I don't know what I'd do without you for the rest of my life. I love you, and need to be with you always. Gwen wrote those words to me during the long year we waited for June 8 to arrive, our wedding date. I know that when I first read those words my heart filled with love and a deep sense of gratitude for the miracle that had somehow brought a young woman and a young man to the point where they both were able to openly and honestly express their need and longing for each other. I cherished moments like that when Gwen succeeded in in expressing what at time seemed inexpressible to us. We knew, and had no choice but to say that we knew. I know too that I always felt emotions that were a mixture of elation and a cautious sense of disbelief that someone as perfect as Gwen could feel that way about me. "Please," I would say to myself, "don't let her find out what an ordinary, undeserving kind of person I really am." The real miracle is that, as our marriage and relationship grew and flourished, she saw who I was--and loved me anyway!
In the world I live in today; after an early morning round of golf I had lunch with our neighbors from a long time ago. It's getting easier to not feel like a "fifth wheel" when I am with all the happy couples. Yes, there were times when I caught myself staring into space.
Our neighbor, Robyn, just came out to water her flowers, and she commented about how that little garden in the corner is "alive with color." Proudly, I reminded her that it is "Gwen's Garden." Thanks, Terri and Roy, and Dick and Mary--and Brooke for the Fathers' Day gift of petunias.
Today I heard the old Anne Murray song, May I Have This Dance for the Rest of My Life. I could feel Gwen's head on my shoulder as we danced to it--for the rest of our lives.
Now, as I learn what it's like to be without you, Dear, I love you and needs to be with you always.
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