Maisie and Bert were the happiest couple you could hope to meet. They’d been together for sixty-nine years and still doted on one another. Maisie was 95 and Bert 93 – and now Bert was dying.
Bert didn’t mind that he was dying; he’d had a wonderful life and couldn’t think of a single regret. He was ready to go. As he lay in bed, he knew this might be his last conversation with his beloved Maisie. His voice was faint.
“I love you, Maisie.”
“I love you too, Bert.”
“We had a good life, didn’t we, Maisie?”
“We did, Bert. We had a wonderful life.”
“I wouldn’t want to change anything, Maisie.”
“Neither would I, Bert. Not a thing.”
“It was just a shame about the parsnips, though, Maisie.”
“What do you mean, parsnips?”
“We never ate any parsnips.”
“You don’t like parsnips, Bert. We never had parsnips because you don’t like them.”
“But I do like parsnips. I thought we never ate them because you don’t like them.”
“I love parsnips, Bert. I thought it was you who didn’t like them.”
“I love parsnips too, Maisie.”
“Well, that’s a shame, Bert.”
“Still, never mind.”
“Yes. We managed very well without the parsnips.”
“We did. I love you, Maisie.”
“I love you too, Bert.”
And that’s how it ended.
Gerry Thompson