Harold never accepted the end of his own life. It was late in 2011 when a cheerful nurse would visit our home each evening to help him consume a plethora of medicines and help ready him for bed. “When I get better, I plan to buy that house,” he said to her, pointing out of our bedroom window. A row of distant houses sat set in stone in the same place they had been the day we met. For all I knew they had been there one hundred years before that too.
Well done Rob, so happy we got to know Harold💜
Once again, I am moved by this week's beautiful passage. They remind me of the relationship between my parents.