An elderly couple, Bert and Edna, are sitting on the porch swing!

It was one of those perfect Sunday evenings — soft sunlight fading, birds calling it a day, and the world slowing down to a whisper. On the porch of their old farmhouse, Bert and Edna sat side by side on the same swing they’d shared for fifty-five years. The paint had long since peeled, the chains squeaked, and the tea in their mugs had gone lukewarm, but the comfort between them was timeless.

They watched squirrels wage war over a Cheeto in the yard. Bert muttered something about “nature’s version of Congress,” earning the usual elbow from Edna. Then she sighed, the kind of sigh that comes from decades of shared silence, and said, “Bert, I think we should talk about our bucket lists.”

Bert’s eyebrows climbed. “Our what now? Edna, I’m 87. My bucket list starts and ends with ‘Wake up tomorrow and remember where I left my pants.’”

Edna chuckled. “Be serious. I mean real bucket lists — things we’ve always wanted to do but never got around to. Life’s too short not to try.”

Bert sipped his tea, pretending to think hard. “Well,” he said slowly, “I always wanted to go skydiving.”

Edna’s eyes went wide. “Skydiving? Bert, you nearly passed out last week tying your shoes.”

He shrugged. “Then at least if I faint midair, I’ll have an excuse. Just make sure I land in the neighbor’s yard — I’ve always wanted to haunt him.”

Edna burst out laughing. “All right, you go skydiving. But I’ll do something for my list too.”

Bert looked over suspiciously. “And what exactly do you want to do?”

Her eyes lit up with the same mischievous spark he hadn’t seen since the day she “accidentally” knocked his bowling trophy out of the car window in 1965.

“Bert,” she said sweetly, “I’ve got a confession.”

Confessions on the Porch

Bert stiffened. “Confession? What did you do this time, woman?”

Edna leaned closer, lowering her voice as if sharing state secrets. “You know how your favorite recliner always leaned to the left for twenty years?”

Bert frowned. “Of course I do. I blamed the dog. Poor thing limped for weeks.”

“Well,” Edna said, smiling, “that wasn’t the dog. It was me. You spilled grape soda on my new curtains in 1989, so I jammed a spatula under your chair cushion. Figured you could live crooked for a while.”

Bert’s jaw dropped. “You monster!”

Edna sipped her tea calmly. “Oh, there’s more. Remember how the TV remote would only change to the Hallmark Channel, no matter what button you pressed?”

Bert blinked. “You told me the remote was haunted!”

“Not haunted,” Edna said, grinning. “I taped a penny over the battery contact. Short-circuited it perfectly. Five straight years of Christmas romances and slow-motion snowball fights.”

Bert’s mouth fell open. “Why would you do that to me?”

“Because,” Edna said with a sly smile, “revenge is best served with mistletoe and terrible dialogue.”

He stared at her, torn between horror and admiration. Then he laughed — a deep, full-bellied laugh that echoed across the yard.

“Well,” he said, “if we’re confessing things, I’ve got one too.”

Edna raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You know those fishing trips I took every Saturday for ten years?”

She smirked. “Fishing? Bert, you never once brought home a fish.”

“That’s because I wasn’t fishing,” he said proudly. “I was bowling. Won four trophies. They’re hidden behind the water heater in the basement.”

Edna froze. “Wait — you mean the trophy I threw out the car window…”

“…was fake,” Bert said, nodding.

There was a long pause. Then they both erupted in laughter so hard, the porch swing groaned under the strain.

The Bucket List Comes Alive

A week later, true to their word, Bert went skydiving. The local news even showed up. He looked terrified climbing into the plane but came down grinning like a man who’d outrun time itself. Edna cheered from below, wearing his old army helmet “just in case gravity decided to pick sides.”

After that, she bought him a brand-new recliner — perfectly balanced this time — and together they joined a senior bowling league. Edna insisted it wasn’t for the sport but to “make sure Bert’s lies stayed consistent.”

They spent the next decade chasing small joys: visiting fairs, volunteering at the library, dancing in their kitchen. They argued, teased, forgave, and loved with the same playful fire that had carried them through every storm.

Then, one summer day, at ages 85 and 87, they were driving home from a friend’s anniversary party when tragedy struck. A sudden crash. A blink of light. And just like that, after nearly sixty years of laughter and confessions, Bert and Edna left this world together.

Arrival at the Pearly Gates

When they opened their eyes, they were standing side by side in front of magnificent golden gates. St. Peter himself greeted them with a smile that felt warmer than sunlight.

“Welcome home,” he said. “Follow me — I’ll show you to your new place.”

Their heavenly home was beyond anything they’d imagined: a sprawling cottage surrounded by gardens that never wilted, a gourmet kitchen stocked with every ingredient imaginable, a Jacuzzi, and even a pool table.

Bert whistled. “This place must cost a fortune! What’s the rent?”

St. Peter laughed. “Sir, it’s heaven. Everything here is free.”

They toured a championship golf course where the fairways shifted daily to resemble the world’s best greens. “You can play anytime,” St. Peter said. “An angel will carry your clubs.”

Edna clasped her hands in delight. “That’s wonderful! What are the green fees?”

“None,” St. Peter replied, amused. “Free, forever.”

Finally, he led them to a grand restaurant filled with tables of food — lobster, Wagyu beef, roasted vegetables, and desserts that looked too perfect to touch.

Bert squinted. “All right, but what’s the catch? What’s the bill?”

“For the last time,” St. Peter said with a chuckle, “it’s free. Heaven doesn’t charge.”

Bert looked suspicious. “Fine. But are there low-fat, gluten-free, sugar-free options?”

St. Peter smiled patiently. “You don’t gain weight here. You don’t get sick. You can eat whatever you like.”

That’s when Bert’s face turned red. He slammed his cap down, pointed at the sky, and shouted, “EDNA! This is all your fault!”

Edna blinked. “My fault? What on earth—well, heaven—are you talking about?”

Bert threw his hands up. “If it weren’t for your kale smoothies, quinoa casseroles, and bran muffins, we’d have been here ten years ago!”

St. Peter tried — and failed — to stifle a laugh. Edna crossed her arms, the same way she had for fifty-five years, and muttered, “You’re lucky I don’t have a spatula right now, old man.”

Forever After

And that’s how Bert and Edna entered eternity — still teasing, still laughing, still proving that love, at its best, is equal parts forgiveness and fun.

They spent their heavenly days bowling under the stars, sharing tea on a porch made of clouds, and, yes, watching the occasional Hallmark movie — though now Bert swears he doesn’t mind.

Because in the end, the greatest thing they ever crossed off their bucket list wasn’t skydiving or revenge or even eternal life.

It was this: never running out of reasons to laugh together.