Planning for death was the responsible thing to do.
Everything needed to be foolproof. No pretty plants to distract him. The chair was immovable. And the engraver had arrived.
“Come Come. On this chair you should engrave Sit here. Over her headstone you add Your beloved wife. Make sure it’s prominent.”
“I thought I was here to engrave your headstone.”
“Why? Who will read my headstone? I have dementia son. My biggest fear is that someday I will start to forget her, the love of my life. I don’t want that. Help me prepare for the death of my memory.”
In Response to Friday Fictioneers of 28 April 2017
Photo Prompt by Liz Young