Bumpy Roads and Happy Endings

East Pawnee Butte

"The bumps in the road just make the ride more fun."

Dave and I were late bloomers, each married for the first time in our mid-forties. We met via the Internet, went out on a blind date, and became inseparable from that point forward. Two years later on Valentine's Day, we decided to give it a whirl. We married on September 2--Labor Day--that same year.

2002: The first half-year was completely worry-free, wedded bliss. First Christmas ornaments, first this, first that, loads of fun all around. Then the roller coaster ride began and our lives have been pretty hectic ever since.

2003: We decided to remodel this old house. At the same time, I learned my job would be eliminated so I scrambled to find another and oh my, was it ever a horrible job. Construction was completed by our first anniversary; two weeks later, Dave was laid off from his job. He quickly found another, which he hated nearly as much as I hated mine. Then just after Christmas, Dave’s older brother became ill and died very unexpectedly. It was a devastating time for his family.

2004: I landed a good job working for the state. About that same time, dad was diagnosed with congestive heart failure and struggled with his health all year. My brother Ted and I spent a great deal of time helping dad meet all his needs, determined to fulfill his wish to stay at home as long as possible. And he did, right to the end.

2005: Dad and Ted were at a memorial service for one of our neighbors when, after the service, dad collapsed with a heart attack and died outside the chapel. Somehow we always knew that's the way he would leave this world: poof, gone in the blink of an eye. Ted and I cleaned out and sold our childhood home. Dave was laid off again but soon found another job.

2006: Our old dog Raven destroyed the ligament in one of her back legs while chasing a kitty down the street, which necessitated a form of doggy "knee" surgery. We finally had a chance to indulge in one of our dream vacations: Autumn in New England, visiting Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont. Dave's father was diagnosed with congestive heart failure shortly after we returned. A week before Christmas, his mother suffered a stroke.

Cottonwood Pass, west side of the Continental Divide

2007: We both turned fifty, and spent most of the year selling Dave's family home, settling his parents in a nursing home, and managing their finances. After a long and difficult summer, as his illness grew worse and more unforgiving, Dave's father mercifully passed away in September.

2008: My mother-in-law's health stabilized and she seemed comfortable in her new surroundings, so we took a road trip to the Meteor Crater, the Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, and the Four Corners. We had a wonderful time. Later that year, after a Broncos game, my gall bladder exploded. A quick surgery fixed it right up.

2009: Raven was diagnosed with canine lymphoma; we kept her comfortable and happy the final few months of her life. We also added a new dog to our family, Tonka, then took a long-overdue vacation to Washington DC, Virginia and West Virginia. At the end of the year, we lost Dave's beloved mother Marge. She was buried on a brutally cold December day.

2010: Dave was laid off once again but worked part-time for most of the year. We took several weekend trips around the state. I returned to my own form of therapy: writing, and discovered this wonderful online home for my journals. After suffering through years of back problems I turned to holistic treatments, without success.

2011: Dave spent the year honing his househusband skills (he's really quite good at it). We decided to add a second dog to our family and after much searching found our little Crazy Daisy. The doctors finally diagnosed the source of my back problem, and I chose corrective surgery. Recovery was slow but went well. Plus, I had the best home health care aide you could imagine.

2012: This year has been good. I feel stronger than I have in a long time. Tonka finally admitted that he does, in fact, kind of like his little sister Daisy (shhh, don't tell her). Dave held a difficult but good-paying temporary job for several months; he is now focused on relearning his househusband skills. And for the first time in years, we are taking a vacation!

Originally the plan was to visit Hawaii for our tenth anniversary, but we scaled it back to suit our circumstances. South Dakota, here we come!

Owl Creek Pass, southwestern Colorado

"Somewhere along the way in this hard and bumpy road called life is someone who will fix your broken-down car and drive you to your happy ending."


::: handing Dave the keys :::

First Love

It must have been sometime in late 1975. Barely out of high school, a friend and I were drawn to cruising in downtown Denver.

At the time I had a Mustang, a pretty little car. My friend owned a Camaro. Between the two of us we had lots of fun making the rounds.

Then one weekend I met Bob, a handsome fellow in an orange-and-black muscle car, a Chevelle. After some initial flirting across lanes of traffic, we finally pulled into a parking lot and took the time to get acquainted.

We were inseparable after that.

A year older than me, Bob was from Kodiak, Alaska. His parents sent him to Denver to attend the Denver Automotive and Diesel College, so he could learn engine maintenance in anticipation of taking over the family fishing business: mostly crab, salmon, and halibut.

We grew close very quickly. Then at the end of spring semester in 1976, he returned to Alaska.

Bob left his beloved car with me. We parted with hugs and kisses and promises, and Bob suggested I visit Kodiak later that summer. His parents were eager to meet me, and I was eager to learn more about what might potentially be my new home.

And such a wonderful visit it was! Bob took me all over the island and introduced me to some of the wildness that is Alaska.

There were places on the island where you had to stop and look both ways before crossing a dirt airstrip. Ridge top bunkers installed during World War II remained, silent sentinels looking out to sea, still watching for a Japanese invasion. The beaches were filled with black volcanic sand that formed soft round rocks around sea fossils.

Bob showed me rivers filled with spawning salmon, and taught me about his business. The time we spent together seemed to have “future” written all over it. But did it, really?

In re-reading the letters Bob sent before my visit, the tone seems soft, romantic, filled with repeated proclamations of love, tales of his daydreams about us, and his hopes for the future.

After I returned home, the letters became more matter-of-fact, less about romance and more about providing me with detailed instructions on the care and feeding of one super-hot Chevelle.

The story ends just as you might imagine. Eventually we broke up, although I never really understood why. Bob returned to Denver for his Chevelle (quite possibly his real love) and went back to Alaska.

And I mourned the loss of my first love.

This journal was spurred by a writing prompt: Found, by San Diego Momma. Thank you for the inspiration!

Anniversary Tribute

Today is our ninth anniversary. Dave and I were both late bloomers, we met in mid-life and each married for the first time at age 45.

Similar in many ways yet complete opposites in others--the sensitive, romantic dreamer and the sensible, logical science guy--we are a good match. He has been especially kind to me this year, helping me prepare for and then recover from surgery. His recent unemployment has been stressful at times but turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Dave was right here with me when I needed him most, and was my very favorite nurse during this entire experience.

I never knew you could love someone the way I love Dave. So this video is my tribute to my one true love.

A Haunting Tale

In 1998, my eldest brother Rich was diagnosed with cancer. At the same time, my mother’s health began to take a turn for the worse. She had suffered health problems for quite some time and this particular year she became even more helpless. Dad tried his darnedest to care for her as long as he could. Rich died in late August, less than six weeks before my mother’s death in early October.

My brother Ted and I worried so much about dad. Losing a child is something no parent expects or should ever have to go through, no matter the age. The loss of his wife compounded dad’s agony. She had been his rock, his home, for the better part of his life. Ted and I later revealed that we both secretly felt it would not be much longer until dad joined his beloved wife and son.

Dad had never lived alone. He moved from his parents’ home, to the Civilian Conservation Corps, to his first marriage with Rich’s mother, to the Army infantry in the Philippines during World War II, to a painful divorce and back home with his parents who helped raise his son, then later to his second marriage with my mother. Now he was left to wander an empty house. Dad found the silence, the loneliness, and the profound grief to be overwhelming at times.

Then one day, dad told us a story. It was the middle of the night and as typical, he was reading a book. Mom’s room was next door, a small private room where she kept a desk and an antique maple twin bed. You know the kind, with heavy iron bed rails and four wooden slats spaced evenly apart to support the box spring and mattress. Well that night dad heard a loud “bang” coming from mom’s room. He instinctively called out to the dark house: “Loretta, is that you?”

The next morning dad discovered that one of the slats had fallen out of mom’s bed, as they often did. But in the past this only happened when someone sat on the bed, or possibly when the bed’s occupant turned over while sleeping. Dad was convinced mom had returned.

Over the next several months, he related stories of his experiences in the house. Once he was whittling in the basement when he was sure someone stood right behind him, watching his work. Another time he swore he heard voices. He repeatedly sensed at least one and sometimes two presences in the house. “Makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up,” he told me. At first he was frightened, then he began to engage in one-sided conversations with the visitors. Was there anyone in the house with dad? I don’t know and it doesn’t matter one bit. Real or imagined, dad was comforted by the idea of his wife and son returning to him. He lived another six years, all alone in that house, during which time he spoke to mom and Rich frequently. He was absolutely convinced of their presence.

A few months before dad died, he passed out while shopping at the grocery store. The paramedics took him to the emergency room and I was called to his side. Dad always hated hospitals and had no use for all the fussing and carrying on that occurred in those places. The emergency room doctor said she would be willing to discharge him, provided there would be someone at home with him that night. Dad replied without hesitation: “My wife is there!” Although I knew there was no physical presence in the house, as the doctor expected, I said nothing. My mother’s spiritual presence was good enough for dad; it got him released.

One of my family duties, something mom and I shared in years past, was the responsibility of caring for family graves. After mom died, I visited Fort Logan National Cemetery regularly to bring flowers and decorations. At that cemetery are buried my grandfather, an uncle, my brother, my mother, and now my father too. Before dad died, whenever I visited mom’s grave I talked to her, often blubbering away as I conveyed stories of the events in our lives, both good and bad. Like dad, I believed her spirit was right there with me. Yet not once since dad has been gone have I felt that presence at the cemetery, or anywhere else for that matter. Once they were reunited, I’m certain they left this Earth together. Their grave is now simply a marker to help remind us of the love that has moved from the suburbs of Denver, all the way to the stars.