I have been honored to be the wife of three decent, funny, kind, brilliant, creative men.
Jim was Catlin’s father. We were together for 13 years, then divorced when she was six. Jim and I remained best friends, talking every single day until I helped nurse him through hospice and handled his memorial service following his death from kidney cancer.
Al was the beloved stepfather of Catlin’s childhood and young adulthood. We were together for 20 years, and had not a medical error taken his life way too early, we would likely have made it for life.
Mike was my first grade crush. We grew up together, led full and separate lives, and came back into each other’s lives in 2016. With Mike, I came home to the love of my life. We were starting our fourth adventurous year together when he lost his battle with esophageal cancer.
Jim was 14 years older than I. Al was 9 years my elder. Mike and I were the same age. Each man died at the age of 62.
I was born on Easter Sunday. This year, for the first time since my birth year, my birthday fell on Easter Sunday. I turned 62. It’s time to make every day I have left on this earth count.
When Al died, my spirit went with him. I was “walking dead” until Mike blasted me out of my depression and gave me the courage to change my entire world, to stretch myself beyond all my self-created boundaries, and to embrace the adventurous, loving life I’d always dreamed about. And now, he’s no longer physically by my side.
At 62, I don’t have the time to go back to that place of depressed hell again. As much as I want to simply go with Mike, I don’t have that option. I choose life. A full life, working to complete the long list of dreams and goals that Mike and I were working on together.
That’s my journey to share. Rebuilding my business. Creating a life in a new place where I know few people. Reconnecting with friends. Learning new skills. Living our dream between Alaska and Arkansas – and building, growing and keeping alive the plans we had in each place.
It was once said to me, “Your husband will forever see the world through your eyes.” Maybe so. But I like to think he’s here beside me. The inexplicable feeling of peace that swept through me moments after he left this world, combined with the incredible energy he passed to me makes me think he’s much closer than I know. When I add the upstairs thermostat that’s suddenly set to “his” temperature and the bathroom toilet that simply fixed itself after three months of constant running – I’m pretty sure he’s not far away.
Mike, our adventure is still on. I’m counting on you to help guide me, to send good people into my life, and to remind me to laugh at myself. I know you’re only a prayer away.
And that’s more comforting than you know – At 62.
At 62 