Tag: family

My Special Purpose…Part 2

Deciding to be more positive would prove to be less daunting than actually doing it. I was in a rough place. I was still jobless, broke and living with my mother. Not exactly the cover of Forbes Magazine. I decided that the first course of action would be to embrace my surroundings. Despite the hectic, chase- the-dollar-lifestyle I had been living (and dying from) I was always a lover of the outdoors, an avid reader and a fledgling blogger. I spent time outdoors, read voraciously and started this blog…often all while outside. I soon realized that this was where I was meant to be, I just got here earlier than I planned.

I also found myself thinking clearer and better than I can ever remember. I achieved a state of Zen in my thinking, I achieved presence. For the longest time I have felt that I was not living my life, but instead watching it play out in front of me. I had achieved clarity and a desire to be completely, brutally honest with myself. I looked at everything, the good, the bad and the seriously ugly in a harsh and unforgiving light. I sorted out what would never be possible again and cast it aside. I envisioned what I would be capable of and I game-planned it. I forgave myself for my mistakes and I asked God for guidance. I decided, as cliché as it is, that my two choices were to dwell on the avalanche of misfortune that had swept my life away or to move forward. My income would be modest, I would never have the career, lake house and garage full of muscle cars that I had been working for. But money has become less important to me. What matters to me is quality of life.

I decided that I would do whatever it took to get healthy and stay healthy enough to secure my legacy. I would master the one thing that I was able to do consistently, sometimes unknowingly and without effort…to inspire. With apologies to Steve Martin, I found my Special Purpose.

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It might seem corny but I have always had an underlying desire to help others. My original Graduate school curriculum choice was counseling. I wanted to either be an underpaid social worker or a School guidance counselor. It wasn’t until I got married and my life became all about paying bills that I grudgingly decided that I needed a “real job”. I decided even then that I would always do what I could to help others, as a job or as a calling. I always felt as if I could do more. Now it appears that maybe I have.

The one thing that got me through decades of illness, bad relationships, and financial hardship was a hard-headed denial. I refused to acknowledge those things that threatened my goals and I was able to downplay and often shut out thoughts that were “downers”. Starting with my chronic illness, I loved when someone said: “you don’t look sick.” Well, that’s good I would think to myself that’s the goal. As I got worse, and more and more people knew about it, the more determined I was to not show it. My doctors would later say that my denial worked for me. By not acting sick I actually stayed healthier.

With regards to my marriage and the money problems, well they were one and the same. My wife would constantly attack me about the finances, asking me if I knew what was going on. If I knew how much trouble we were in? Of course, I knew, but I asked her if she thought it was helpful or healthy to dwell on it. Perhaps I should stay home? Give up? Not try at all to make it better? I suppressed it and went to work, it beats laying down and dying. As with the illness, when people found out how much trouble I was in they would marvel and say “you would never know it by looking at you.” Once again, that’s the point.

My children are grown. My miserable marriage is pending divorce. My health is relatively stable for now. I am debt free. My mind is sharp. Nothing is stopping me now from utilizing my special purpose except time. How much life is left in my years? I’ll know soon enough. But until then I am going to be the best person I can be, and hopefully, instill hope and inspiration in others. Not to achieve accolades, my end goal is so much simpler than that. I only want to be remembered as a good person. I think it’s doable.

I have already started the journey. I have forgiven myself and let go of my grudges and anger. I have forgiven some people that held more of a hold on me than they deserved. I tell people how I feel about them. I take time to say thank you. I find a way to help instead of an excuse not to. I volunteer at the food bank. And I just submitted an application for financial aid in order to study to become a Substance Abuse Counselor. I’m on a roll and nothing is stopping me now. If there is a way that I can make someone’s life just a little better and I have the resources to do it then I’m going to try. Someday, someone will say to my stone “Yea, he was a good guy.” That is all I want. To be the best friend, father, son, cousin, and human being that I can be.

And maybe I will have inspired others to do the same.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My special purpose… Part 1

I’m not dying, I just live like I am.

This past July I wanted to die. I was so sick, so down and out that my will to live was receding like the tide. Chronic illness had hospitalized me before, kicked me pretty hard but never knocked me to the floor. I always managed to dust off, put on a good face and pretend everything was fine. But this past July was different, it was a perfect storm that came roaring in and left my life in a debris pile when it left. In the 3 ½ weeks I was hospitalized I would lose my job, my apartment and be forced to accept that I needed to go on disability. In addition, I learned that I had lost about 30% of my kidney function. The realization that my Kidney Transplant, the greatest thing to happen to me other than the birth of my children, was failing was more than I was prepared to deal with. I was losing my famous optimism. I could handle a few punches but not the barrage I had been dealt.

I would check out, pack my few remaining belongings into my civic and move to my mother’s house to recover and plan my next move. God bless my mother. She welcomed me into her home, without judgment and gave me all of the tools to recover both physically and emotionally. It would be weeks before I would get my breath back, literally and figuratively, and start to plan my next move. Priority one was getting out of my very uncharacteristic funk. It was bad, even my wife who I feel notices nothing about me, commented “you need to find the old you, the fighter. I don’t recognize this guy. Get him back.”

It would be Facebook, of all things, that would get me on track. Many years ago, when I was really getting sick and in need of a transplant or dialysis, I joined an online support group for Kidney patients. I made a few friends across the country, one of them was Jeanne from West Virginia. Jeanne was at the same stage I was and we often commiserated about our progress. I would get a transplant much earlier than she would and she followed my progress. For someone I never met we knew each other well and had a solid connection. Fast forward to August, Jeanne has since received her transplant and she is doing great. She posted on the 4-year anniversary of her progress and her new lease on life. I was compelled to comment and I posted that I found her “inspirational”. Her response floored me. “You were my inspiration, thank you.”

I was floored by this revelation. To think that my story had compelled someone, had given them hope was invigorating. I told one of my best friends about this, he agreed with her. I would learn that he and many others found my “push forward” attitude refreshing and motivating. That had never occurred to me and I was floored. I only acted as such to motivate myself to keep going. I knew then that I had to find my old mojo, if not for me then for others. I needed to, at this point the only thing that gave me any joy was my children who I never saw but loved more than anything.

To be continued

PC vs Common Decency

I do not stand with the people that insist that as a Country we should shout Merry Christmas from the rooftops. We do not need to assert that this country was founded by people primarily of Judeo-Christian faith.  Multiculturalism is a wonderful thing. There are approximately 29 Holidays celebrated within the month of December. It is culturally intolerant of us to insist that everyone says Merry Christmas. I believe that “Happy Holidays” is just fine. That is my bow to the age we now live in.

On the other hand, if someone, anyone for that matter, wishes you a Merry Christmas and it’s not your holiday…take it and say thank you. The overall point is that someone took the time and made the effort to say something nice to you. Don’t be offended. If someone offered me a peanut-butter and Jelly sandwich and I had a nut allergy I would say thank you for the sandwich. It’s common decency. Which, like common sense, is not common.

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Lighten up people, please.

Poker face

“You know, there’s this really great support group at a church in town. You may get something out of it” she said. Roxanne had startled me, I was zoning out in the chair. I removed my headphones, retracted the extendable arm of the TV, turned and gave her my full attention.

“Do I look to you like I need to go to a support group?” I asked. “I’m the last one in this room who needs that.” I subtly pointed out the people around me, nodding my head in their direction. “I mean, look around.” All around me were cancer patients, attached to bottles and tubes getting chemo, plasma and god knows what. They looked very sick. I was the only non-cancer patient in the infusion center, there for an anemia deficiency. I thought I looked pretty good in comparison.

“Bill, you’re carrying around an awful lot of baggage, you can deny it all you want but this is what I do. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to someone.” I didn’t question Roxanne’s pedigree, she was good at her job. She knew all of her patients that had walked in after me, enough to hug them and in some cases elicit tearful responses. This was my first time at the infusion center and I felt like I have known her for twenty years. She was older yet youthful, matronly but attractive, professional but very comforting. I had come in expecting a simple shot, I was to find out that I was to be seated for a 90-minute infusion. In the time it took her to swab my arm, insert my IV and hook up the bag she had extracted my entire medical and personal history. She was very easy to talk to. I felt like she knew me. But did she know me enough to tell me I need help dealing with my apparently visible emotional baggage?

The problem is that I think I’m doing pretty good with everything. A lot has happened, and I have lost a lot of what is dear to me. But I roll on, in my family tradition and I try to stay positive. In doing so I make an effort to concentrate on my body language and facial expressions. Beneath it all, I am a control freak through and through. If I look like I am handling it, then I am handling it. What goes on in my mind will not show on my face.  I’m not feeling bad for myself, I don’t ask anyone for anything and I don’t want pity. “Why me?” is not part of my lexicon.

It never occurred to me that maybe I’m not pulling it off as well as I thought. Maybe only someone like Roxanne, the infusion center cougar, whose job it is to provide relief and comfort to the truly sick among us, can see through it. Or maybe I’m just kidding myself. Maybe I should talk to someone.

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I always thought I was a good poker player. I won a lot of tournaments. Until one day I played with my friend Jeff. He called all of my bluffs and beat me handily. It turns out I have a lot of “tells” that he picked up on. If I don’t have the poker face I thought I did, then maybe Roxanne is right. I mean, it can’t hurt, right?

Integrity and $2.25 will get you a coffee

I have been on a nice, even emotional ground lately. I have rolled with adversity and conflict without anger and frustration. The only good thing to come out of recent events is that I have reconciled my past, forgiven myself for past mistakes, and tried to approach my future as positively as possible. I was doing great until yesterday when I saw my wife.

As part of the divorce proceedings, we are required, as parents of a minor child, to take a class on the impact of divorce on children. Our youngest is 15 and she is fine with everything so the course would be a piece of cake. Sit through it, sign your certificate of completion and head home. I would drive her home, I would head back up and we would not see each other until Christmas.

When my wife initially proposed that we get divorced, she put it out there as completely amicable. There was no money to argue about so alimony was out of the question, no assets to bicker over, and an agreement that I would give whatever I could towards supporting the family. No court mandates required. Completely civil. She just wanted to move on and I agreed.

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In the ten-minute ride to her house, she completely changed her tune and started talking about what would happen once I started receiving my disability checks. I didn’t know how to answer that, particularly because I still have no guarantee that I will actually get approved. She began to talk about how much she would need for the youngest two children in the way of clothing, food etc.,. I explained to her that if I am approved I will do whatever I can for my family, reminding her of our previous conversation. She pushed on further, speculating again on a check that I can’t guarantee. Finally, I asked her to just give me a number. She wouldn’t. She refused. Apparently, her monthly expenses are private. They always were I suspect. She handled the finances and despite how well we did we were always broke. Exasperated, I told her she was unaccountable and it was unfair. She replied that I was trying to walk away from this marriage without consequence. Are you absolutely kidding me?

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This is a direct affront to my character. My character is all that I have left in this world and it is not in question. I am committed to always doing the right thing, especially with regards to the children I love so much. I have shown her my ass, figuratively speaking, by disclosing everything and offering it all if needed and she thinks that I would let my family go without anything when it is within my means to prevent it? All I ask for is some transparency, something I have never had in the time we have been together. I may have to have an agreement drawn up after all. I can’t believe that my integrity is on the line after the sacrifices I have made to do right by her. I never say this but I’m offended.

As my dad, a very honorable man often said…”sometimes, it’s just the point that matters.”

My Friend Tony

Can I tell you the story of Tony? It would mean a lot if you would let me.

I spent a lot of years working at a restaurant. 17 to be exact. I have some great memories and I have some bad ones but overall it continues to be a formative period in my life. I made some great friends, learned some valuable skills and I met my wife there. The place is still there, as busy as ever, but I don’t go there as often as I used to. The food sucks, speaking as the former kitchen manager, and is too expensive. Additionally, my soon-to-be ex-wife still works there and I don’t want to go in and deal with all of the uncomfortable conversation. You see, we were a big story, a famous Prince (the name of the restaurant) couple. But there is one thing that I will always go there for, and that is to see my friend Tony. He works part time now, doing small chores to keep busy, He’s retired but he can’t sit still. Yesterday I went in to see him but he wasn’t there. He is in a Hospice…dying of Pancreatic Cancer.

Tony, now 80 years old, is the son of a Sicilian immigrant. He moved here when he was a teen, entered school as a senior, and despite a serious language disadvantage, graduated and joined the Army. His father worked on the docks in Boston and his mother dutifully cared for their modest home. Tony’s father never learned a word of English in his 92 years, his co-workers and his son worked around it. When Tony left the Army, he met a lovely young lady named Linda and he married her. Soon after he responded to a help-wanted ad posted on a little Northern Italian eatery in the town in which he lived. The owner was also an Italian immigrant who was glad to hire him. By the time I met Tony he had busted his ass, and I am understating this, for that man for 20 years.

When I first met Tony, I was a young college drop-out, freshly recovered from a motorcycle accident, hired as a “kitchen hand”. A title which entailed anything from prep-work to scrubbing pots. I hated it, the hours were long, the work was brutal and mind-numbing. I didn’t complain about the work because the after work beer was free and I was in the company of some very hard workers, most of them immigrants with limited English, big hands and bad tempers. They also didn’t speak to me. Tony was the first one. He called me a “slow Irish prick” and told me to “hurry the fuck up.” The fact that I was Scottish and going as fast as I could apparently irrelevant.

I didn’t know what “old school” really was until I started working at Prince. I came to understand their version of it as a rite of initiation. You must pay your dues, earn their respect, become worthy of them including you in conversation. If you are really “in” they will speak English in front of you. The golden ticket was a shot at working on the front line. Serving dinners for the laypeople out there. You must be worthy of their training and you had better be good. Sadly, at that time in my life my only goal was to move up to the line. I got my shot after a year of grunt work. I would be working next to Tony.

After my first few months on the line Tony did loosen up some and talked to me. I learned fast and I worked to his liking. It was if one day he realized I was for real (as a worker, maybe as a person). When that day came, and the curtain fell, I instantly liked him a lot. He was genuine and without pretense. And it was all about respect with him. Apparently, I earned it because before long we were laughing as we worked, enjoying the disapproving looks of the others. I became his protégé, although it felt more like “whipping boy” at times. Every shift we worked we were paired up. We would eventually become great friends but it took a while and several obstacles.

I would come to know Tony as a very nice, often obstinate, family-oriented and honest man. He believed in the American values of hard work, family and prosperity. He was respected at work and at home, but he did a tremendous job of keeping the two separated. His family was off-limits. No jokes about his wife were allowed, and no one who worked with him would ever date his beautiful daughter, or he would absolutely snap. If you could respect that Tony was easy. But there was one other thing, he didn’t like to be called stupid. Ever see Marty McFly when someone called him “chicken”? Yeah, something like that. I crossed that line a few times and the fights were awful. He would go days without talking to me. I hated it.

After 16 years of comraderie, hard work, a few fights and many after work drinks, Tony began to slow down. His age, a growing menu, my increasing skills and speed made it necessary that he and I would change places. I would become shift leader and he would assist me. It wasn’t my idea but I offered to be the one to tell him. To my surprise, he wasn’t upset, He was tired and welcomed the break. He would have been mad if I wasn’t the one given the position and he made that clear. We worked together exclusively until he slowed down further and was relegated to other responsibilities. He would retire soon after, not interested in a supporting role and more interested in enjoying time with his wife. He would stay on and do small jobs such as make salad dressings and take care of the hundreds of plants throughout the 700 seat restaurant. Working the line would never be the same, I missed having to repeat myself constantly. I missed listening to him tell the new help jokes that I had heard a hundred times. I missed having him tell me how I “wasn’t shit” compared to him in his day. He was probably right. Soon after, I found a full- time job in the world of business. My restaurant experience had gotten old.

I would visit Tony frequently at home and at work. I would time it so we could have a drink together and talk about the old day. What we did, who he hated, etc. It was always great to see him. I was really looking forward to having that drink, to update him on recent events, to see how he is feeling after he recently beat the odds (15%) with a bout of Pancreatic Cancer. I had sent him a long note about how much I loved him because he couldn’t have visitors. He called me and tearfully thanked me for the note.

When he recovered I was almost as happy as he was. I had recently heard from my wife that he was doing good for a while and that he was back to work. I now know that he isn’t. No one knows where he is, per his request. I want to see him so bad. I want to tell him again, in case he forgot, how much his friendship meant to me. To reflect on the thousands of conversations we had over the years. The world is losing a great man. What he taught me about hard work, being a simple and honest man, and to make the most of your situation will always be etched on my being.

If I don’t get to see him, I am comfortable that he knows how I feel about him. We’ve pretty much said everything to each other. But I will always be able to visualize him shrugging his shoulders, with his goofy self-effacing smile, saying  “After all, It’s just a job.”

be careful what you wish for

You were a waitress, fresh out of school

Me, a lost soul, living for the moment

You loved me immediately

At least thought you did

You chased me, I rejected you, all part of the game

You were so much younger, what would people say?

You persisted and insisted, that I was the one

You wished for my attention, hoped that I would break

I warned you I was not good for you

My illness and demons would take us down

Remember when I met your mother?

The disapproving look on her face should have said it all

 

A few years passed and your interest had not faded

You were older, I was stagnant, I gave it a shot

We began to date, there was no turning back

You’d loved me so long I couldn’t hurt you

We became a great story, despite all the odds

But hard times would come sooner than later

The fighting began, worse all the time

Bad times outnumbered good,  cracks began to show

Out of nowhere,  you were off to Florida

I would later learn that you went to think

stay with him, or leave him, a decision needed to be made

You chose to stay, the rest is history

21 years of marriage and 4 beautiful kids later

our great story now comes to an end

We were never a good match, I tried to warn you

I couldn’t provide for you, I knew it even then

Years of bitterness and struggles, you could have avoided it all

Sleepless nights, foreclosure and bankruptcy all that remain

If regrets were currency we’d be rich

Tomorrow we go to court to make it official

The story is over, bring in the shovel

When we sign the papers, making it final

Will you be thinking about that trip to Florida?

It’s not your fault

Next time, and I hope that you have one…

Be careful what you wish for

Another anniversary

Six years ago, at this very hour, I was undergoing Kidney transplant surgery. My family and my donor’s family waited nervously in the waiting room and friends and co-workers at home anxiously waited to see how we were doing.

I woke many hours later. I woke to bustling nurses, the beep of numerous machines, flashing lights and tubes and wires coming out of everything. The incision area was very painful, but I quickly realized that I already felt better than I had in years. Kidney disease patients often complain about a “fuzzy head”, feeling “off”. My head was clear.

The next day my donor and I were flooded with visitors. She was in a lot of pain but mobile, I was not, so she hung out in my room. Because we were co-workers many came to see the both of us it worked out great. I was still really sore and heavily medicated but the company was welcome. We were all celebrating a truly amazing thing, a co-worker donating a vital organ to another is such a selfless act, I felt like I was witnessing a historic moment.

As my recovery progressed, I committed myself to be better than before. I wanted to get back the strength I had lost, to truly commit to good health and get the maximum out of the estimated 15-20 years that I could expect from this kidney.

While I did enjoy some physical milestones in hiking, basketball, mountain biking and weight training, a mere 4 years later  I hit a wall. I got sick again, and by the symptoms, I knew what it was. After several biopsies, it was determined that the original disease that had destroyed my original kidneys over the course of 30 years had come back and done a ton of damage in just one year.

I’ve struggled to reconcile this for the last 2 years. I feel angry that I wasn’t told of this possibility. I feel sad that I can’t do the physical activities that came easily to me a mere 2 years ago. I even feel bad that my donor’s generous gift wouldn’t last as long as she and I had hoped. But I do not feel bad for myself and I do not ask “why me?’ I got a shit hand, it happens.

Six years ago today my Facebook page virtually exploded with encouragement and positive messages. I have truly never experienced anything like that. Some people may never experience such an outpouring of support. Some people may never experience a second chance at anything. I did, and for that, I am grateful, regardless of what the future holds.

Let me tell you about my children

Are you running yet? That is the typical response when someone talks about their kids.

I was never “that guy” who had a stack of pics to roll out like playing cards if someone asked if I had a family (this is before cell phones and uploaded photos of course). I would be happy to talk about them to someone really interested but I have always believed that people are really not interested, it’s just something to say, like “how are you today? “Trust me they don’t really want to know.

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My children are older now and I don’t have to deal with that anymore. But now I want to talk about them to anyone who will listen.

If this past year has taught me anything, it is that life’s meaning is not in the size of your house, your stock portfolio or how nice your car is. After being reduced to an unemployed, sick man with too much time on his hands I have come to value accomplishments as the measure of a man. To do this I had to contemplate the meaning of a real accomplishment. Here is what I came up with.

I worked at a restaurant for a long time. A family business where I met my wife. I rose to the top of the food chain in the kitchen to a manager, where I was responsible for thousands of meals. To be real, however, my only real accomplishment was establishing high standards that led to a reputation as a hard-working perfectionist.

I sold cars for many years. Aside from consistently meeting or exceeding goals for sales and satisfaction, my only real accomplishment was the testimonials of customers that left with a different, better impression of my much-maligned industry after they met me. They used words like nice, accessible, professional and my favorite “has integrity.”

I worked as a Collections and Liquidations (repo) manager for many years. I developed systems, reduced overall losses, and increased profitability for the entire ten years that I was there. I was considered the best in my industry. Despite that, my only real accomplishment was that I helped a lot of people. People who were struggling, confused how things worked and needed someone to talk to who would really listen. I was the person that worked with them and I know that at the end of the day I made a difference in someone’s life.

Nothing else I have done matters…except my children. I really accomplished something there.

My children are awesome. At 21, 20, 18 and 15 I have four decent, sarcastic, hardworking and nice kids. They are good citizens. Charitable, kind-hearted, polite to all, respectful of the elderly and authority figures and did I say nice? I am a truly blessed man. While I wasn’t able to afford a massive house, a car for each of them on their 18th birthday and a trust fund, I was able to give them a decent childhood despite constant financial hardship. We went to Disney, we went camping, they played sports and I spent every minute of daylight and energy that I had to throw the football, fling the frisbee or wrestle on the lawn. Fighting the clock, all the while knowing that they were going to grow up too fast.

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I was able to walk the line between parent and friend, being accessible while still in position to leverage the “Dad card” when necessary. They weren’t afraid to tell me things. I never shielded them from life, instead, I told them how the world really is. My girls dressed as Disney princesses once, but today they aren’t the types to wait around for a man to solve their problems. My boys aren’t fighters, but they knew enough to punch the school bully back and he would leave you alone. And if someone messed with their sisters, well watch out is all I can say. The other lessons they learned from me were unfortunate. They learned the value of saving money by seeing their family home auctioned off. They learned the value of hard work when I lost 6 months of work to illness and the older 2 had to get jobs in High School. They learned about sacrifice when they realized that I had tried to leave a terrible marriage ten years previous, but stayed because they deserved to have their father around. And finally, they learned that life is not all sunshine and rainbows when their mother and I finally split up after 21 years of marriage. Amazingly, they are all thriving. Strong, resilient, versatile and not expecting a damn thing from anyone.

That is truly an accomplishment.

So let me tell you about my kids. Despite all of my shortcomings, they were able to retain all of the good things, rise above the bad and cause person after person to tell me how great my kids are. Thank you, I say. If I were to die tomorrow, they are indeed my real contribution to the world. My legacy.

Dreams and the Easter kiss

I am a very fitful sleeper. I rarely sleep for more than three hours, I never wake up in the position that I fell asleep in and I have very vivid and realistic dreams. I truly wish that I could remember them and write them down because there are some very telling things going on. I dream of people I actually know, sometimes interacting with people I don’t, celebrities and people I barely know from a long time ago. I retain certain details but not enough. Too bad because there is some great blogging material there.

With all of the changes going on in my life of late, it’s no surprise that my mind is racing. Health issues, financial problems and now a pending divorce are always at the forefront of my mind.

Last night was a particularly memorable one on the dream front. I know that I had several bad ones, details escape me, but I woke up with a headache at 2 AM so I know I was squinting and tossing and turning a lot. I drank some water, popped a tylenol and went back to sleep. I then dreamt of the “Easter kiss”.

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Most of the details of the dream escape me but I vividly remember that at the end I found myself in a car with my wife, driving somewhere unimportant, and we began discussing the pending divorce. I asked her why she initiated the process, jokingly asking her if she had been cheating on me. Her answer was a nonchalant “I have.” She began to list all of the men that she had affairs with and how she met them. One of the liaisons occurred at a place I do remember, a gym that I used to go to about 20 years ago. She then told me that I shouldn’t be surprised after the “Easter Kiss.” I asked her if I was supposed to remember this incident and she said: “I’m sure I told you.” I remember being beside myself with anger and frustration. And then I was woken by a text alert on my phone. It was my wife telling me when our first hearing for the divorce was.

It took me a while to collect my thoughts before I responded to her. That dream was real close to home. In reality, I have wondered why she suddenly decided to divorce after letting things stay the way they were for so long. I wondered if she had met someone. I would actually welcome it, I would like her to be happy. But I have never, ever suspected her of infidelity. She is a very honest person and despite all of our differences I always trusted her. I was rattled.

I told her about it this morning. She laughed it off. She told me that she’s not like that. To her credit, she’s not. But I can’t get it out of my head, where did I get the “Easter Kiss” from.

Strange days indeed