from My Face

« No. »

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Less than a month earlier, Larry had been outside my subway station holding a piece of cardboard across his knees.

MARRY ME. I HAVE ONE MONTH LEFT TO LIVE.

I’d known him for two years.

Every weekday, I bought two coffees from the kiosk beside the station. Mine with cream. His black.

Larry never begged me for anything. Some mornings we discussed the weather. Other mornings he complained about pigeons or told me my office shoes looked designed by « somebody who hated feet. »