They had to lift me off the bed, hours later. They had to pry each of my fingers loose from both her hands. They had to bring in a social worker to tell me it was okay. To escort me out of the room. At the doorway I turned back. She lay there so still. The love of my life. So peaceful. So beautiful, even in death. I wanted so much to break free of the social worker and lay with her again. To stay with her. To never leave that bed until I took my last breath too, and then I’d never have to let her go. But the social worker pressed a gentle hand against my back and slowly, slowly, I left Jenny
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