By Leo Milmet, with anonymous collaboration

 

Breakfast.

Jim and I, with our son John and daughter Lynn.

Daddy Jim started acting strange.

Then he started talking strange.

“I’m going to watch a sp-sport t-todd-ay, where they hit a b-ball in the hole.”

“Golf?”

“G-g-gah-lffff? No, Victoria, n-no, not g-goh-lf.”

John said he was having a stroke.

The paramedics came running.

Doctors at the hospital asked many questions.

“You got a wife?”

Daddy Jim gave no answer.

The doctor said, “Any children? A baby?”

Jim said, “D-doll.”

I asked Daddy Jim, “Doll? What doll? Do you have a doll?”

He answered, “Baby. Baby…Babydoll.”

So, I said, “Babydoll? Who is your baby doll?”

Jim said, “Victoria.”

Me.

Then he closed his eyes and died.

I cried.

 

Editor: Claire Jenkins