A long time ago my sister told me a story I’ve never forgotten. It’s her story to tell, because it's true and it happened to a friend of a friend of hers, but since my sister doesn't have a blog (yet), I'll take the liberty of passing it along to you.
I'll tell you the story with all the images I always picture in my head, because it's a visual kind of story. If Hallmark filmed it, it would make you cry. But if it were part of a Ben Stiller movie, you'd laugh out loud. So I'll just tell it, and you can choose your own reaction.
The story is very short. Imagine that you're watching it unfold on the big screen.
You see a man getting out of his car in the afternoon sunshine and walking to the front door of his home. He's a young man, no more than 40 years old. He unlocks the door and steps through it, then suddenly clutches his chest. You can see the pain on his face. He's having a heart attack, and you see him fall to the floor.
And then the scene changes. It's dark now, so you know some time has passed. The man's wife is arriving home from work. She, too, walks from her car to the house, and she notices that the door is slightly ajar. She hesitates, calls her husband's name, then pushes the door open wider so she can enter. Her hand flies to her mouth and she screams, and you know she has just discovered her husband lying right there on the floor of the foyer. The camera lingers on her face for a few seconds more, then slowly pans to the man's dead body, which is now surrounded by little dog toys.
The end.
oh my.
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