We had no concept things would ever change.

Sure, we knew Papa had cancer, and, of course, we knew Mama had congestive heart failure.

They watched their diet. They exercised, and saw their doctor regularly. They’d both been to the hospital numerous times.  They always came home. Always. Until they didn’t.

Here’s a set of the last pictures I took of them. A typical Saturday afternoon. Hanging at home.

Mama hated having her picture taken even though her brother Jerry and son Mel had both been near professional photographers.

On this day Papa asked her to take a picture with him, and, without demur, she complied.

Mama and Papa . . .


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