Those Good Days

Back a little over a year ago, when Lois was lingering and there was some hope she might survive the lung cancer, I got some huge encouragement from an old newspaper buddy in California, Walt Wiley, whose wife had died about a year earlier. Here's a portion of our e-mail:

"Walter,

Rather than focus on the small chance of survival that the doctors quote, I'm focusing on the celebration we will have when Lois is fully recovered and can run and play again.

"Meanwhile, I'm appreciating the small things. This morning (Sunday) we have the house to ourselves. Jan and Debbie have gone to Knoxville -- 200 miles away -- to pick up a car. Lois and I sat in the sunny dining room and had breakfast, read the funnies together, commented on developments in the news, occasionally debated points that we differ on.

"You know, Walter, it's those small moments that really define a relationship. And when Lois was in the hospital earlier this week, that was what I missed most. There's something about discussing things with her that makes them real. If I've been out taking pictures or if I'm reading an article about Germany, talking about it with Lois makes it concrete.

"I pray the Lord will bless me with Lois in my life for many years to come.

I am not willing to let her go!!!

James"

And then Walter responded, in part:

"I sometimes think that those good days are our little mortal glimpse at eternity."

Amen! What a true pal Walter is! That one line gave me such comfort at the time. And it continues now.

As a coda, I remember an interchange a few months later as Lois and I drove to New Jersey to her stepfather's funeral. I held her hand in mine as we drove along Interstate 81 in Virginia and told her, "I wonder if I hold on to your hand tightly enough, God won't take you from me."

She responded, "Sometimes you have to let go."

It's a bitch. I'm approaching the one-year anniversary of her death. It's a bitch!

I'm a wreck but I pretend not to be.