He wasn’t old. 52 or 53. He was in the cardiology unit. Had some heart issues.

Two years ago, he had his first open heart surgery. Then, a short month later, maybe 2, his wife died. She was his whole world.

33 years they were married. “I’ll tell you this, Roger. She was 5 feet 8 inches and 125 pounds of bossing me around. I loved it. I loved it.” His voice tapered off on that last sentence.

“I loved her. I miss her.”

“A whole year I was lost. Still am a little bit. That first year without her, I was lost. Tell the truth, I lost my purpose. I didn’t have any purpose. I lost my wife. I lost my job, because of my health issues. It got bad.”

“As soon as I was ready to get back on track, all set with a job I’d love, this Covid madness came. They said they’d keep a job open for me, but then even that became impossible.”

“One day I was crying, complaining, down on my luck. My 17-year-old grandson, who also has a rare heart disorder sat next to me. Just sat next to me and said: ‘My heart is not quite right. Your heart is broken. Man, here we are.’”

“I felt less alone. 17 years old. How about that?”

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