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At My Husband’s Funeral, I Opened His Casket to Place a Flower — and Found a Crumpled Note Tucked Under His Hands
I was 55 years old, newly widowed after 36 years of marriage, when something I found at my husband’s funeral made me question whether I’d ever really known the man I loved. I’m 55, and for the first time since I was 19, I don’t have anyone to call “my husband.” His name was Greg. Raymond Gregory on every form, but Greg to me. Then one rainy Tuesday, a truck didn’t stop in time. We were married for 36 years. …
