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Angels do exist

I wasn’t looking for anyone. I avoided meeting women. I had ended my eighth year as a single parent with custody of four teenagers. One was now married and another was in the navy.

It had been an arduous eight years but preferable to a fragmented marriage. I was determined to remain single.

But then an angel came into my life. That was forty-three years ago.

Now as I talk with widows and widowers in the course of my writing I detect that their world has dramatically changed since losing their spouse. I see emotionally dispirited people, often shell-shocked, facing a lonely and unsure future. At age 89 and after a long time with an angel I began to ponder my future in the event I am ever left alone. I know my life will be lessened. I wonder if I will be traumatized, ambling around, not knowing what to do. I have recently awakened in the stillness of the night with apprehensions. Will I even want a future without her? The answer eludes me as I return to the sanctuary of Morpheus.

After she is gone I know there will be silence in my home. I sometimes wonder what I will miss most. Will it be her urging me to snuggle up close for ten more minutes as dawn breaks? Will it be the coffee pot readied to turn on each morning? Will it be the excitement in her voice when she beckons me to see a tiny white sand crab coming from a hole on the beach at Destin? Will it be her adherence to her vegetarian diet while preparing me pork chops? Will it be my awareness that she will never smile at me, ever again, except from tear-stained vacation photographs? Will it be her asking me to put in a light bulb? Will if be the sheets laundered weekly instead of seasonally? Will it be holding her hand on the back porch, watching hummingbirds do aerobatics? Will it be the enlightening repartee at breakfast? Will it be just being able to watch her while she reads her plethora of books? Will it be her advising me that my hair needs cutting? Will it be the morning and the evening hugs? Will it be no more chilled tapioca? Will it be the ardor that had diminished over the years, replaced by fulfilling togetherness? Will it be seeing her catch snowflakes in winter? Will it be unloading the groceries together? Will it be her warm smile which was quick to come? Will it be her support when plans went awry, her interaction with the children?  I will remember her tear-pooled eyes when surprised with a bouquet of yellow daisies. Will it be her mute computer that no longer sends words of encouragement to her friends in need? Will it be her Camry by my Buick? Will it be sharing the good prognosis after her visit to the doctor?  Will it be helping her find her car keys?  Will it be her smile, her touch, our unending romance?  Will it be her telling me to shave and that her brakes are making squeaking noises and would I clean her car windows on the inside and would I like tomato soup for lunch and when do I think we should make reservation in Destin? I awaken and study her when she sighs and become concerned about how I will be able to endure our silent home….alone. 

York is a WW II navy veteran and retired President of York Furs in Buckhead. You can contact him by email at: