Poor Elderly Rich Folk Don’t Know How To Spend Their Money
My neighbour isn’t one of them
Rosemary and Gerry live two doors down.
My youngest once mixed up their names and called them Raspberry and Jelly, which stuck. Everyone in our street calls them by their pudding name now.
Jelly is 77 and is always well-turned out. He cuts his grass, sporting a blazer, neckerchief, dress trousers, brogues, Panama hat, and a manicured silver goatee. Raspberry is equally as stylish, never a hair or an encouraging word out of place.
Six years ago, Jelly was diagnosed with cancer.
Cancer is a scary disease. His was inside where he couldn’t see it. For most people, it’s hard to keep your lip from quivering and the tears from welling when you are never sure if the pain in your belly is your version of an alien parasite ready to burst through.
Jelly underwent surgery, chemotherapy, radiotherapy and a series of indignities. Never once did he complain. He showed nothing but gratitude for all the help and support he received and was especially grateful for Raspberry's love and care.
Jelly has an amazing zest for life. Even when at his most unwell, he put his family and friends above himself. His positivity rubbed off. He turned our tears into smiles…
