We’re home from Ireland. Anthony’s girlfriend, Cally, stayed at our home while we were gone. Winston could stay in his house and continue his routine.
On Sunday, we went grocery shopping. As we were carrying the bags in the house, I glanced at the top of the garage refrigerator. There on the top was a box labeled Winston.
I asked Bob what the box was for, his response:
“I told Cally if Winston dies while we’re gone, put him in this box and put him in the freezer. We’ll bury him when we get home.”
My mouth opened, I just stare at him.
“What?”, he says. “He’s 17 years old. You’ve got to be prepared.”
I have no words.
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