I open my eyes and see the popcorn ceiling with its dimpled surface. The bed under me might be comfortable to most, but I have “Arthur” (arthritis) bad in my back and nothing has felt comfortable for quite some time. I turn my face slowly to the right and am met with a deflated sheet; plain and cold looking. I used to tear up each morning when I looked that way because for fifty-one years, that now empty flat sheet was filled with my warm, best friend and love of my life. It’s been 5 years now, and no, I’m still not “over it.” Hell, I’m not even in our home; the home we paid off, painted, gardened, and raised our family in. I’m here in this popcorn ceilinged square called apartment 202, in the “wisdom wing.” Clever.