About two weeks before his death, Joe commented that he looked like a Holocaust victim. He was right. Pancreatic cancer had, indeed, turned my husband into the gaunt, hollowed-eyed man so familiar from historical images of Nazi camps discovered at the end of World War II. Clearly, the disease was eating Joe alive. The sight of my spouse's once superfit body turning into a skeleton was horrible. But something else was far worse. Joe knew it.
« Thanking Another Widow | Main | Encountering Valentine's Displays »
01/10/2012
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