At my husband’s funeral, I leaned in to place a flower in his casket—and discovered a crumpled note hidden beneath his hands.
At 55, newly widowed after 36 years of marriage, I thought I knew everything about my husband—until something I discovered at his funeral made me question it all. For the first time since I was 19, I no longer had someone to call “my husband.” His name was Greg—Raymond Gregory on official documents, but simply…
