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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72"><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal>If you can tolerate reading this again, I’ve made some revisions and do plan to submit it so please let me know if you think it’s better or worse, or better for being worse…<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Thanks! Marcia<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Drop Dead<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I’ll be haunted for sure when my husband dies. I’ve wished him dead countless times in myriad ways. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Today, I think, maybe he’ll collapse on his bike ride. There’s smoke in the air from nearby wildfires; it’s approaching the hottest part of the afternoon. Perhaps the exertion, the heat, and the smoke will combine with his high blood pressure to do the trick. I’ll receive a phone call later in the evening explaining that my beloved was found lifeless on the side of the trail. Police may speculate that while cycling, he suffered a massive heart attack. I may respond, “He had it coming.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Yesterday, I wished him dead when he went shopping. I heard a 5:00 news report about a fatal car accident at an intersection near our home. He could have been at that location at the precise time that an S.U.V. slammed into a light pole. The news anchor wondered if the elderly driver killed at the scene had passed out behind the wheel. I hoped the old man was now my dearly departed.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>The day before that, I imagined he had drowned. In his 70s, he fancies himself as a competitive swimmer; he boasts about winning gold medals at the senior meet while failing to mention he is the only competitor in the bracket. Perhaps, while sprinting to improve his butterfly time, his heart will stop. One minute, he could be pumping his legs and ducking his head under water. The next minute, he could be a butterfly floating face down.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>When the roads were icy last winter, I wondered (not worried) if the man I married had met his end by driving off a frozen bridge, or perhaps a drive by shooter on the highway had nailed him on the way home, explaining why he was late for dinner.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Speaking of dinner, he could choke while shoveling food in his face, sitting one foot away from the kitchen television because he refuses to wear hearing aids, blocking my access to the microwave, sink, and garbage. Hence, subjugated to another room, I wouldn’t be around if he began flailing his arms, unable to speak or breathe.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Then again, this winter, his demise could conveniently occur if he were to fall and hit his head while shoveling snow from the driveway. I might stumble upon him a few hours later on my walk to the mailbox, but it’s likely my discovery would be too late. There might be some consolation, I suppose - I’ve heard that freezing to death isn’t the worst way to go.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Tonight, he could suffer a stroke in his sleep. I could be slow to dial 9-1-1. With delayed treatment, he could linger for some time, incapacitated and totally dependent upon me for care. What would he do then? <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>When he berates me this evening, I warn, “Payback’s a bitch.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal># # #<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div></body></html>