I mowed the lawn for my neighbor, an 82-year-old widow – The next morning, a sheriff woke me up with a request that chilled me to the bone

Thank you, Ariel. You saved my life.”

I started the lawnmower. My feet were slipping in the grass and I felt dizzy, nauseous, but I kept going.

From time to time, I would catch Mrs. Higgins watching me, with a strange, thoughtful look in her eyes.

Halfway there, I was breathless. I stopped, leaned against the handle, and wiped my face. Mrs. Higgins shuffled over with a glass of lemonade, cold and sweating in the heat.

“Sit down,” she ordered. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

“You saved my life.”

I sat on her porch, gulping down the lemonade, my pulse pounding. Mrs. Higgins sat down next to me. She didn’t speak, she just patted my knee.

After a minute, she asked, “How much longer for you?”

I glanced down. “Six weeks, if she lets me go that long.”

She smiled, a little nostalgic. “I remember those days. My Walter, he was so nervous he packed the hospital bag a month in advance.” Her hand trembled slightly as she sipped her drink.

“He seems like a good man.”

“Oh, he was, Ariel. You feel lonely, you know, when you lose the person who remembers your stories.” She was silent for a moment, then turned to me. “Who’s helping you, Ariel?”