“We talked about death. The husband and I, we talked about it! We did! I always thought,” says she, “I always thought about our death in a sort of romantic kind of way. I thought that when death came for one of us, well, the one that died first would sort of pass ‘gently into the night.’ But, when he died, well, there was nothing ‘gentle’ about it….and, there was nothing romantic about it. His death was hard. Long. Drawn out. Messy. And….” You're Great At Writing.

11:30 p.m. “Can you come?” says the voice on the other end of the phone. “He won’t make it through the night!” Thirty minutes later we...

He was a drunk, a full-blown alcoholic – and in trouble! He sat across from me in the church office and shared a sad, sordid story that...