Four Years Later

Note: I originally wrote this entry as a letter to Charlotte. I never intended to send it to her, but thought it was a good way of putting into words the things I was thinking about on this day – four years later. As it was originally written, I think it's perhaps one of the best pieces of writing I've done in a long time.

I read the rough draft to Terry, and he offered the opinion that if I left it in its original form (addressed to Charlotte, but shared with all of you), it would prompt different reactions than I intended, especially for those who don't know the context out of which it is being expressed.

He suggested making some changes or at least providing some context in the form of an introduction or explanation.

I benefit now from his wisdom as a writer and friend – indeed, every day it is so.

I will write more after.

Four Years Later.It was four years ago today that she and I, with many tears and much travail, walked into the Lake County Courthouse and ended our marriage of ten years.

For a long time, thinking of this day only brought pain and regret. Now, it prompts other thoughts. And, when such thoughts come, I must write. So, now, I write.

It is perhaps fitting that, having begun as friends, our friendship is what remains after all. I treasured that friendship in the beginning, and treasure it now.

I am glad that four years later, we have both moved past the hurt and pain of our parting, and I think that in very important ways both of us are better, stronger, more whole as people than we were four years ago. We have both found some level of happiness and contentment, and for that I am thankful.

As I think about this day, I think not so much about our separation and the ending of our marriage as about the ten years we had together. And I think about it with joy.

She was my love of a lifetime, and in our ten years, I loved for a lifetime. I seek no other, can imagine, no other love.

Thoughts of that time bring small remembrances from the treasure house of my heart where such things are stored.

I remember her laughter, and how it brought joy to my heart to hear it. I remember making her coffee every morning so she could wake up slowly while watching HGTV. I remember our Thursday nights watching “Friends” and “ER”.

I remember our Friday night date nights, especially those that found us over at Mom and Dad's playing gin rummy.

I remember cooking breakfast on Saturday mornings.

I remember her thrill at finding a treasure at the thrift store, a yard sale, or the flea market.

I remember her touch, her smile, her kiss, her love. I remember the way she felt in my arms. I remember how right the world was lying next to her, snuggling on those rare cold nights in Florida.

I remember, and am glad.

The end of the matter is this:

Four years later, I still miss her.

Four years later, I still love her.

Four years later, I remain, and ever shall be, though time itself should cease and fail to mark the span since we parted, truly hers.

Postscript. Even those who know me well, and are familiar with the history of Charlotte and our love, might be asking themselves why, if I still love this woman so obviously four years later, do I not get on the first plane to Florida to tell her these things, get off the road, and go back to Florida, where, you might think, I evidently belong.

I only say to you three things:

• Loving someone, no matter how much or for how long, is not enough to make being together possible. You already know this from your own experience. It is as common a theme in human experience as anything else, and that fact is reflected in the greatest literary and dramatic expressions of the past five thousand years and more. So it is with us.

• As I wrote, I have moved beyond focusing on the pain and regret of the past, and am able to treasure the wonderful, good, and perfect things about Charlotte and our magical union. That's not the same as saying I want to rewind the clock, or that it would even be possible.

• I say often in this blog that I am more content, more whole, more satisfied with my life – the choices I've made and taking the responsibility for those choices – than I can ever remember being. That is true. And a part of that present life are those things I treasure about my beloved Charlotte as I mark this day. Be glad with me that it is not marked by remembering the pain and regret, but instead by a celebration of all that I will forever cherish about this most wonderful woman I've ever known.

Until next time . . . keep the wheels rollin' . . . making choices and taking responsibility . . .

Allan

Goodbye To A Good Man

Note: The regular chronicle of the Lonesome Dove Xpress will return shortly. I had planned a detour for this Sunday, Feburary 15th which you can read after that date. And today, an unexpected detour, prompted by the unfortunate death of one of my favorite relatives, my cousin Jimmy Wilson. As I thought about him yesterday and today, various memories and impressions came as I drove across the roads out west. And so I write. A good man leaves us. Jimmy Wilson was, by any measure, a man's man. He was married for over 40 years to a good woman, Linda. He was blessed with four kids (Marty, Mike, Kelly, and Jennifer) who do both their parents proud, and grandchildren as well. I was very fortunate to be able to grow up spending time around Jimmy and his family. Back in those days, our extended family was very close, and we used to have "git-togethers" and "shin-digs" on a whim that resembled reunions for most families. I have many memories of Jimmy, and have been told some great stories about him over the years.. I share a few with you. My favorite story. My favorite story about Jimmy as a young man also involves my Daddy, and our cousin Smoky (who has been gone now over 20 years – and that thought makes time seem like sand passing from my grasp faster and faster). These three men were all cousins who grew up with each other, and were more like brothers than cousins. They all grew up barefoot on cornbread and milk in a place and time where electricity and indoor plumbing were still just rumors heard about in town. They had to be tough just to get grown.. Those who earned their enmity had reason to fear. And those whom they loved knew they would move the earth for them if need be. One night when they were young, they had all gone out to play pool. Hours later, when they came back out to the car, they noticed that the stereo was missing. They went back into the pool hall, which was still crowded. They lined up across the door, and told the crowd that nobody was leaving until he got his stereo back. The stereo never appeared. But nobody left either. After a time, they decided to leave and forget the whole thing. Later, they discovered the stereo still in the trunk, where it had been all along. They had taken it out and put it in the trunk before going in so it wouldn't get stolen, and then forgotten about it when they came back out and it was gone. Even now, I laugh at those three guys walking back into that pool hall demanding that stereo be turned over. It's amazing no one got hurt – and I don't mean those three. "Who was that man?" My favorite personal memory about Jimmy is from a time we had one of our family "shin-digs" down at his house. I was 17 years old, and had just gotten my first car, a 1962 Volkswagon Beetle. It was a Saturday in April or May, 1982. I had invited two of my friends from church, Brenda and Tina, to come along, and we all drove over to Jimmy's house in Alabama. There were probably 50 people there, and there was lots of food, games, kids playing outside, adults inside and out laughing, telling stories, and that night, we all sat around in the house singing gospel songs and "clogging" to country and bluegrass music ("clogging" is also called "buck dancing", and reminds me a little of both square dancing and tap dancing). We had a great time, as usual, and Bren and Tina were amazed at what they saw. Their extended families weren't close and rarely got together for anything but funerals. When we left that night to go back to Rome, before we had pulled out of the driveway, they both asked me: "Who was that man?" I didn't know what they were talking about at first, but when they told me what they meant, I knew they were talking about my cousin Jimmy. They had never met anyone like him. He just had a way about him that seemed to charm everyone, and, as my Nanny told me today on the phone, "Everybody loved Jimmy. Everybody." Fishing, Bulldogs, and Clocks . Other things that come to my mind about Jimmy: he loved to fish as much as anyone I've ever met (except maybe my cousin Jesse). The Georgia Bulldogs never had a more devoted fan than Jimmy. And, even though he lived in Alabama for decades, the clock in his house was always on Georgia time. The last family reunion I was at, back in 2006, for a joke, I had gotten Jimmy a banner for the Auburn Tigers college football team, just to mess with him. I made a show of bringing it into the place we were having the reunion when Jimmy got there, and tried to give it to him. He looked at me like I had just escaped from some institution when I told him it was for him. "You're wrong, son. It's ain't for me. It ain't goin' in my car." I ended up giving it to his son Kelly. "Squeegee" and "Oot" and a man called "Horse". Another thing I remember and loved about Jimmy was that he had nicknames for many of the people in our family. The two I remember most are "Squeegee" (my cousin Jesse) and "Oot" (one of his boys – I think Kelly). He had names for some of the grandkids, too, but memory fails me now to think of them. Many people in our family call my Daddy "Hoss". Jimmy called him "Horse". I can hear him say it in my mind as I write these words. Until then. A good man has gone. But we shall see him again. Until then, we'll miss you, Jimmy.