Eighty-two years of living. Fifty-nine years of marriage. Laboring, sweating, building, repairing, fighting, sailing, fishing, hunting, teaching, swearing, holding, talking, loving, breathing.
Years of suffering.
No more struggling just to breathe.
No more arguing over who did what to whom.
No more fear.
No more pain.
Float on the lovely ocean in my dreams.
Goodbye, Popo. I'm sorry I can't cry, but I really do love you.