12 December 2022

My previous wife’s birthday.

I didn’t keep those letters from the 60s. Nor did we keep each other. The letters were too painful. A young woman, you were terrified. Raped, date rape, they called it. Still, rape is rape.

I was going to be her “White Knight.” We were not even in our twenties. We got married. Not uncommon in the South. We weren’t relatives; I don’t think.

She begged me to marry. I put the wedding off six times. My Mother stepped in on the seventh postponement. She said. In the South, you do what your Mother says.

My upbringing and hers. I married to rescue, comfort, and protect; still, she gave up the child. I married to have sex. Sex outside marriage was unthinkable to me in 1969.

We worked, schooled, and died daily. Hospice was unknown.

Yet, the relationship lasted ten years. Years for me traveling and searching. Years we both should have been exploring ourselves and others. Instead, we became daily, and this is proper responsible adults.

The position required responsibility and travel. I was never home. Didn’t want to be. It was boring — the relationship. Soon the sex got boring, too. I explored.

Missions, not the position,  on the other hand, excited me. They say you can get as high as you are on drugs when faced with challenging missions. Adrenaline flowed. The state was addictive. Missions allowed for adventures.

We split. Verbiage of the 70s. She told me to be what I needed to be. Be happy.

She remarried a week later. Had another child. Shared him with my parents. I am grateful for that. My Father played soccer with him. Took him fishing. Hugged him. I never had that. I tinged with jealousy at times. I’m over it.

I grew to love after many adrenaline rushes, that is. You do grow and mature. I can attest to that at 72. Can I be that old?

Sometimes patience leads to a new life. A woman with patience found me and taught me to live again. She says I pursued her over generations of time. I can’t deny an immediate lustful and heart attraction. I resisted. She persisted. That was four decades ago.

And Hospice, more friends and family more than I can count transitioned. I’ve lived to shepherd them through.

Death is a passage I came to understand and accept from one realm to the whispering side. Listen. You can hear those you cherish and that love you in the wee hours. For me, 3:30 a.m.

Dogs, and you saved me. I have all your letters and cards. Every one of them made me smile or stop and think. They do attract, you know – magnets.

We are opposites. You are the optimist, me the pragmatic. You are trusting. Me always with the back to the wall. It is not always easy for me. Then you never said it would be. I no longer dive for cover when I hear a loud noise.

Henley and Fry, we still commune. Thankful for XM. My room is reserved at Hotel California. Hopefully, there will be no check-in anytime soon.

Until then, I pray, read, write, eat, drink Bourboned wine and Scotch, and photograph things others ignore. And I am grateful.