MADELINE I’m no fool. I knew the graying years wouldn’t be some blissful drive in the autumn sunshine, the leaves golden and the road ahead wide open. I’d been through life’s sharp turns, potholes, blizzards, and dead ends. And long, dark tunnels. But I wasn’t ready when Frank died. Ready? Not even remotely. It was cancer. So ordinary. Yet not. At least, not to me. He went fast. Pancreatic cancer. A quick killer. It’s been two years. Yes, I still grieve, but I no longer cry.
