Rob woke up and stretched his arms upwards until they shook at the shoulders. He did the same with his legs, pointing his toes as far out as they’d go. Then he got up. Once he got downstairs, he opened his fridge and slightly strained his back when he did so. Fuck. It sucks getting old, he thought to himself. How did I let this happen? He poured himself some blueberry juice. What day was it? It was hard to keep track when you were retired. His stomach grumbled.
After putting on a coat, he walked outside and walked down his driveway, swiping the paper up from the ground as he did. He walked the half-mile to the diner, sat down in his usual seat, and said hello when Martha poured him his coffee and began to read. He ordered his usual, and when his food arrived, he continued to read as he ate it silently. To help swallow his mouthful of potatoes, he reached for his coffee and stopped when he saw his outstretched hand. He saw where his wedding band had been. After a moment, set his hand down on the table and strummed his fingers twice. He realized he didn’t think about her once yesterday. Not once. He had forgotten his dead wife of 47 years. Nearly half of a century of thinking about her every day—until yesterday. Vertigo slammed his whole body; breathing felt hard; his mouth went dry; he couldn’t exhale: Is this acceptance?
Rob broke down at the table.