The church seems cold this morning, even after all the people, friends and family, fill the benches. I sit here in silence, in shock and denial. This was not supposed to happen. What about our dreams, or our plans? We were going to raise our children, travel the world, and grow old together. I'm only 37, a typical housewife. I don't know if I can do all this alone--two children, no father. What do I do or say? The faces of so many people confuse me as they come to pay their last respects. Some have real sorrow; I can see it in their eyes. The others seem to just say, "I told you so." Those famous last words: I-told-you-so. How I can't stand them. And the pointing fingers as so-called family and so-called friends pick me out of the crowd for others to see. I want to scream and wake up but I can't do anything but sit there. How can they be so blind? I fell in love with a man. Love knows no boundaries . He was a good man, hardworking, caring and kind. He was retired from the Navy and a gentleman. He was sensitive to others' needs, the kind of man that knew what to do or say, how to humor any situation and calm everyone's fears. I remember our first child was a big surprise to both of us. I remember when I told him the news. He fell off his chair, saying over and over in disbelief, "But I'm almost sixty." After a few months he started planning our next and even doing his famous little dance whenever he discussed the idea. A man, thirty years older than I, lies in a coffin. Flowers, the American flag and his VFW comrades surround him, paying tribute to him as the man he really was. And I sit alone here, with our two children, in silence, praying that this cold morning at church is only a nightmare and I will awake to his loving arms again. What can we know from the passage about the writer?
She married a man much older than she. She is going to give birth to their second child. She lost her husband, who was as old as she. She lost her father, whom she loved deeply.