‘D’ is for duck. And daisy. And Dutch.
My wife was Dutch.
And ‘D’ is for David. That’s me.
‘Day’ starts with ‘D’. And there was a day I’ll never forget, never regret, for however many more days I have left.
It was the day fifty years ago that this David proposed to that beautiful Dutch young lady (who seriously came with wooden shoes which she collected along with a lot of other Dutch things), and to David’s proposal she said ‘yes.’
Death also starts with ‘D’.
And death took my Dutch wife just five-months-ago-and-a-day as I write this.
Now there is not a day that goes by but what I am so very thankful for the wife and mother and grandmother she was to me, her family, and so many.
Because of the person she was:
That too starts with ‘D’.