I walked around the front of the truck and opened the door. I reached into the cab to help her out. She put her arms around my neck and, as I lifted her from the front seat, I held her there for just a moment. I could smell her hair and the scent of her favorite shampoo, realizing how much I loved her, how much I’d always loved her. I didn’t want to let her go.

Maggie was declining rapidly. She had Stage IV pancreatic cancer. The doctors said there was nothing left to do now but wait, and try to keep her comfortable.

My arm around her waist, we made our way slowly onto the front porch and as I fumbled for my keys I could hear the boys, tails whipping the back door. I don’t know how they came up with this, but I’m pretty sure it meant “Let us in!”

“Good God, Jim, hurry up. They’re going to tear the house down,” Maggie said, now sounding a little annoyed.

“Oh, Maggie, you love those boys. Sometimes I think you probably love them more than me.”

Maggie coyly looked over at me and smiled and said in a mockingly, sweet, sarcastic voice, “Not probably.”

I laughed, grateful that she still had her sense of humor.