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Exhausted from walking he poured a drink and leaning back in his chair; he managed only one sip before falling asleep.
It was the quietness of him that disturbed his wife. The stillness and
silence of him. She watched him for a moment before placing her hand
gently on his cheek, slowly moving her fingers down the side of his neck stopping only when she was sure nothing would ever disturb him again. With a sigh she reached for the phone.
A few neighbors arrived all expressing sorrow for her trouble.
“His time was up that’s all,” she replied to each. “He’s at peace now God love him. Ach, sure what a great way to go here at home in the warmth instead of out on the street.”
She poured drinks from the bottle that stood idly beside him and
suggested a toast.
“Let’s drink to long life and health beyond!”
The neighbors agreed it’s what he’d have wanted.
“We were due to go dancing this very night,” she told them, “he
might’ve been 72 in age but not in mind.” A good innings indeed, the growing crowd murmured.
One neighbor recalled how he’d seen him earlier. “Top of the
morning, I says to him and would you credit it now his reply and the rest of the day to yourself.”
The wife nodded as she sat down beside him. “He took his walk every
day, rain or shine. He could a’ surely strolled to Dublin if he’d a mind to.”
“Have you phoned for the priest?” queried one thoughtful neighbor.
“And Doctor too, much good it’ll do him now,” she said as she
raised her glass before abruptly dropping it as she saw her husband’s eyes flutter open.
“Would you be in me grave as quick as me whiskey Missus?”
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