When 94-year-old Helen Auer took her final breath, 100-year-old Joe kissed her and whispered, “Helen, call me home.” The goodbye. Helen Auer. Ninety-four years old. Taking her final breath. Dying. And Joe—her husband, 100 years old—kissing her. Whispering. Helen, call me home. Come back for me. I want to follow you. I can’t live without you. Call me home.
Hours later, he passed away. The answer. Hours later. Not days. Not weeks. Hours. Joe passed away. Died. Following Helen. She called him home. And he came.
Married 73 years, their 10 children knew Joe couldn’t live without Helen. The marriage. Seventy-three years. Married seventy-three years. Ten children. Family who knew. Joe couldn’t live without Helen. After seventy-three years together, separation was impossible.
Since 1944, Joe carried a photo of Helen and their first two children in his wallet. The devotion. Since 1944. Seventy-plus years. Joe carrying photo. Of Helen and their first two children. In his wallet. Every day. For decades. Helen’s face with him always.
Found there after he died, it will be buried with him. The discovery. After Joe died. Found in his wallet. The photo. Of Helen and their first two children. And decision: will be buried with him. Photo going into grave with Joe. Helen’s face with him in death as in life.
Their funeral will be in the same church they were married in many many years ago. The circle. Funeral. In same church. Where they were married. Many many years ago. Beginning and ending in same place. Full circle. Marriage and funeral in same church.
When 94-year-old Helen Auer took her final breath, 100-year-old Joe kissed her and whispered, “Helen, call me home.” The final moment. Helen dying. At ninety-four. Joe—100 years old—beside her. Kissing her. Whispering. Helen, call me home. The request. The plea. Don’t leave me here. Let me follow. Call me home to wherever you’re going.
Hours later, he passed away. The fulfillment. Hours. Not long. Not days of grief and loneliness. Hours. And Joe passed away. Died. Followed Helen. She called him home and he came.
Married 73 years, their 10 children knew Joe couldn’t live without Helen. The family’s understanding. Seventy-three years of marriage. Ten children who watched their parents’ love. Who knew. Joe couldn’t live without Helen. After seventy-three years, they were one. Separation was death.
Since 1944, Joe carried a photo of Helen and their first two children in his wallet. The constant devotion. Since 1944. Over seventy years. Joe carrying photo. In wallet. Every day. Of Helen. And their first two children. Her face always with him. Looking at her probably. Daily reminder of love. For seventy years.
Found there after he died, it will be buried with him. The final gift. After Joe died. Going through his belongings. Finding photo in wallet. Where it had been for seventy years. And decision: bury it with him. Photo of Helen and first two children going into grave. With Joe. So Helen’s face stays with him. Forever.
Their funeral will be in the same church they were married in many many years ago. The completion. Funeral service. In same church. Where they married. Many many years ago. Full circle. Started marriage in that church. Ending with funeral in same church. Together again. Beginning and ending in same sacred space.
The photograph shows them young—Helen and Joe. Probably 1940s. Early in marriage. Young. Beautiful. Beginning seventy-three years together. Before ten children. Before decades of life. Young Helen and Joe who would stay together until she was 94 and he was 100. Who would love each other so deeply that Joe would whisper “Helen, call me home” and die hours later. Seventy-three years of love. Ending where it began.