'The clock of his life was counting down' – loving and losing my ex

Rob was the tall, snarky Irish boy who brought me and my husband together. Then, one day, he was gone

When people ask my husband and me how we met, we always exchange a look. At dinner parties, over lukewarm beers at barbecues, we know to catch the other’s eye. The question is a rope bridge between us, and both of us know not to sway it, or to glance down. The look means one thing. You know what to say, right?

After years of missteps, and people staring unblinkingly at us as we falter, we have learned what words to pick. The full story still has the power to hurt after many years. Instead we offer one sentence, no explanations: “Through a friend,” we say in unison, with smiles we hope are relaxed.

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from The Guardian https://ift.tt/2HNIzkA