Samuel was a proud man.
He disliked admitting when he was frightened. He disliked asking for help. And he hated the idea of growing old.
When our youngest son moved away, he began spending long afternoons in the garden, repairing things that were not broken and rearranging tools that had been in the same place for twenty years.
One evening, I found him sitting on the back steps with an old photograph in his hands.
It showed our three children as toddlers, sitting on a blanket in the garden.
I sat beside him.
“What are you looking at?”
“Our children.”
“They were adorable.”
“They were loud.”
I laughed.
“You were the one who encouraged them to be loud.”
“They were children. They were supposed to be loud.”
He smiled at the photograph, but his expression soon changed.
“The house is too quiet now.”
I rested my head against his shoulder.
