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Sixty six years married, said Fred.

All of them hell.

From dawn to dusk she made my life a misery.

Nagging, cleaning, cooking and whining.

Then just as I was getting used to it,

she ups and dies.

It isn't right.

Annie was a hard woman,

your Gran.

Never got over the miscarriage,

and your Dad, well, that just broke her heart.

She took it all out on me.



We buried Fred next to her.

Three weeks later.

In the family grave near the old stone seat.

The bed battlefield is a lonely place,

when one heart beats retreat.

Sixty six years married.

Then Fred refused to eat.