Westley has always known Claire. She's always been a constant in his life, whether it be as his babysitter, his secret Santa, as his pretend-girlfriend, his confident, as the person he could always rely on.
But she's also always been the girl he lov...
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I'm seventy and Claire's got macular degeneration.
"That happens when you get old," she tells me. She can still see. She's not blind, but things are starting to get fuzzy at the center and color is slowly harder to decipher.
She keeps trying to joke, saying her rainbow isn't as colorful now. I know she's trying to be strong, she's trying not to show how awful it is to the kids. I remind her that she doesn't have to pretend around me.
I can't believe I have to remind it to that stubborn woman after almost forty years of marriage.
She cries in my arms some nights, tracing the lines of my wrinkled face. I tell her it won't be that much of a loss if she can't see it anymore. She tells me not being able to see the green of my eyes will kill a bit of her soul.
