Struggling now with so many things. And yet I am trying to chose to continue to believe in a better tomorrow. My mind is confused, feeling lonely and this old picture taken years ago and these words penned in this moment capture how I feel.
“Hello” it was that simple little word that started it all in the fall of 1984. I remember the girl with long brown hair, tanned skin wearing a summer dress and espadrille sandals approaching the art table where I sat as the lyrics to the Al Stewart song The Year of the Cat rang through my mind.
She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running Like a watercolor in the rain Don’t bother asking for explanations She’ll just tell you that she came In the year of the cat
She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running – Like a watercolor in the rainhttps://youtu.be/tqW4xIr7nj0 Al Stewart “The Year of the Cat”
My voice trembled and I heard myself say with great effort, “I only want her to not be in pain.”
“That is all I am focused on.” He stated his voice low and measured. He gazed at me with a look of both sadness and resignation before turning and walking away.
Memory flooded back as I stood in the hospital corridor, the lyrics to “Peaceful Easy Feeling” by the Eagles chorusing through my mind.
I like the way your sparkling earrings lay Against your skin so brown And I want to sleep with you in the desert night With a billion stars all around…
I get this feelin’ I may know you As a lover and a friend This voice keeps whisperin’ in my other ear Tells me I may never see you again
I like the way your sparkling earrings lay – Against your skin so brown – And I want to sleep with you in the desert night – With a billion stars all around… https://youtu.be/NjofshOBV5s Eagles “Peaceful Easy Feeling”
This post is excerpted from my upcoming memoir, tentatively titled – There is Always Hope.
My first wife died of breast cancer at the age of 26 after battling over the last three years of our short five year marriage and yes, cancer sucks.
Over twenty-five years have come and gone and still there is not a day that something does not remind me of her. The twinges of memory flit across my mind as a butterfly haunts a flower.
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