Rest In Peace, Squeek Darling

         44 years ago tonight, March 3, 1980, 9:45 PM, I lost my high school sweetheart, and wife of only 11 ½ years, Linda. She was only 30, I was 31. And, like many who lose a spouse, my life has never been the same since. But then, I knew from the moment I found her lifeless body in our apartment that night, that there's no way it ever could be.
         We'd been together since she was 16 and I was 17. That meant we'd been able to spend almost half of our lives to that time, together. And that made losing her even harder to take. We’d been the center of each other’s world, and we loved it that way.
         Linda was an epileptic. Had been since she was eight years old. And, strange as it may seem, the seizures that she had brought us closer to each other over time, even though they scared others away. With every seizure she had, she discovered, each and every time, that I had been totally serious, from the time we met, when I promised her that her seizures would never drive me away, and that I would be there for her for the rest of her life. She told me, often, that my willingness to look beyond her epilepsy, and its seizures, and love her as herself, literally gave her a reason to live at a time when she didn’t care if she lived or died because of the way those seizures had robbed her of having friends, both at school, and in her neighborhood. In short, how those seizures had robbed her of having a normal childhood, and a normal life, period.
         And, since she had never even been kissed, let alone asked out on a date before we met, she also told me, equally often, how deeply she loved knowing that she was the most important part of my life, and how deeply she loved knowing that she meant so very much to me, and to my life, when she had never thought, at any earlier time in her life, that she would ever mean so much to any man, as she now knew she meant to me.
         The fact that she felt so secure, and safe in our relationship, knowing that my love for her would always be there, set her free emotionally to be herself. I supported her in everything she undertook, and was wonderfully rewarded by having the great, and unbelievable privilege of watching as she grew from a shy, introverted, and occasionally (I think) frightened, young epileptic girl of 16 into a wonderfully outgoing young woman of 30, with a zest for life, and a sense of humor to match. I can only imagine the even more warm, caring, tender person, and the wonderful mother she would have been to the three children we wanted, but never had the chance to have.

Rest In Peace, Squeek, Darling