He glanced at the rings on the end table. Smooth so as not to snag anything, gold not to tarnish or easily lose the inscriptions, identical to remind him of their bond. It had been six months and still he mourned. It had been six months and still he was sad.
What would the kids say, when they came for their visit? To find those two silly rings still laying on the end table, a daily reminder of his loss. They would think him a silly, sentimental old fool. Too set in his ways to move on with the world. They would think him lax in the mind to leave gold rings laying on the end table, but that kept them close. A daily reminder of days gone by, the good times.
Theirs was a shared passion for anything outdoors, especially duck hunting. Crouched in that old blind at the water’s edge, awaiting daylight and the chance at roast duckling for dinner, just a few butterflies in their stomachs anticipating the right opportunity. It would be cold, but neither minded after all they had each other’s companionship. He wouldn’t open the coffee thermos until well after dawn, to ensure the good meal at the end of the day. It was worth it, they had each other for company and to keep the cold at bay.
He had the rings made especially for her, with duck hunting in mind. Those rings said everything anyone ever needed to know. She had been the only lady in his life for over fifteen years. She kept him thoughtful of others and kind even unto those he did not know. She was still as fit as any of the youngsters out there, and with far more heart. She had passed away in front of the evening’s fire after a very successful day in the blind. Sheila was the best black lab he had ever had the pleasure to hunt with.
He glanced at the rings on the end table. Smooth so as not to snag anything in the marsh, gold not to tarnish or easily lose the inscriptions of her licensing, identical to remind him of their bond. It had been six months and still he mourned. It had been six months and still he was sad.