Second letter to Libby:
Its confession time; now it may come as a surprise to you but during our marriage when we were sitting around the house and you were talking to me, I wasn’t always listening intently to every single word that you were saying especially if there was a football game on TV.
Shocking, I know.
Case in point; I vaguely remember remarks about colors – whites- bleach – temperature and other things about laundry that you thought I should know. Well shortly after you left, although its not really my fault (blame it on ESPN) I somehow ended up with pink underwear, tie-dyed dress slacks and a very large iron shaped logo melted into the lapel of my synthetic, wicking “no iron” shirt.
Although my laundering skills might be suspect, on the bright side I have lots of new clothes and more grease rags than I will ever use. Now, obviously there is no reason to cry over “spilt” milk, besides if I used these letters to try and make amends for all of the foolish things I have done there wouldn’t be room for me to write about the things that have been happening.
Speaking of current events, do you remember what we were doing at this time four years ago? (Of course, you probably posses total recall) but in case you don’t, we were watching the 2012 London Summer Olympics. I can’t help but think of those times when we sat on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between us watching gymnastics, swimming and track and field. Spoiler alert, the US girls gymnastic team is stronger than ever and Micheal Phelps has more gold than the Aztecs.
In the normal letter writing process this is where I would say, “Well, I’m sure you already read my first letter” but the truth is I have no clue if you even received my first letter. It gives me a headache when I try to understand the relationship between heaven and earth. For all I know, you may have seen this letter as I typed it and maybe you witnessed the Olympics and my laundry debacle? Hey, can you see the winning lottery numbers?
Speaking of writing letters, I now have blog! Again, shocking news I know. Of course, being the author of a blog isn’t exactly a great accomplishment because if you have the ability to launch Windows Explorer, you can start a blog. But can you believe it? Me, the guy who hated English Composition class in college is now writing without being forced to do so.
I mentioned the blog because I often look back through old pictures and letters to reminisce about our life together and sometimes post stories about you. OK, that’s not totally true, because every story I post in my blog is about you.
A few months ago I told the story about the rainy Sunday afternoon during that time when we were remodeling the master bath. I told my blog readers how we sat together on our couch and you began crying. If you remember, I asked why you were crying and you said, “I’m afraid the last scan is going to show that the cancer is back and I’m never going to get to sit in my new tub!” I tried consoling but you recoiled from my hug, shook your finger in my face and said, “…and if you think that SOME WOMAN is going to sit in MY TUB, you’ve got another think coming mister”.
Well, since its confession time, some “woman” has been in your tub several times:
In other news, we are planning our 40th high school reunion, can you believe it? We have been passing around yearbooks and old photos at our planning sessions and telling stories about dances, homecoming and our favorite teachers. I really feel old when the conversation turns to kids, grand kids and even great grand kids. That got me to thinking, are you getting older in heaven or will you be 56 when I get there? Again, I am struggling with the whole dynamic of time and space between heaven and earth.
But wait, what if you are not aging and what if I don’t die until I’m 95?
How do you feel about older men?