Unmaking Plans

We spent our lives together, always making plans.
We planned to have children, but never did.
We planned a trip around the world, but we never left the village more than a few days.
We planned to build a gazebo and a bridge across the creek, but when you look out back, you see nothing but grass, trees, and water.
For years, we made plans like these.
I sit here, by her bedside, waiting for the ambulance to arrive.
They will arrive too late.
“What shall I do?” I asked last night.
“Enough of plans,” she said. “Just do whatever.”