In the Greenhouse of Loss and Love
An illustrated story
They found them in the greenhouse. It wasn’t much of a greenhouse, but to them it was a sanctuary. A safe place where she could work with soil and plants while he painted and listened to classical music.
Sometimes they’d take a break and have tea outside, at the edge of the lawn where they buried their old dog, Brownie. His death hit them hard. A harbinger for what they both knew the future held. But then they’d sip their tea and reminisce of the past and New England and their careers and children.
Friends who visited often marveled at how the two had a sort of telepathic connection. Always finishing each other’s sentences.
She’d often say, with a twinkle in her eye:
“When you’ve been together as long as we have, well, you just know each other’s thoughts.”
With that, he’d smile and retort:
“And you know when not to say anything. I think that’s the key to a good marriage. Keep your mouth shut.”
