Couple in nursing home died of covid-19 four days apart

'CAN'T WAIT TILL I CAN HUG YOU AGAIN' BJ grew less interested in socializing before COVID hit, but Ramona still enjoyed attending bingo games, musical performances and ice

cream socials. He preferred to take his meals in their room, while she dined at a table of women. He remained largely independent, while starting to rely more on a walker and wheelchair –

which he propelled himself – when neuropathy in his feet made walking more difficult. If the couple rolled by each other in a hallway, they would stop to hold hands, recalled Ruple, the

admissions director. BJ would insist on pushing Ramona in her wheelchair, even as he wheeled himself. Family would gather in their room for holidays, birthdays and for the couple's

anniversary. If they were to all gather today, this would have included three grandchildren, five great-grandchildren and two great-great-grandchildren, including one they never got to meet.

BJ liked the idea of hitting age 100, and the two anticipated the day when Al Roker would give them a TV shout-out in celebration of their 75 years of marriage. Each Thursday, after work,

Meyers would visit with her parents, bringing bags of requested old-fashioned hard candies and stories about her latest genealogical research findings. His long-term memory faltered, but

Ramona, “who couldn't remember what she had for lunch,” Meyers said, and often struggled to express herself after the strokes, was by his side to help correct him. Before the November

outbreak ended socially distanced visits outside, Meyers recalls her father saying, “I can't wait till I can hug you again.” They were six feet apart, so close, and the vaccine was just

around the corner. For Cass Frasher, who called often but hadn't seen her parents in well over a year, their loss doesn't yet seem real. “My dad used to say, ‘Cremate me, and just

put me in any body of water. If you can't find a body of water, flush me. I'll find it myself,'” Frasher said with a laugh. “Mom said, ‘No, I want you to be buried with me.

And he said, ‘OK, burn me and stick me in her casket.'" She suspects that her grief won't fully sink in until she, her sister and their older brother can safely gather to

stand graveside outside Marion, Ohio, where the couple that never wanted to be apart went into the ground together, just as they wanted. _Jessica Ravitz is a contributing writer who covers

nursing homes and human-interest stories. She previously wrote for CNN Digital and her work has also appeared in _Smithsonian magazine_, _The Washington Post_ and _The Atlanta

Journal-Constitution_._