Westley has always known Claire. She's always been a constant in his life, whether it be as his babysitter, his secret Santa, as his pretend-girlfriend, his confident, as the person he could always rely on.
But she's also always been the girl he lov...
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I'm sixty seven and Claire's mom is turning a hundred.
I know I'm right and that woman will outlive all of us. She's not exactly as sharp as she used to be. People at her home say it's because she's becoming senile, but Claire says it's because she doesn't want to have to deal with anyone's bullshit so she ignores them.
And she's definitely a lot slower than before, but I don't see her kicking the bucket any time soon.
We throw a big party for her. We get as many of her friends as we can gather and she hasn't seen some of them in years so she's very happy.
"It would have been nice if your father had still been here," she tells Claire at one point of the day.
I smile sadly at my wife when hearing that. I try not to think about it too often, but I know that at one point one of us is going to die and one of us will have to survive without the other. The kids and grandkids will be there to comfort whoever it is and to fill the empty void, but it won't be the same.
I guess Claire is thinking the same thing, because she comes to stand by me, slips her hand in my own, leans her head against my shoulder and tells me softly, "still here."
"Still here."
"Soft food, in diapers, and a burden to our children."
"Soft food, in diapers, and a burden to our children," I agree and kiss the top of her head.
