They were a unit. For over 50 years, they were an inseparable team, but it hadn't always been that way.
He was a dashing war hero, wounded and left for dead in a freezing field somewhere in Europe. The Germans snatched him up and did some experimental surgery to remove the fragments of skull that resulted from the shot that felled him. He lost part of a lung and heaven knows what else. He shouldn't have survived, but he did. As the Allies marched eastward, he and his fellows were force-marched and managed to sustain themselves with potatoes they dug up along the way. Until the day he died, he hated potatoes.
She was a young mother, abandoned by her also-young husband for having the audacity to bear him a daughter rather than a son. After the war (and emotional breakdowns during which her daughter ended up in an orphanage), she saw the tall young soldier and told someone, “He's the one!” If she saw him coming down the alley, she'd rush out with a piece of paper to burn in the incinerator. If she couldn't find paper, she'd drag her landlady out to the backyard for a chat, just so he would notice her. They were both really shy so connecting took awhile. When he finally got up the nerve to ask her out to dinner, she gave him the number of the local mental hospital so he couldn't call and cancel! Later on, he told her that on his birthday, November 11, the American Legion and the VFW all had a special dinner, he didn't know which one to attend. She thought it was in his honor as he was much decorated and a POW. He later said that he'd gotten even for the phone number...but only after they were married awhile did he admit to calling the number. :-)
And he was the one. From the time they connected, they were never separated for more than a few hours or a few miles. There were all the usual high points and hardships. (The daughter contracted polio and was not supposed to walk again. When she managed to do that, she was told she'd be in a wheelchair by the time she was 30. Instead, she had five kids and now has many grandchildren. She's approaching 70 herself and still teaches full-time.) He worked hard as an ace mechanic for many years. After they he retired, they volunteered at a local hospital until only a few years ago. He concocted a gizmo to make envelope stuffing easier. From the sound of it, he was quite the attraction for all the blue-haired ladies, but Ma was always there to keep an eye on things. :-) He spent time inventing things to make his gardening easier and more efficient. They went on over twenty cruises with the local wrinklies crowd. This couple were not saints, but they were devoted to each other.
On a Saturday in May, at the age of 93, he died after suffering (agonizing, really) from peripheral neuropathy and congestive heart failure. The following morning, I got a call from his daughter, my best friend, telling me that her mother was in the ER with an aneurysm. The mortuary kindly put everything on hold, publishing a cancellation for the funeral. Mom lasted longer than expected, so the funeral was rescheduled. She died the following Sunday and their funeral was the next Tuesday.
There were lots of stories, some of them shared by two of the grandchildren during the service, others shared among the rest of us before and after. Everyone agreed that we could not picture either of them living without the other. They were buried in the national cemetery nearby, complete with a gun salute, taps, and the tear-inducing “Ma'am, on behalf of the President of the United States and a grateful nation...” as the flag was presented to my friend. The whole thing was rather poetic. They were a unit. They still are.
A current note: Many months and a new school year later, her new class had an assignment to write what they would do if they won the lottery. One child, who is far from well-off and with whom she's tangled several times, wrote that she'd use the money to buy my friend's parents back from God. Out of the mouths of babes...